#you are the maker of your own cage

[ilargeicontradictmiself]

The buddie girlies going blind when a hint at new female shortlived love interests for buck and eddie drops for the millionth time

[mune-writes]

Hear me out

Jason todd seeing you wearing nothing but one of his shirts, just barely large enough to cover your ass

I can't write, but I need closure to this little idea that has been floating in my brain, also heard you wanted asks so...

oh my god oh my god oh my god………(i love the way u think)

18+ Content, Minors DNI

warnings: dom! jason, teasing jason (are we rlly surprised), sub!fem!reader, slight belly bulge if u squint, size difference mentioned. (please inform me if i need to add more, thank you!)

the morning after

sunlight filters gently through the window of your apartment’s kitchen, bathing everything it touched in a golden glow, your eyes catching in the light, the rays dripping off your form like warm honey. you hum a soft, dulcet melody as you lean your hip against the edge of the kitchen counter, the whirring sound of the coffee maker the only thing that disturbs the peaceful atmosphere.

just as you stand on your tiptoes to reach for the mugs in one of the taller cabinets, the material of your boyfriend’s shirt riding up your backside, you feel Jason’s hand on your hip, pulling you away as he takes it upon himself to grab them, his sheer size practically dwarfing you as he leans over, a smirk on his lips.

“Let me get that for you, doll.” he drawls as you turn around, his hands now placed on either side of you, resting against the counter, caging you in, and you can’t help the way your thighs clench as you look up at him, mind racing with thoughts of how he had you in a similar position just last night, relentlessly pounding into your throbbing cunt.

Jason couldn’t stop looking at you, how could he? the fluid movements you make as you walk around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for today’s breakfast, the way your hair swayed with each movement. you were so sweet, he thinks to himself, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he continues to watch you, only for his softened gaze to intensify with a passionate fire as he catches sight of the lacy pair of red panties barely covering your ass—then he remembers how sweet you truly were, the soft whines that would slip past your lips, the low and breathy moans as your chest heaved up and down while he sucked and lapped up your sopping cunt.

could you really blame him when you had such a perfect body? mewling and writhing against him, reacting to his touches so perfectly, his good, sweet girl, taking him so well? and good god, the way that shirt draped over you, only reaching a little past your hips, rising just by a fraction to show off the round, soft flesh of your ass that once bore his marks, pink hand prints from his rough, calloused grip, and hickeys from when he ate you out from behind—just you wearing that shirt, seeing it ride up to show off the marks he’d left last night, it was your fault for teasing him, for wearing his shirt. why would you ever want to hide that body of yours from him anyway when he could worship you so well?

so really, you should’ve known better. now you were bent over the kitchen counter you once were making coffee on, back arched like a cat’s as you felt him draw a line over your weeping slit, your cunt pulsating with a heat only he could draw out from you.

“Please, Jay,” you whine, bucking your ass against him, hoping for some sort of relief as you rub your slicked pussy against his own angry tip, leaking with pre-cum. “Need you—need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, leaning over you, his hand pressed up against your throat to press your back to his broad chest. “Y’need me that bad, princess? Need me to stretch out that tight pussy, have you make a mess all over my cock?”

there’s a teasing edge to his words as he swipes at your hole, already dripping with your slickness, pushing his tip in just to give you a little taste of the stretch—as if his words weren’t enough to make you whine and beg—but pulling out just as quickly, the cocky bastard. he loved seeing you like this, so desperate for him.

“Please, Jason—“ your voice comes out strained from desperation as you attempt to wiggle your ass closer to him, your cunt nearer to his hard, thick cock, only to let out a frustrated mewl as Jason holds your hips steady in place. “Need you—need your cock, wanna have you fuck me full, fill me up with your cum, please.”

“‘S that so?” Jason grins, wolfish and wicked as he continues to tease you, running his fat tip along the length of your cunt, purposefully bumping your clit with each stroke. “Such a filthy mouth on you, doll. Makes me wanna stuff my cock in it, see how dirty it can really get.” he chuckles, licking his canines in lustful amusement as he feels your opening clench around his tip at his words.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Y’like being all dirty f’me, don’t ya, doll?” his voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble as her murmurs in your ear.

“Mhmm..” you nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, thighs already trembling in anticipation. “Jus’ wanna be good f’you, Jay.”

“That’s right,” he croons, chest welling up with pride at your submission, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he sees the look of adoration in your eyes swirled with desire for him. he lays kisses down your shoulder blades, landing a tender open-mouthed kiss against your nape—a reminder that even through the fiery hot intensity of the passion between the two of you, at the root of it all was a deep and profound love. “So good f’me, so perfect…’gonna take such good care of you, doll.” he murmurs, lining up his tip against your slit, pushing his aching cock into your drenched pussy. the tease that he is, he makes sure to draw out the moment, dragging his thick shaft against the walls of your cunt, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

the sight of your cunt stretching out around his girth makes a low groan of pleasure slip from his lips as he sheathes himself fully into you. you drag your nails feebly against the marbled countertop, a muffled whine coming out of your mouth as you feel his fat cock fill you up—god, you could never get used to the sting, how good it felt knowing that he was the only one who could ever fill you up this good. your eyes roll to the back of your skull in pleasure as his hand comes to press against your womb, making sure you felt the small bump against the pit of your stomach all due to his massive cock.

“Feel that, doll? Pussy’s all full of me—fuck, s’fucking tight—like it was made f’me, hm?” he lets out a breath, hot and heavy against the back of your neck, a low hiss emanating from his lips; he could never stop the way his cock twitched as he felt your cunt flutter around him, the warmth of your sweet pussy against his throbbing cock made his head murky with lust.

“Pussy’s all yours, Jay—h-hah, s’all for you!” you moan, feeling each vein and the curve of his cock against your spongy walls, his tip prodding and brushing against that spot that always made you see stars.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, his hand still around your throat, the other one holding your hip in place as he pulls his hips back before slamming his cock inside of you, beginning his quick pace. he’d been holding back before, but the way your cunt clenched around him makes any and all self-control slip from his being as he begins to fuck into you.

“Be a good girl and take my cock, yeah?” Jason whispers in your ear, his voice thick with lust as the lewd sounds of your sloppy cunt come into contact with his cock, his pelvis slamming against the meat of your ass.

it was going to be a while before the two of you have breakfast—all because of that damned shirt and Jason’s undeniable hunger for you. fuck breakfast, he had you, and that’s all he ever needed.

[sirxlla]

Friends Into Lovers

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

Warnings: Spicy, unprotected sex

Prompt: Showering with him as a friend (changed it to a bath) [requested by anon]

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts. THIS GIF FROM HITMAN. 🧎‍♀️

-With that said it's all under the cut-

The 118 had been entirely slammed by fires today, specifically wildland fires in the forest. One might think that being outside would be less dangerous than indoor fires and you'd be wrong. Widow makers, the name for trees on fire the spontanously fall, they kill hundreds of firefighters a year. Any out-of-control fires are dangerous no matter what climate or terrain; fires can even get so hot they create their own thunderstorms and weather. Normally, you weren't so worried about him, but there was something about today that had your heart slamming against the cage of your ribcage.

Buck finally gave you a call which made your body let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Ev." You said as you answered the call in your Jeep Gladiator, your eyes scanning traffic as you drove home to the apartment you shared with the man.

"Hey, I- Hold on." Buck puts the phone to his ear, holding it to it with his shoulder as he gets up into the noisy firetruck. He sounds exhausted. Poor Man.

"Hey- Hey, I'm sorry it's loud but um...shit- Hey, can you hear me?" Buck asks as he buckles himself in.

"Yeah, It's loud but I can still hear you." You pulled into the parking garage, turned right, and drove up to the third floor slowly, keeping an eye out for other drivers and such.

"Hey, I'm just gonna sleep at the station tonight and I figure it would be good to give you a heads up. I'm just so exhausted, today's been a lo- Shit." He huffs as they get another call, he's clearly just entirely exhausted.

"No, that's no big deal. Just stay safe okay? I love you." Saying I love you to him was nothing, you both said it all the time. It was just a way of making sure both of you knew how much you cared for the other.

"Love you too, Duck." He stated before saying his goodbye. Buck calling you Duck started out as an inside joke that just spread into an actual name he'd call you regularly but it always made your head flutter.

That call? Yeah, it was weeks ago. LA was on fire, burning everywhere. Buck texted daily to let you know he was safe, but the apartment was quiet cause he hadn't come home at all, and if he needed anything or if anyone did at the station, you ran it to them if you had the time before or after work. You were constantly Postmating him food whenever you knew he had downtime at the station, it was just such a small thing that made his day easier. You knew he appreciated it; he'd say thank you when he had time, but sometimes he had so much to do.

A month after that initial call to you staying at the station he was finally coming home. Buck had texted you and told you so, but your notifications were on silent as you listened to music in the bath. He dropped his bags at the door and slowly started peeling his clothes off after hearing the soft sounds of your music.

Buck finds himself entering the bathroom; you didn't jump; you figured he'd be home sometime this week with them dwindling down slowly but surely.

"Hey, Stranger." Your smile was like a sunray on a rainy day to him; it was a sight for his very sore self.

"Hey." He says quietly as he gets in behind you; showers and baths with him had gotten more common as you two had been roommates for several years; it all started when he was injured and needed help in the shower and spiraled from there, not that either of you truly minded.

You could feel just how tired he was from how he felt behind you, how his wet chest slumped against your back, and how his chin rested against your left shoulder with his eyes partially closed.

"You feel amazing." He mumbled against your skin, his eyelashes and face getting wet from his skin.

"You know, over this past month, I realized something." You said as you leaned back against him, and his arms found their way around your torso, resting under your breasts.

"Hmmm?" His grumble caused the skin on your neck to vibrate a little against his lips.

"I-" You take a breath before ultimately deciding that you truly did need to face him to decide exactly how to tell him this.

His fingers brush your wet hair off your face, worry laces his eyes as well as the already obvious exhaustion.

"No! No, it's nothing bad." You quickly corrected yourself as you noticed his worry, your wet hands moved to his stubbly cheeks. God, he's so fuckin cute.

"I figured out I just don't wanna be without you, and I should have realized a long time ago why I just cannot stand any of your exes..."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Evan's worry turns to a smirk plastered on his face, a look that makes you happy you're already sitting down.

"I- I- I really love you. I mean like as a best friend but also like I wanna spend forever with you. Like not just casual sex like we have sometimes or anything- No, I wanna be with you like entirely." You said as you gazed into those beautiful eyes of his that always had such kindness and sweetness to them.

Buck says nothing as he gently kisses you. He's too tired for words, and he's glad you finally feel the same. Your hands find his hair and pull him closer as his hands pull you into his lap. His right hand found your waist as he held your body pressed to his; of course, he was tired, but your confession just made him feel the need to show his appreciation and reciprocation for you.

"You okay wi-" He starts asking the same way he always would when you'd both spontaneously want to sleep with one another. Sex always felt natural to you both, and now that reason was just blatantly obvious.

Buck reached down between you both as you lifted your hips slightly for him. You slowly found yourself slipping down onto him, you buried your face in his neck as a small breath fell from your lips to match his.

His arms wrapped around you, palms on your back as he held your body straddled against his. Your hands found themselves in his hair once again, the smell of wildfire smoke lingered on his skin. Lord, was he tired, but it seemed to take a backseat to this.

This sex felt more meaningful than it ever did before; before, it was always quick and lustful, and now it's languid and intimate. Buck's mouth finds your neck as he slowly kisses at the skin beneath his lips.

Your hips start to slowly roll back and forth against him. He was clearly tired, and you weren't gonna try to ride him like a pogo stick or a mechanical bull, even if he would probably let you. His hands moved down to your hips to help guide you back and forth as you slowly rode him in the bathtub. The water follows your gentle movement; Buck sinks into the bath, almost lying down so you can feel even more of him.

Buck's never been a selfish lover and right now he's even more glad he isn't cause watching you ride him slowly above him, your breasts moving further than closer to him in the dim light of this bathroom just was like nothing else he's experienced, it was almost devoid of lust, just love and intimacy shone in his eyes. He was on cloud nine and you were the only angel that could even remotely guide him to salvation.

One of his hands moved from your hips to your clit and slowly rubbed gently with his thumb. His other hand came up to massage your boob, teasing the nipple on occasion but mainly just so entranced by your softness. If this was hell then he, never wanted to leave.

He wanted to come so easily and he would but wanting this to end was like wanting to stop breathing so for a while he pushed his climax off in favor of more time but now before he could even begin to start speaking he came inside you followed very shortly by you. You leaned down and kissed him slowly his cock still throbbing inside you as you hold you body against his.

"Damn, Duck." He reached down to rub your hips again as his brain tried to come down. He knew he'd be sleeping well before this, but now he'd sleep like a rock.

-> Masterlist <-

[diejager]

New Ownership

Pairing: Dark!Krueger + König x doll!reader

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, possessive behaviour, magic?, death, heartbreak, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.2k

You used to watch people awe at you, expressing their shock, incredulous and pleasing, under the protection of your owner —your creator. You were an object of emotion; of melancholy. You were a life size doll made of porcelain and wax, of hohair and glass eyes, painted in the richest pigments and dressed in the finest fabrics, you were the epitome of treasure in your time. A doll made with utmost care and tenderness to heal a wounded heart. 

Your creator was a doll maker, building every doll with a special kind of affection, be it for his collection or for a client, he always loved his dolls. He made as much as he gave, the single joy of his life was the present his late-wife gave him, a daughter to call his own, someone soft and living unlike the cold bisque of his creations. You were a present for her coming-of-age, a mimicry of her person, made with love for the adoration he had for his daughter, and sadness for seeing her grow up and leave, to start a new life without him. Every stroke was perfection and every detail was imperfection, you were perfectly imperfect, a mirror to a human.

You were made as an object to remember him by once she left to live with her fiance, painted in the last moments before he saw her off. He dressed you up in a pretty dress, a voluptuous crimson for the passion and a deep black for the end of he past and the start of a new beginning. He made you into what he saw his sweet, precious daughter as, a dream that he was ecstatic to gift, but she was in an accident the week before her celebration. She died of it, passing in writhing pain and tearful agony. It broke the man who lived to care. Your tender creator who lived to love and give.

He drowned in the throes of sorrow and agony, paraliysed by his own fears and torn apart by his nightmares, and left the house you once loved to rot and waste away just as he was. Sobbing nights and depressing mornings, you were unable to do anything but watch as he spent his days rotting, his skin sinking, his hair outgrow and his complexity pale unhealthily, yet he still cared for you. Your creator —your father cleaned you, dressed you and incased you in a thin layer of wax and gel to protect you from the changing times. 

You gave him solace, something to live for after he closed his quaint shop and became a hermit, crazed and lonely, having nothing but you to talk to and spend his shortening time with. You wished you could tell him how much you cared, how much you shared his sorrows or how saddened you were to see him like this. And like his daughter, your father passed away, heartbroken and lonely, leaving you to watch over his cooling body dissolving in his bed. All the wasted years, spent seated in your chair, unmoving and unliving, never being able to reach out to him to show him how much you loved him. Life, however, ran its course, uncaring of any kind of self-sought fury or self-given agony, you were just a doll given conscience and memory. 

You were picked up by a relative, estranged and distant from yours. He was German, or Austrian from the rough tone he used, a deep growl as he appraised you, rough fingers caressing your face like he was admiring you. He was, this wasn’t admiration in his eyes, you knew it, that sick and twisted gleam in his brown eyes, it was obsession. It was a perverted kind of adoration, it made you fear what he would do to you.

And these fears, these demons that clung to your peripheral, weren’t unfounded, weren’t an illusion your conscience made up to fill the void in your empty core. You were carefully stuffed in a box, stored safely during the long move from your small town in Germany to a place in Austria, locked away in a loud and dark place and only brought out to be placed in another cage of gold. 

He laid you in a pentagram of sorts, a crooked thing painted in a dark red and terrifying runes that promised nothing but evil. He enacted this… ritual that would affect you in some way, his low chants and hisses while he stared you down with hungry eyes once he stripped you of all clothes, lathering your porcelain with markings. He scared you more, knowing that he had this planned out, and that he wasn’t alone. 

There was a shadow of a giant behind him, a man heads taller than most with cold eyes peeking through a fabric to gaze at you. He had broad shoulders and thick arms, seemingly swallowing the corner he stood from. He took up a lot of your attention, ripped between the chanting man and him from your chair, placed perfectly at the center of this ritualistic circle. You were a show to the giant and a project to your new owner, a spectacle to watch unravel and writhe in pain.

It hurt. Why did this hurt? Your skin tingled, an annoyance that grew to a boiling agony, this sacrilegious magic reworking your imperfect body to fit one of his whims. You shook in your chair, the red sinking into your skin, lining the inside of your precious porcelain with runes as your fingers and toes flexed, limbs jerking from the information overload on your new nerves, synapses snapping into place and building a circuit of sensitive system. You could blink and you could cry, tears springing from your fluttering lashes, lips trembling before you screamed, a shrill cry that wailed out of your lungs. 

Your chest burned, it felt heavy with an erratic pulse, beat after beat slamming into your calcified ribs, warm fat and strained muscles. You felt like you were drowning, your throat clogged with something sick and dying after you shriek, acidic to your tongue. It stole the air from your lungs and you had to fill it back, the nagging urge to do so. Your chest expanded with your first breath, it hurt - it burned, but you didn’t drown - but it seamed the first seed of life within you. 

You slumped forward, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the last words he uttered passed through your mind, a searing memory forever imprinted in your conscience. You fell into warm arms, a soothing warmth unlike the boiling pit of magma that raged over you, embracing you with a quiet coo from the man who brought you to life. He hoisted you up, wrapping an arm under your knees and another firmly pressing your naked chest to his. Yours limbs were strangers to you, new and uncanny that you couldn’t move or control just yet. You limply laying your head in the crook of his neck, burying your nose in a green veil smelling strongly of musk and metal, your legs too weak and arms too tense like a newly born fawn.

“Besorg mir etwas, um sie zu bedecken, König”

“Ja, bin gleich wiener da..”

“Welcome to the living, Rehkitz.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | minor character death, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo finds out the consequences of his actions and finds one of his friends dead

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 third chapter is here!! Do remember to give feedback, thank you!!

beta read:: @nowitsmissing <33

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

According to Coryo, Dean Highbottom deserves to be punched. Coriolanus truly wishes he could punch that man's face and break his teeth in the process.

As soon as he entered the classroom, with you in tow. Highbottom doesn't waste a second to praise your insight into welcoming the tributes at the zoo and how you acted in front of the cameras. Creating the very spectacle they had been aiming for. Snow was fuming because he was sure it was because of his songbird, not his soulmate that the views had gotten up.

But, he doesn't think Mr. High As A Kite cares. Coriolanus almost thought he wouldn't even get any attention, neither positive nor negative. He was willing to accept that outcome considering the fact he perhaps broke several rules being inside the cage along with the tributes.

He was wrong.

‘Three demerits and you will be expelled.’

And he officially has his first demerit, on his perfect darn record. He opens his mouth to speak against it-

“Snow falls down on the cage.

It falls down on the cage

But it landed…” Dr. Gauls’ voice echoes around the classroom as she walks down the stairs to Coriolanus level.

“On stage,” he replied, his face nonchalant but his hands fisted on his lap, hidden from view. He had an urge to kick at the table, his mind reeling over what if Dean Highbottom removed him from the games. Would that mean he will be disqualified from the Plinth Prize?

He can't have that. He can't.

Before his mind spirals into a panic attack, dr. Gaul steals his attention with her words.

“You're good at Games,” she said, “Perhaps one day you'll be a game maker like me.” Coriolanus Snow couldn't possibly think of a future in which he's a gamemaker, he never thought of it as a real career. Nothing of his interests nor challenging enough for him. Of course, he doesn't say his thoughts out loud.

He doesn't reply at all, he doesn't have to because Dr. Gaul asks him a question. What are the Hunger Games for? There's no true answer to that. Something so cruel, something so horrible. There's no way to justify that with the truth. Lies perhaps, lies he was taught in the textbooks.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, only to be replied with “Dull, dull, dull,” by Dr. Gaul.

“Why the games?” She asked again. And Coriolanus had no answer. Because there were plenty of ways to punish the districts. Starvation. Bombing. Public execution.

Why the games?

Coriolanus Snow had no answer and Sejanus Plinth took over instead. As usual, he spewed about the wrongness of the games. The words that will go one ear in and another ear out. Dean Highbottom butts in the discussion as well, talking about how the game had run its course.

Coriolanus can't have that, he can't even fathom the thought of the games gone and in return losing his chance of winning. Coriolanus stands up, gaining the attention of his peers and authoritative figures alike with a daring but simple sentence.

“Dean Highbottom is wrong. My classmates too,” he said, his voice filled with the confidence he didn't feel.

His fingers twitch, feeling the urge to touch the burned soulmate mark on his wrist as a way to calm his soul down. He did no such thing, burying the urge deep in his mind as he began to explain his reasoning.

“People need someone to root for and to root against. . .” He continues, “And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even get people to place bets.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had begun to sweat as he waited for a reply. After a bit, dr. Volumnia Gaul grinned. Her smile made his bones chill.

“Very well, Coriolanus Snow,” she said, her tone calm yet underneath laid excitement. “I’d like you to write a proposal of these thoughts, Mr. Snow.”

Before Coriolanus could agree to the opportunity, you jump in. You stand up, beside Coryo. Your soft voice rang in his ear and he subconsciously closed his eyes to savor your voice no matter what it said. For a moment he didn't even seem to hear what you were saying, he quickly opened his eyes, looking down on the wooden floor instead. His pale cheeks burning, praying that no one saw that.

He finally hears what you say.

“Let's not limit the Games to the Capitol. Let's unite the whole of Panem with it,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. “I am sure Dr. Gaul if you give me the chance to write a proposal too, you won't be less than impressed.”

“Very well, miss,” she said, cordially, “I will be looking forward to seeing what the star mentors have to say.”

“Do not disappoint,” Dr. Volumnia Gaul grins before taking herself out of the classroom.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

After a quick lunch (not, he decided to sneak food for Lucy Gray) and a plan to meet up with you in the library at night. He sets out in the Zoo with Sejanus Plinth on his toe. The rich boy carrying a whole bag of food, something Coriolanus could only dream of. While Coriolanus had some sloppy sandwich and cold cookies wrapped in a napkin.

Shamed filled his veins about the fact that in his current abilities, he could bring stolen food for his tribute. He takes solace in the fact Sejanus’ tribute refused the bacon sandwich offered to him. A satisfaction in his mind to see Sejanus being rejected by his tribute while Lucy Gray was cooperative as before.

She takes the food, giving some of it to the district twelve boy. Coriolanus frowned as he saw her share the food he bought her. He leaned into the cage to whisper, “Are you going to share everything I give you?”

Lucy Gray replied, not skipping a beat, “You think I ought to build up my strength so I can strangle him in the arena?”

Coriolanus wishes to snap at her and say yes but he knew he had to show kindness to the songbird for her to do his bidding. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, as Lucy Gray's eyes divert to his classmate, Arachne, his classmate who was busy amusing herself with her district ten tribute.

“Hunger is a weapon in the districts,” Lucy Gray comments, “Seems like your friend here knows it.”

Coryo barely suppressed a snort as he replied, “She's not a friend. She's poison with perfect teeth.” He smiles along with Lucy Gray. He leans down to Lucy Gray's level, his fingers gripping the bars between them. He whispered, “I may have the chance to help you. Make suggestions. I might even get the chance to send you gifts in the arena. Food and water.”

Lucy Gray replied, her voice hardening with the fact that she knew there was a catch, “What's the catch?”

“You might need to sing.”

“I don't sing when I am told. I sing when I have something to say.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows as he hears her response. She would rather die in the arena than create a spectacle of herself. Stupid in his opinion, to value the integrity of art over their life. He opens his mouth to convince her otherwise but then an incident happens that leaves him shaken to his core.

The district ten girl, the tribute Arachne was playing with snatched the water bottle from his peer, smashes it against the cage… and in a blink of an eye, Arachne had her throat slit.

Horror fills Coriolanus as he rushes to her side. His hands over her wound, putting pressure to stop the flow of never-ending crimson blood. He sees her eyes losing life, he almost didn't hear the gunshots killing the tribute who caused this. He cried out for help, only to be ignored. He was grabbed by the shoulder by a peacekeeper. He was dragged away, as Arachne Crane bled out in front of him.

She was dead.

The people from the district were truly animals is his last thought, as he blinks away the tears and shock and goes to his home.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

In the comfort of his ruined home, he had taken a shower and had dinner with his family. He listens to the warnings his grandma’am spewed and hears Tigris voice her opinion against it. He doesn't say a word in between, his fingers tracing the scar over and over again, it was the action that managed to keep him sane for the moment.

After the dinner, he begins to change his outfit. He wears a black shirt, something from his father's closet, and too-tight grey pants. He looks at his hands and imagines Arachne on them. He takes a sharp breath and watches the red fade away from his mind. He tugs at his shirt sleeve and the burned tissue comes into view.

He does so hoping that you're waiting for him in the library. Lucy Gray was a disappointment, Sejanus too. Arachne death is a disappointment too. You were the only one he could rely on not to do the same.

He pressed his lips to the scar and for a mere flash of the moment imagines kissing you instead. For a moment, he forgets you're District, for a moment you're just his and he indulges himself in the fantasy of having your soft lips against his.

Tigris breaks him from his daydream by asking, “Are you sure that she will be waiting, Coryo?”

He looks back at Tigris, his lips pulled in a smirk, his thoughts free of mourning. He covers the scar and replies,

“She was never one to disappoint.”

Next Chapter

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[aayakashii]

Hi! I know it's too soon to ask you for another HC from TD yandere but can you do more? I really love your work, love to see Romeo's yandere side or Jin's

THANK YOU FOR LIKING WHAT I WRITE!!!! ଘ(〃 ´)(´｡•ᴗ•`) and yes ofc!!! I will first do Romeo and then my next one will be Jin (I MEANT JIN), promise ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

gilded

Pairing: Romeo Lucci x MC

Warnings: yandere content (pls do not interact if it makes you uncomfortable!), obsessive behavior, kidnapping, implied drink spiking, very delusional and toxic male character

P.s.: go to this post by @/danieyells to see the way he looks when he's a delulu yandere

Romeo let out a shaky breath through his perfectly smooth lips. His porcelain cheeks were tinted rose, and heat wafted out of his body, as if he was succumbing to a deathly fever.

He might as well have been.

His knuckles paled as he tightly grabbed the golden bars of the most intricate cage of his secret room.

Tiny little droplets of sweat ran through his forehead and his back, and in any normal situation, he would be disgusted at the thought of him, of all people, sweating like some gross peasant.

But not right now.

Not when you were laying down, oh so defenseless, inside his cage.

Romeo licked his lips, eating up the visage of your body, cladded only in your underwear. His perfect little rare bird, all splayed out, inside their new home – their birdcage.

It was so easy, really. Romeo didn't even plan what happened. Everything just fell in place and then on his lap, like it was always supposed to happen. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe destiny did exist and you were always meant to be his.

The details didn't matter.

You knocked softly onto his door, peeking inside his room like a scared little animal checking if the coast is clear of predators.

Something about paperwork you needed him to sign, yet again.

The vein in his forehead pulsed and he felt the wrinkles form between his brows. That was what you always did. You always had something for him to do. Always someone ordering you to talk to him. Always an external reason for you to speak to him.

It pissed him off.

Why couldn't you talk to him of your own volition? Did you hate him? Why couldn't you visit him for just a simple drink at least once in your life? He KNEW you always visited that stuck-up captain from Frostheim for no reason at all, so why couldn't you share your time with him as well?

He tapped his fingers on his table, impatiently, as you awkwardly shifted from one leg to the other, waiting for something.

“Well?” he said, voice booming inside his office.

“Can I give you the documents?” you asked, eyes shifting towards every direction, except for him.

“Isn't this what you came here for? Just give them to me.” he rolled his eyes, exasperation sounding clear in the sigh he let out.

You waddled closer, clearly uncomfortable with him and it pierced his poor bleeding heart to see you so eager to run away as quickly as possible.

“At least this time you're giving me these papers in private. Learned your lesson, huh?” he remarked while he grabbed the papers from your hands, fingers so, so close to brushing your own.

“Yeah, you said I shouldn't give you classified stuff in public, so…” you trailed off and put your hands behind your back.

Romeo hummed, staring at the fine print, but not really reading it, as he racked his brain in order to find a way to make you stay with him, even if just a little longer.

“... Why don't you sit?” he murmured.

The offer sounded weird coming from someone like him, who seemed completely foolproof against politeness. So you wondered if you heard correctly.

“What?”

“Sit” he ordered, “You're distracting me.”

Yes. That was more like it.

You sat straight and uncomfortable in front of his desk and he got up, sighing heavily again.

Romeo walked towards the little bar in the corner of his room, and turned on his coffee maker.

The silence in the room was only broken by the humming sound of the machine, and he knew you were finding this whole situation awkward, just like he was.

He clicked his tongue inside his head. Well, if you gave him the time of the day, then he would know more about you and, in turn, know how to talk to you! It's not like his Eyes In The Sky picked up sound! Yes, he watched you closely whenever you were in Sinostra, but that was all he could do! He wasn't able to read lips!

“Um… can I leave?” you asked, meekly.

“No” he replied fast, then added “I haven't even signed your papers anyway.”

“Okay…”

You really wanted to leave. God. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Was it that hard to be with him? He did nothing wrong to you! Why did you want to avoid him so much? How could he stop you from trying to avoid him for once? He just wanted to know you better! To know everything about you. To know you better than anyone else.

His cheeks reddened and his brow creased as he felt the anger boil inside his chest, but, for once, Romeo did not allow it to overflow.

He breathed deeply and rested a hand on his front pocket, feeling the shape of the small vial he had one of his lackeys pick up from Mortkranken earlier that day.

Fine.

You didn't want to spend time with him like he wanted you to? That's okay. You didn't want to give him all the attention he truly deserved? That's totally, totally okay.

Because it's not like he needed your permission to get what he wanted from you anyway.

Romeo bit his lips, once again recalling the way you drank the “special coffee” he had made just for you, his mind flashing the image of your tongue darting out of your mouth to lick every last drop of the very thing that would be your downfall.

Oh, so naive, so defenseless. So his.

His hands let go of the golden cage's bars and went straight to your discarded clothes on the floor.

He only took them off of you so you'd have an easier time wearing the designer clothes he was already planning on buying, but that didn't stop him from bringing your shirt to his face and inhaling your intoxicating scent.

Romeo's eyes rolled back as he felt goosebumps spread throughout his body, overwhelming himself with you.

He was so, so excited for you to wake up, so he could finally enter the cage and put his soft, manicured hands on you; to have them wander on the curves of your body and feel the texture of your skin against his… But it's okay, he could wait until your pretty eyes opened. He would never touch you while you were unconscious, obviously – he was not a brute man at all!

He already had all the time in the world, since he had you exactly where he wanted you. Right there, inside his most expensive and secure possession.

After all, his most precious bird deserved only the prettiest cage.

[kirain]

I honestly don’t know who to scream about this to so I’m here in your DM’s as an anon~ but how do you think Emmrich would react if he saw how mages are treated in the south? Harding and Emmrich go on a little camping trip to the south at some point, so it got me wondering! Especially how necromancy is viewed down there!

Hello!

In game, Emmrich does seem painfully aware of how differently he's viewed. When you speak to him for the first time in his study, he mentions wanting to "make a good impression", saying he noticed how some of the companions side-eyed Manfred or whispered about his skulls. He knows Nevarran culture is considered "weird" outside the kingdom, and he's considerate enough that he takes steps to ensure he doesn't make anyone feel uncomfortable.

I do think all Nevarrans are aware of this as well, as they tend to keep to themselves. Don't forget, they broke off from Tevinter and fought to implement their own laws and practices. For example (and I do wish Veilguard had explored this more), Tevinter basically runs on slavery, but Nevarra banned and is vehemently against slavery. They're also one of the most devout kingdoms in Thedas, hence the necromancy. In my opinion, it would've been nice if the devs had Emmrich go into detail about why Nevarrans place so much importance on the dead��and for anyone who doesn't know, it's because they believe you need to be "whole" in order to join the Maker beyond the Veil and avoid being possessed by a demon.

Cassandra goes into some detail in DAI, but as a Nevarran estranged from her own culture, her views on necromancy (and mages in general) are pretty negative. She was raised by her uncle, who was a member of the Mortalitasi, after her parents were executed, but she grew to resent him because he spent more time with the dead than with her and her brother. In addition, he kept them locked up in the Grand Necropolis, which she called a "smelly gilded cage". She admits to both Varric and Dorian that she thinks necromancy is bizarre, so she's a pretty unreliable narrator, but she also confirms that Nevarrans know how they're regarded by the rest of the world.

As for how mages are treated in the South, Emmrich seems aware of that, too. There's some party banter where he speaks to Neve about mage independence and their influence on politics, and he simply says "politicing does happen" but he's not interested in it, even in knowing that mages don't have that kind of power elsewhere. Plus, at the end of Dragon Age II, all mages throughout Thedas became apostates—and Veilguard takes place about twelve years later—so even if he came across any mage-haters while travelling with Harding, they wouldn't be able to do anything to him. He'd probably talk them down or break all their bones if they tried. 😏

Overall, I think he'd react with sass or sophistication if someone truly pressed him about his necromancy, which does happen a few times in game. He's a kind person by nature, but if he saw any actual injustices, I don't think he'd take it lying down. That said, he seems happy in his own little world, having hardly ever left Nevarra or the Grand Necropolis, though he is eager to expand his knowledge. At one point, he does say he's envious of Rook for being so worldly and experienced, but he also ends up feeling extremely homesick and wanting to go back; which makes sense since he credits the Mourn Watch for saving him and the Necropolis seems to be his safe space. He's just a peppy older man living his best life with his peppy little skeletons.

[sentimental-bottlesnake]

I'm gonna be a hater for a second. And if you're a UMA artist, this isn't about you personally. This isn't directed at anyone specifically.

I think skincent/accent makers really need to stop putting so much extra shit on their accents. Like stuff you're drawing on the dragon just to fill space so its a skin. Like extra leaves/flowers, moons, lanterns, smoke, jewelry that doesn't match the theme.

I feel like its a trend right now to just cram ALL your ideas onto one skin. It has to have a moon, and a cage, and a lil animal, and beautifully drawn flowers, and drapery, and jewelry, and stars, and swirls, and-

I promise you. It doesn't. If you removed 1-2 elements of a finished design of a lot of skins/skincents I see recently the design would still be great! If anything it'd be better because you're not being pulled in 4-5 imagry motifs. And! I can still see the dragon.

Contrary to maybe what artists wanna hear: I like being able to see my dragon under your art and be able to dress my dragon with site apparel. I want it to extenuate what is there, not completely cover it up with extra tree limbs, leaves, flowers, or random pieces of jewelry. And I don't like dressing those dragons either, because the art is usually so good and I paid a lot of gems for it! I wanna show it off. But its a dragon dressing game. I also wanna dress my dragons.

Do these high coverage accents have a place? 100000%. I am not saying to stop making high coverage accents (a lot of full wing accents are high coverage). But don't make a high coverage accent for the sake of making a high coverage accent. It feels a lot like they're so popular because people can charge 800g for an accent+a bunch of extra stuff that gets covered by apparel as you naturally dress a dragon. I don't... like that.

I used to buy a lot more accents. And maybe a skincent here or there. Now I don't really buy any of either because I feel like artists don't know when to stop. I'm way more interested in buying an accent that I can dress up than one where I can like... add a flower fall and maybe some gloves, or if I'm lucky a pair of pants to.

in before the shitty comments of 'don't complain, make your own then'. I have made my own. And I made accents. I haven't in a while but I have made them. 'stop telling artists what to do!' I'm not. 'if you don't like them don't buy them and ignore them' I don't. But me, as a potential future customer, is sharing a pretty calmly worded opinion on what I wanna buy, and how I feel about the state of UMAs. I can express displeasure and share an opinion without it being a direct attack at you.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Dystopian Konig verse anyone??? With oviposition also?? MDNI

I had the wildest fucking dream about Hunger Games style verse where all of my college mates were forced to fight against each other in different tests that were more resembling that of a squid game. But everything was run by the Evil GovernmentTM and I was somehow also a part of these games. Everyone had their own punishments that would come after they'd lose, and my punishment was to...marry Konig?? Who was a very respected member of society and made the EvilGovernmentTM make this my punishment. Everyone was praising that amazing love story and every time sponsors of the games would send us stuff to compete, Konig would send me dresses and useless cute stuff. SO The dystopian monster-ruled verse where people are reserved to places of sex slaves and hybrid makers. Some of them are given the privilege of competing to make their place in society a bit more bearable - and the ones who are less lucky, get thrown to either harems or monogamy marriages of the wealthy and powerful monster hybrids. Konig is an anomaly because he never had a harem, despite being an eldritch monster/tentacle hybrid with an intense need to breed and deposit his eggs in a warm, tight host. He wasn't interested in anyone...until he met you, a precious being with the perfect fucking tummy to hold his eggs, and a nice body to hold in place while he is keeping you spiled and pampered in the bedroom, not even allowing you as much as lifting a finger. Just...being his precious incubator, taking him nice and slow in every of your holes, whine and cry under him because he softly non-cons you into submitting and you don't want this...but he also protects you from other monsters, you don't have to survive on your own, and he makes sure to keep your cage as golden as possible. Just lay here and take his eggs like a good girl, your dear colonel will take care of everything else!!

[the-kr8tor]

WIP WEDNESDAY!!

“I don't know what you're talking about.” His tone is steady, and yet his hands are not. “Your hands bleed through your words, Ekko.” Even with your blank eyes, it seems that you can still see him, through him, in him. “I have it too, and it weighs heavier than the weight of the world.” He doesn't know how to respond, he could only skim his eyes over your face. Familiar, and yet a stranger gazes back at him like you've known him all your life.

“I was about to get you, scuttlebutt.” He takes the pot for you, careful not to spill a single drop of it. “Pav was worried you fell asleep on the counter again.” Propping the door open for you with his body, you exit below deck and hold onto the door until he and the stew are safely on the deck. “Me? Never.” You chuckle and he nudges you gently as the stew sloshes inside the pot. “Careful!” “Shit, we almost ate hardtack for dinner again.” Hobie's laughter echoes through the night as the crew quickly sets up the makeshift table on the deck, just like back on the revenge.

You've come to a realization as to why no one has escaped the labyrinth. The rumbling and the trembling sounds were the labyrinth itself. It moves, and it's alive. Breathing, its voice echoing out in bouts of air and loud thumping of mechanical cogs hidden behind the thick stone. The walls move on their own like clockwork while Hobie guides you to his ‘home.’ He whispered it with slight fear in his tone, an act of defiance against his maker and the inventor of the labyrinth when he has made his prison— his cage into a home worth living in.

Hehehe technically minotaur au and chapter 1 of bsn is already finished!! Just need to edit them both so stay tuned for them!!

[honeyshiddendesire]

Dirty Alphabet - Eustass

Eustass Kid x Female Reader

*This one I got carried away cause he's my boo lol 🥵❤️‍🔥🫦*

*banner*

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you're already in a relationship he will be a big snuggler but don't you dare mention it or he'll deny it. If it's a casual/ one night stand thing he'd probably see if you wanna go get drinks…or just bounce up outta there. Lol

B = Breath Play (do they like it done to them or doing the deed)

Loves choking you and knowing he's so strong he could crush your windpipe buttt he's a kinky man so he loves it if you return the favor when you're riding his cock. Your smaller hands trying to squeeze even just the smallest amount of oxygen makes him grunt and groan out curses.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Big mess maker for sure!! Wants to fill you with cum but also wants to cover you in it too. Smear that shit along with your makeup till you're a big sloppy mess that he can tease. If you swallow so be it but he loves shooting it on that pretty face of yours. Also he cums A LOT! So be prepared!

D = Dirtiest Kink (what they think is their dirtiest kink)

Wants to tag team you with Killer which you expected but the real secret is that he thought of sharing you with Law and Luffy. He doesn't know why but the thought plagues his brain. Maybe it's the fighting they've done together in Wano that drew him to the idea but he'll never admit it to you…maybe he'll tell Killer though.

E = Exhibitionist? (Do they like being watched)

Loves attention!!! Watch him all you want but don't think he'll be shy about it baby. That man will solo masturbate and talk you out of your panties in a second to join him. Also loves watching you as well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything to showcases his strength and his big dick. Full nelson, mating press to keep you pinned down and feel his entire length. Also pronebone so you can't push him off and his big arms can cage you in how he likes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Will crack jokes but always in a teasing way as he's fucking you into the mattress. If you try to make an embarrassing joke though just expect him to scowl.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I wanna say kind of trimmed cause he looks like he manscapes but he likes having a happy trail of red hair leading to the ‘main treat’.

Idk why but I feel like if you didn't shave he'd go feral. 🤷‍♀️ Idk why lol but I think you not following the usual beauty standards would drive him literally insane lol

I = Initiation (how do they get you going? Vice versa )

He's a horn ball 24/7 so he's super handsy and if he's not touching you he'll spill pure filth no matter who's around. His crew gets a kick out of it but if they try and make comments to you best believe they'll be thrown overboard or spending their time scrubbing their own blood off the deck.

J = Jealous (how do they get when jealous )

It's Kidd…he's territorial. I can totally see him getting jealous and storming off somewhere. But if you've been together a long time he's not asking questions just grabbing you and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to punish you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation Kink! He loves the both of you being fucked out beyond the point of words, shaking and drooling from round after round.

Corruption Kink! If you're a good girl, best believe he wants to change that. Wants to turn you into a horny ticking time bomb, literally desires to turn that shy exterior into a handsy sex machine just like him.

Glasses glasses glasses!!! If you wear glasses it makes you look nerdy/sweet which plays into his corruption Kink and now he can't help but picture what they'll look like covered in his cum. (Totally self indulgent but IDC it's my page lol)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. This man has no shame when it comes to sex on his ship, hell he'll even fuck you in an alley way. Weirdly doesn't like you being seen though so he'll pick positions that he can cover you with his big body. Even covering your mouth so no one can hear the sweet sounds you make for him only.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's always horny but loves when you get just as handsy as him though. If you do try flirting he'll make you work for it just to see how far and bold you get.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Can't really think of anything this man won't do tbh lol 🤣 He's a freaky freak.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves fucking your face but loves eating pussy, it's his favorite meal. Ask him and he'll be honest.🥵 So sit on his face and then you both can devour each other.

P = Pace (rough and fast, slow and soft)

Depends on his mood. He's always rough but sometimes he'll fuck you slow with deep mind numbing thrusts till you're begging for him. Yet other times he'll fuck you fast and hard till you're shaking and drunk on his cock.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes yes yes. Whenever and however many he can get from you he's down.

R = Rope (shibari, bondage? Do they like it?)

Yup whether giving or receiving that man is down. He's a big boy who can take you whipping him or even slapping him across the face while he's tied up. But won't go as hard on you as you can go on him. He knows his strength but won't push yours unless you beg of course.

S = Sharing? (Are they willing to share you?)

Depends on who it is. If it's Killer, absolutely lol If he's having a captains talk with Law and Luffy and they just so happen to mention you he'll freak out in a feral lust but ultimately it's up to you of course.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He makes his own of course. He's a craftsman with many skills and desires so of course he'll come up with something.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The meanest 🥵 teasing you till you're pouting and begging for relief

V = Voyeur (do they like to watch)

Yup yup! He'll even join you in giving him a show lol

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If you wear heels, step on him! Not in a submissive way but more in a, “I'm strong those pointy heels won't do shit” type of way. It's like a play on a pain fetish and heel/foot fetish. The feeling of your heels scratching at his shoulders make his groans so much raspier. Will also kiss along your ankles when you wear them telling you how hot they look.

If your feet end up hurting while you walk he'll just toss you over his shoulder before you can even think of removing them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick baby~ heavy dick and veiny with big breeding balls 🤷‍♀️ just saying the man cums alot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always on go!!!!

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

His brain can be pretty active so it takes him a minute tbh but he'll cuddle you to sleep and fall out shortly after.

[razildor]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by the lovely @holdingontojupiter thanks!

So I kinda teased a favourite sentence earlier from a previous post I was tagged in. So here's where it comes from. The joys of a rough draft.

Tagging @ollypopwrites @heylittleriotact @thepalehorsevictoria @farore05 @redheadsramblings @rooks-leather-jumpsuit @silshinobii

Rook both loved and hated the skull helmet that Emmrich sometimes wears while in the Necropolis. How long have they both been down here? An hour or two at best, but to Rook, it felt like days. Of all days for her to get really horny and it was because of the Mage’s skull helm. 

Looking over at the Necromancer, Rook watches him finish summoning a helpful wisp into a skeleton, two of them already working to clear the debris and stone. Her eyes rest on his flowy arms, almost finishing the cast. She couldn’t help but admire not only the green magic that flows ever so gently. But also the movement of his long fingers, how the light from his magic catches on his grave gold.

—---

“Darling? Are you alright?”

“Yea- Yeah! Just lost in thought.”

“Are you quite sure? You don't seem to be your normal self.”

Emmrich comes closer, raises a ringed Hand, Feeling rooks forehead the back of it. still wearing the helm.

Rook tried looking anywhere but at him. At the helm, him being so close sent all sorts of thoughts through her mind, the soap he used that morning, his aftershave, and the slight smell of the necropolis that always clung to him. but The helm… Oh Maker, how the thought of him making love to her with It ok, would he go slow? Gentle rocking of his hips, each thrust sending his cock deep within her while he holds her face firm but with care, having her stare up at him as he speaks Nothing but tender words.

Or would he hold her down just how she likes, pinned under him, ringed hand holding wrists in place while showing no mercy with his thrusts, fucking into her until she's forgotten her own name but only remembering his.

“Rook?” Emmrich says softly, voice full of concern, lowering the hand to rest it on the stone table she currently sits on. Caging her between arms.

“It's… it's your helm…”

“My helm?” He questions, tilting his head slightly, forgetting he's still wearing it. “I thought you liked it?”

“I do! I really do it… It gives you that imposing look, graceful and… And….I-” She trails off, looking down as she fidgets with the leather buckle that keeps his coat in place.

“And you?”

“I really like it when you wear it” she answers, wishing a demon would come and swallow her whole to save her from admitting her thoughts.

“I'm sorry, my dear, I am deeply confused. If you like my helm, then what's wrong?”

“I like it because it makes you look both intimidating and sexy at the same time, I have… thoughts of you doing things to me with it on.”

A long, deafening pause between the two, Emmrich trying to process what Rook meant by her words. 

“Oh.”

Rook felt her cheeks burn, rarely did she feel embarrassed by sex but this… Well, what was she meant to say?

“Yeah- Well… Sha-shall, we get back to work? That artefact won’t make it to Vorgoth on its own!” Rook quickly slides under Emmrich’s arms, grabbing a random tool from the table in her haste - a brush, making her way towards the half buried artefact 

“Oh? You enjoy the idea of me wearing this while I'm deep inside of you?” Emmrich whispers behind the helm, bending forward to be eye level with Rook, a whimper leaves her lips, body becoming stiff at the closeness.

“Holding you in place while my cock thrusts into that delectable warmth of yours? Until you're screaming my name for the whole of the Necropolis to hear? Filling you with my seed until it sat deep within you?”

 “I…No?” Rook answers, clearly unsure of her own words. The lie sat heavily on her tongue, trying to keep those thoughts locked up. Yes she does want Emmrich to wear the mask while fucking her until she can't even remember her name.

“Hm, you're lying to me. You know I do not like lies, my sweet girl.”

[kataraslove]

how do you feel about people saying Katara post the show was just a “house wife” and a “baby maker”? I personally think it’s super stupid and fucked up…while I do understand the criticisms for the comics ESPECIALLY the promise. TLOK criticisms for her character are pretty damn dumb to me…honestly the only thing I can get is the critical for her not being at Jinoras ceremony.

something that the original show does really well is present the dichotomy of katara; she's hot-headed, stubborn, determined, argumentative, protective, a fighter and a warrior. at the same time, however, she's presented as compassionate, kind, caring, nurturing, a healer. atla does an incredible job to avoid caging katara into one facet, unlike other media that tend to restrict their female characters who present feminine personalities into the group's resident healer/mother teresa figure. fighting and healing are core tenets of her identity. she uses both of these aspects of her identity to win the war, to save the lives of her friends and family, and most importantly, connect to and honour her decimated culture.

i don't think tlok makes an attempt to capture the fighter aspect of her identify, hence where the argument that "she was reduced to a healer" comes from. yes, she's incredibly old. yes, she deserves to rest after a lifetime of fighting. however, you could make the argument that toph and zuko are still in active combat mode during their old years. it's an all or nothing scenario; either everyone in the remaining gaang deserves a fight scene or no one gets one. so i can see where that criticism stems from. however, much of the criticism also stems from the fandom's refusal to correlate power with healing; to see how being a healer is an honour in it's own right, especially in the atla world where it's the equivalent to being a doctor (and katara would be the most renowned doctor there is).

katara does not deserve a shoe-horned fight scene where she's going to be tossed down in the snow five seconds later (like zuko) or where she's going to complain about her back problems (like toph). i can go on and on about how toph’s depiction in tlok is another form of sexist writing, but i think this post highlights it perfectly well and captures everything that i wanted to say.

if it were up to me to write tlok katara, i would:

have spent more time exploring her role in the white lotus. how much input did she have on korra’s training during the south, because i doubt caging her up until she’s 17 and delaying her spiritual journey is something that katara necessarily would have agreed with. i imagine that she would have (should have, at least) a lot of sway in the decisions surrounding korra as a world leader and legendary hero [per avatar legends]. if not that, even as korra’s waterbending master, the companion and spouse of the previous avatar, and the mother of the only airbending master in the world, would be enough to earn her decision-making title.

actually have her take part in the council of elders, especially during the civil war in book 2. no bryan konientzko, a tumblr post explaining that you can see her on the council of elders while your show is airing isn’t enough. we should have gotten katara’s perspective on the independence war currently happening with her tribe. particularly, it would have been an excellent opportunity showcasing her leadership abilities that we saw in imprisoned and the painted lady, encouraging her tribe to fight for their justice and independence.

expand upon her relationships with her children and grandchildren. yes, the legend of korra isn’t about katara or any of the former gaang members. but jinora, tenzin, kya, and bumi are all important characters that should be defined by their respective relationships with katara, much like how they’re defined by their relationships with aang. bryan and mike shy away from featuring former members of the gaang to avoid nostalgia bait, but there comes a point when deliberately avoiding the presence that your original characters play on their successors ends up hindering the success of your show. i think katara should be a critical character in the subplot between her and aang’s children, providing her perspectives on her husband’s parenting and relationships with their children.

have her actually leave the southern water tribe. if toph can leave the swamp to stop kuvira, and zuko can leave the fire nation to stop the red lotus, then why was katara constantly portrayed in the southern water tribe? there was an excellent opportunity to have her attend her granddaughter’s air mastering ceremony. i actually disagree with claims that the writers were avoiding having katara and zuko in the same scene specifically because of zutara; i think they didn’t want any of the former gaang in the same place. hence why we don’t ever have zuko and toph meet, or katara and toph (i know toph mentions katara by name, but i truly believe that that was a throwaway line serving as a substitute to appease the audience’s thirst for old gaang interaction. kind of like a, “here you go!! toph mentions her. now shut the fuck up.”)

give her a statue representing her bravery, courage, and determination. this one’s self-explanatory.

she didn’t need to be present at the bloodbending trial if the focus was for the avatar to take away yakone’s bending (and her being a bloodbender, i mean.. there’s NO WAY for anyone else to suspend yakone if she’s there). but i do believe the show should have mentioned something about katara not being able to there last-minute, due to tensions in the south or whatever, and how they cannot delay yakone’s trial even by one week.

i disagree with criticisms that katara became a “baby-making machine” for the air nomads. there’s no substantial support that katara and aang had children solely to repopulate the air nomads. there’s contrary evidence, in fact:

tenzin was the only airbender. if katara’s purpose was to serve simply as a baby maker, aang would have tried to have more children. from a writing standpoint, i think the narrative would have gone out of its way to portray kataang’s family as only having airbenders, or having more airbenders than non-benders or waterbenders.

we would have seen a lot more children in a relatively short time period. bumi, kya, and tenzin have sporadic age gaps, indicating that their conception wasn’t really at an urgent pace, but something that katara and aang took their time with, due to life events and circumstances.

as for whether the show turned katara into a “baby-maker,” by highlighting her family relations over her career prospects, i disagree. i don’t think we’re shown anything about katara in the legend of korra; i think we’re presented with limited information about her on all aspects. from a family perspective, all we know is that she had three children with aang. the narrative goes one step further to even separate her from the family conflict, such that the cloudbabies do not pull her into their grievances with their father and childhoods. kya and bumi’s overall arcs are about embracing their father’s legacy, while tenzin’s arc is about moving away from his shadow. from a career perspective, we know that katara at some point banned bloodbending, became one of the best waterbenders and the greatest healer in the world, then trained korra. in fact, katara’s relationship that is given the most narrative weight is her relationship with korra. i can understand if people’s criticisms are her being reduced to korra’s mentor and a healer, but i will not be able to understand the baby-maker or housewife claims simply because there is no proof.

if we’re examining tlok katara, i think there are many criticisms to be held, many missed opportunities and abandoned threads, but i do not agree with fandom extremes that she was ever presented as a “baby-making housewife turned healer.” i disagree with claims that tlok emphasized katara’s legacy as only having children (particularly her one airbender child). especially because tlok goes out of its way to separate her role in her children’s life, instead emphasizing her role in korra’s life. narratively, we get more exploration of toph’s storyline with her children than we get with katara.

as for the shitty gene yang comics that mischaracterizes just about every member, even momo and appa, i’ve got much to say on that. i think the only comic worth exploring is north and south, and katara’s portrayal in that. rather, there’s a particular criticism of katara’s portrayal in north and south that i want to rebut.

[genderqueerdykes]

any tips on binding when you're hypermobile? i'm aware my ribs may react badly to it, so i wanna do this smartly and carefully

that's a good question, i somewhat have experience with this, but this may vary greatly from your experience depending on how your own rib cage responds

whenever i got a chest binder online, it was from a decent maker at the time, but i found myself not being able to wear it for very long without feeling extremely uncomfortable. i ended up not finding it worth it, but i had already used a strategy in the past. some folks can find success with a well fitting sports bra that doesn't have individual cups sewn in- some have a flat front that will help with compression

trans tape is also an option! this can depend on the size of your chest, but it's definitely an option:

otherwise i would say play it by ear, if you find yourself feeling very uncomfortable and especially if there's pain, it may not be worth your time to use a binder or sports bra. for some of us it's difficult or impossible because of our disabilities and that's okay. if anyone has any suggestions for anything else this anon could use, feel free to add!

[mistake-memessenger]

was thinkin abt Sylus LADS and feeling some FEELINGS about him on my way home from work this morning

like

hold on a minute

this man is. your soulmate. by choice (or by my understanding at least - do not take this as fact bc i am a terribly fallible creature and i can and will get things wrong lol). your souls are bound to each other’s on purpose. he really chose you. he chose you oughhgdhh

he seems really aggressive when we first meet him in the main story line but then. BUT THEN with each subsequent side story he seems to get softer?? bc that’s what YOU have expressed you want from him. softer. more vulnerable. kinder. and by god he delivers

evidence? Sylus’ birthday event comes to mind and i know i’ve def seen this take elsewhere but i gotta say it too: he’s got a reputation for being dark and mysterious etc etc but as soon as you express interest in wanting to know licherally annnnyyyythinggg abt him he fesses up soooo fast. Luke and Kieran spend the whole month (happily and like the mischief- makers they are) celebrating each day as if it’s Sylus’ bday because if they do they’ll eventually get it right and that’s the point and it’s honestly so cute lol but THEN with you there? Sylus just tells you. straight up tells you the date. he’d give time of birth if he had that info on hand i bet

where was i going with this? idk i love Sylus so much y’all oh my god

he loves you

and MAN if you were like locked up “for your own good” or smth like “you’re a danger to yourself and others” Sylus is the kind of man who would look at you in your cage and immediately go “Absolutely not” and break you out so fast, hardly a thought bc so what if you’re a danger to him? he can handle it and he loves you. he loves you and to him that means your freedom, your happiness. he’d do anything you ask of him, anything your heart desires. even die for you, at your hands. only at your hands, even. he will only die if you kill him and he is your soulmate and he loves you

[ouijarat]

Too Weird to Love, Too Scared to Die.

Chapter One

(This was just a silly goofy idea that my partner convinced me to get out of my brain and onto the internet. This takes place in an alternate Weirdmageddon Finale scenario. Btw I hardly ever write and this is my first fic like ever so PLEASE BE NICE TO ME and let me know if y'all like it. Ty <3)

_________________________________________

“I’ll give it to you!” Stanford Pines’ voice echoed from the cage and through the cavernous hall of the fearamid. The world seemed to stop as Stanford’s once beloved Muse-turned-monster’s gigantic eye turned from the two children in his grasp he was about to send to meet their maker a moment ago and onto him. Bill’s gaze was as blinding as the sun. 

“I’ll give you the equation, Cipher! Just… don’t hurt my family… please.” 

Bill stared while Dipper and Mabel’s terrified expressions drilled themselves into Ford’s mind during the stillness. Just as Dipper opened his mouth, seemingly to protest against Ford’s decision, Bill’s shrill, inhuman laughter enveloped their senses; the sound loud enough to rattle one’s skull and make one’s ears bleed should they stand too close. 

“Oh, Sixer! I just knew you’d come around~!” The demon cackled smugly, depositing the young twins on a high up support beam, safe for the time being yet out of their uncles’ reach. The grotesque, gargantuan form of arms and teeth and tongues the triangle had reverted to when angered began to shrink back down to size, the red fading back to yellow as he looked down at Ford with as much sick satisfaction a creature without a proper face could possibly express.

“I’m so happy you’ve finally, finally come to your senses!” 

Stanford looked over his shoulder to glance at his brother, expecting to read contempt, maybe anger at Ford for not thinking of something fast enough; but when their eyes met he only saw fear and uncertainty. He couldn’t bear it, so he averted his gaze. He yelped as his body was lifted off the obsidian palace floor as Bill effortlessly levitated him out of his confinement.

 “I’ve gotta say, IQ,  you really had me going there! I thought you were actually gonna make me kill one of the brats!” He gently dropped Stanford in front of his now much less threatening form, straightening out his bowtie as his little heels collided with the ground with a small click, making himself level with Ford as though foolishly trying to perpetuate the illusion that they were equals here. The laughable notion of respect. 

Ford grimaced, six fingernails digging into each of his palms as he steeled himself, remaining woefully silent. Bill was clearly annoyed that Ford refused to play into his verbal sparring, the demon’s expression souring. 

“Aw c’mon, Fordsie. Don’t be like that. Cheer up! Soon I’ll be free, and I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted!” 

Ford’s eyes darted up to the two children clinging onto each other at least 30 feet above him before he looked back to Bill, his expression flat. “You could never give me anything I would truly want.” 

The triangle looked almost hurt for a moment before he laughed again, regaining his composure.

“And why’s that?” 

Stanford stared at him. “You’re selfish,” He said, his voice tainted with the shadow of disdain. “You couldn’t emotionally fulfill another person if you tried. You’re a monster.”

The demon’s eye twitched, his gaze suddenly distant as his yellow glow seemed to dim. Above them, Dipper squeezed Mabel’s hand in a vice grip, scared that Ford had just signed his own death certificate. Instead, Bill just snapped back to normal in an instant, giggling again. “We’ll see about that. But for now..” He extended a dainty black arm, his hand suddenly engulfed in blue flame awaiting Ford’s palm to complete their deal. 

“Let’s get this show on the road. Eh, Sixer?” 

Ford looked down at the floor below him, too ashamed to meet his family’s gaze as he pressed what was, for all intents and purposes, the big red button for the apocalypse. At least they’ll be safe. He held his breath and grasped Bill’s hand, memories of thirty years ago flashing through his mind as soon as they made contact. The demon’s eye widened maniacally as he cackled, his grasp tightening around Ford’s polydactyl hand as the world around him froze. His surroundings turning to black and white and sensation melting away. In a low, gentle voice Stanford hadn’t heard since he worshiped a god rather than feared a beast, Bill spoke. “You’ll see, Fordsy.” 

And suddenly Ford’s vision went dark. 

…

Stanford woke with a start and quickly shot up, having just woken from the most terrible nightmare. He caught his breath, running a hand through the graying hair that had plastered itself to his forehead with sweat, blinking blindly. His glasses must’ve fallen off the couch as he slept. Only, even for as blind as he was, he could very quickly gather that he was in… a bed. Not his bed. That was odd. He frantically groped around for his glasses, finding them neatly folded on a nightstand beside him. He pushed them up his nose with an index finger and -much to his dismay- confirmed that this was not his room, and this was not the Mystery Shack. 

Ford looked down at himself, noting the red satin pajama set he was dressed in that were also very much not his. Despite how soft the sheets were, he quickly threw them off as though they’d burned him. He stood up carefully, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet. Taking in his surroundings, he first noticed the room had no windows or interior lamps, and yet was perfectly illuminated in warm, comforting light. Everything about the decor style was so very pointedly… him. The dark oak furniture, the golden constellation map on the wall, the chess set on the desk, the detailed antique globe in the far corner. It was all extremely reminiscent of everything he had wanted to do with his basement study back home, had he had the time. This greatly unsettled him. 

He approached the bedroom door with caution, stopping in his tracks with a hand hovering over the doorknob as he heard the sound of dishes clattering distantly somewhere else in the house. Ford gulped before turning the knob excruciatingly slowly, the door cracking open with a soft creak. Nothing jumped out at him and he wasn’t immediately incinerated, so he continued on, gently pushing it all the way open to reveal… an exceedingly normal hallway. 

The walls were adorned with refined red wallpaper and ornate picture frames, the pictures inside so familiar and yet so violently wrong. Nausea bubbled in his stomach as he stared at the family photographs he had gladly kept hung up throughout the walls of the shack, except now half the family had seemingly vanished, or rather been purposely eliminated from the photos. The only two people present in any of them were himself and Mabel, leaving eerily empty spaces where his brother and grand-nephew should have been. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image of his grand-niece, her colorful braces on display as she smiled happily with her arms wrapped around nothing but dead air. 

Ford jumped, suddenly ripped away from his horror once more as the loud crash of pans echoed from what seemed to be a lower floor, followed by a soft string of curses in at least five different alien languages, two of which he didn’t recognize. He tiptoed further down the hallway, his right hand itching to wrap itself around the grip of his gun. He distantly wondered what had been done with it, as well as his coat. He’d miss that coat. Ford mentally cursed himself for not simply improvising a weapon sooner in case whatever was downstairs tried to attack, yet he couldn’t stop himself from inching further and further into the house and toward the noise. Damn his curiosity. 

He rounded a corner and was met with a grand staircase leading downward, taking a breath and quietly descending with his back pressed against the wall in an attempt to not risk being seen. Upon reaching the bottom, Stanford froze in place, hearing something sizzling in the next room over, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of burning roadkill. He slowly peeked around the corner, his jaw dropping at the sight before him. 

He peered into what was, he had to admit, a very nice kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops. In the middle of said kitchen, holding a pan full of what looked to be a mutilated opossum over the stove, was Bill Cipher in a frilly pink apron. Said apron had the words ‘Kiss the Triangle’ printed across the front in a loopy cursive font, a heart in place of the dot over the ’i’. 

Sensing his presence, the triangular demon turned to look at him cheerfully, eye upturned in a makeshift smile. “Heya, smart guy! I was wondering when you’d wake up, sleepyhead! You’re just in time for breakfast!”

Ford prayed to every god he knew of, earthen, alien or otherwise, that he’d wake up soon.

(Thank you for reading, let me know if you want a chapter two!)