#cw; forgetting

[unrealization]

In the shadow of a ruined building, she found herself. As awareness kicked back in, the first thing she heard was a thundering rhythm in her ears. Her own heartbeat. Her whole body trembled as the adrenaline wore off, and the weight of the intense exertion hit her body all at once. She nearly collapsed, her body falling against the hefty iron of her weapon.

It was like this sometimes. She often found herself in unexpected places with long gaps in her memory. Her head was a mess. There were often long stretches where she forgot her own name. Forgetting was scary. She had no idea how long it had been, or what she had been doing. Lucidity offered little comfort from her fear, and judging from the blood all over, she was pretty sure things had gotten violent. It always seemed to when she blacked out. Her gaze settled on her hands, soaked in still-warm gore.

She really was a monster. Her nerves seemed to reach for something. A fear response, but her body was too exhausted. Someone had probably seen her as an easy mark. Threatened her. That was probably what set her off. Flight turns into fight, and her adrenaline goes into overdrive. She tried to remember the events, but just couldn't grasp it. Another gap. A miserable noise escaped her throat. Forgetting. Was it scarier than knowing she was a monster? She wasn't sure.

Her weapon was thrust deeply into the earth, and in her current state she probably wouldn't be able to budge it. She pushed against it, tossing herself back a few steps away from the carnage before her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground. She would probably be unable to move from that spot for a while. A pang of nervousness sprang up in her heart. What if a vulture mistook her for a corpse?

Oh, well.

It was only then, finally able to rest, that she considered her memory a bit more. Come to think of it, what was her name again? The question was a very scary one to consider. If she forgot her own name, who even was she? Just a monster. If that's all that she was, why even stay lucid? It would be better to just fade into oblivion and accept it. She didn't want to be a monster.

Suddenly, she remembered. As the terror faded, more mundane sensations returned. The ache in her muscles, the burning in her lungs, and the tug on her neck. An old tape recorder hung from a lanyard around her neck. It was the most important item she owned. A memento of someone she couldn't recall. She lifted a lethargic hand and clicked the play button. The tape whirred to life, and she heard a familiar voice on the tinny speaker.

"Hello. You're Etsuko Terosore. If you're listening to this, that means you may have forgotten. I know forgetting is scary, but I promise you will be okay..."

His voice continued with the familiar spiel, and the memories rushed back. As a monster, it was hard to remember back then with true clarity. She remembered the lab, and she remembered being afraid. She remembered feeling other things, but it was hard to recall those feelings. It had just been numbness and terror for so long now. As for him, she couldn't even recall how long ago she lost him. Just that she did, and now all she had was his voice on tape. That the world became a lot more frightening and confusing once he was gone.

Etsuko struggled to sit up. She remembered now, at least in part. She couldn't allow herself to believe he was dead. As she had done so many times before, she resolved to find him. To claw back some semblance of sanity in this broken world. Because she wasn't a monster. There was a time when she wasn't, and maybe there could be a time where she wasn't again.

But it would have to wait. Exhaustion held her like a big, angry fist. She collapsed back onto the bloodstained ground. She just needed to rest awhile. Then she could go out and find him.

"Just for a while..."

And then she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. A twinge of some forgotten emotion bloomed in her heart. She truly hoped that she still remembered when she woke up.

[riviclouds]

i like to think durge and orin used to be close before the lobotomization incident

[wanologic]

reminder to take care of your loser human body

[spectra-bear]

[newttxt]

post-canon lulaw adventure!! (it could have been bepo’s but he was in the bathroom when luffy showed up)

[rongzhi]

A longhorn beetle

English added by me :)

[lil-lemon-snails]

Oh he definitely heard you say that 💥

[ninjasmudge]

bought the dlcs, ive been doing naked crusade runs on my new save and it cracks me up every time

[hummise]

love is in the air? wrong gas leak

[lopashes]

smoke break for two

[time-woods]

A fallen angel i need gabriel ultrakill gone ! !

[paintedcrows]

Totally Normal Trigonometry Things

[tojisun]

still on that "simon teaching you how to shotgun while you're riding him lazily" shit and will always be on that shit!!

•°. *࿐

he pinches your chin, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the smooth of your skin. “breathe it in slowly—it will burn, especially ‘cause this is y’r first time—so tap when s’too much, okay?”

“okay,” you hum, eyes fluttering slowly at the gentle touch, a caress you know that is meant to be beckoning.

simon shifts the two of you on his seat, shuffling carefully, but the slight movement still makes you gasp, a sputtering of your breath, as muted please races through you at the deeper press of his cock.

he croons at your reaction, eyes crinkling as he murmurs praises and ‘i love you’s, his voice so full of adoration. it makes your heart clench, lips wobbling at the softness of it all—

simon is not a good man. he said this to you the first time you begged him to take you to his place.

(“please,” you whimpered then, too overwhelmed with your lust to notice the way he was straining against his self-control. “i need you.”

your voice broke, a sad tinge curling in your words, and you wonder if it was that which finally pushed simon to the edge. if it was the desperation he could see burning in your eyes and rippling into the way you held him—loose fists bunching up his shirt—that finally made him buckle.

“i’m not the man that you think i am, sweetheart,” he spat out, his voice weaving between his teeth in a barely-contained snarl. “y’re too good f’r me.”

“i don’t care,” you murmured, stepping closer into him, devouring even the minuscule space between you two because simon needed to know. he needed to understand that there is no one else you yearn for but him—

“goddamn it.”

his snarl was followed by the way his teeth sank into your skin, marking, tugging.

yes! you thought with giddiness, a sharp gasp getting torn from the base of your throat. yes!yes!yes!)

simon is not a good man, but he kisses you like one. he cares for you like one. he loves you like one.

simon is not a good man, but did he need to be? he was yours. was that not enough?

you rut your hips in slow circles, quiet rasps of your gasps filling up the space. you watch with hooded eyes as simon lights his cigarette, before you lean forward to snuff the fire off his lighter. your eyes meet his above the wafting smoke, desire mutual as it drips into each other’s laps.

sweat beads on your forehead, sliding down your temple.

you brace yourself on your knees, mewling as you feel the base of his cock sliding out from the grips of your wet walls, before slowly sinking back down to engulf the thickness of it. his cock digs deep again, settling somewhere that makes you feel so full—you swear your organs shift to make room for him—and it is in the midst of your stuttered whimpers that simon takes a drag of his cigarette, slow and deep.

you become so hyperaware all of a sudden, watching as his chest expands with every inhale. then, he takes the stick out, and he turns to you with pursed lips. simon cups your cheek once again, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye.

anticipation courses through you as you pitch forward, willing your shaking body to sit still. you see the muted spark of the cigarette in your peripheral as you go—a temptress in its own right—until you feel the scruff of his unshaven chin tickling your own.

you didn’t realize how much your lips are trembling until you feel the steady press of simon’s against yours. he gives you soft pecks, reassuring kisses, and then he’s breathing out the smoke into your willing mouth.

you breathe it in slowly, feeling the burn on your tongue slither to your throat until it fills up your lungs. it feels like a thick miasma is being poured down your trachea, choking you with the tendrils of its fiery fog, and you cough, ripping your lips from simon’s.

“shh, shh,” he murmurs, quick to comfort you, his hand steady on the base of your head. “y’did great, sweetheart. y’did great.”

you can’t hear him, ears ringing as the heat spreads within you.

it is so foreign, dangerous, yet it is so, so sensual—

a metaphor for simon.

suddenly, sharp pleasure curls in the pit of your stomach, batting away the burn, and you keen, drawn out and high-pitched, before tipping your head down, needing to watch the way simon circles his thumb on your clit.

he’s let go of his cigarette—

“sim-onnn,” you hiccup, heart thudding with your disappointment. “wan’ more.”

he chuckles, the sound of it so fond.

so proud.

“look at you,” he croons. “it hurt you an’ yet you want more.”

his hand slides down from the base of your head to trace the plane of your spine before settling atop your ass where he grabs a fistful of your flesh. you groan, feeling truly edged out—the lapping euphoria you feel from the slow caress on your clit is not enough, and the thrill of breathing in simon’s sin having been cut short.

any more teasing and frustrated tears will trickle from the corners of your eyes.

simon catches your pout, and he grins, one that is a bite too mean.

“so needy,” he says, sighing dramatically, before he reaches for the stick and pinches it between his lips.

it makes you squirm, excited, your mouth already open—

needy, just like he said.

[crocodiller]

Shadow-Cursed Lands Part 2 Rowan will do whatever it takes to help his bestie

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[nephilimbrute]

callies i don't think i've posted here

[technically-human]

Welcome to the reverse verse! This is part 1 of 2 of a commission for @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and I can't wait to tell you all about it, because I'm incapable of being normal and chill about these concepts, so I ran with it.

Charles Rowland was born in 1900, his mum was from India and moved to the UK after marrying Charles' dad, a soldier who was not... very loving. Charles' heritage gave him some problems, but none as bad as that one time in 1916 when he was sacrificed to a demon and spent the next 7 decades in Hell. He doesn't like to talk about it, except when it can get him what he wants. He was always an angry boy, or so he thought, but after his time spent in Hell, it became so much worse. He's explosive and unpredictable, and so he mostly avoids conflict. He doesn't need to fight anyone, as his charming personality and sweet smile (plus a few smart calculations) always seem to be enough to convince people to give him what he asks for. And when the fight is inevitable... well, he has Edwin for that!

Edwin Payne grew up very sheltered, in a deeply religious home, and he is proud of that. Don't try to argue with him, because he surely has a Bible verse that will help him win (and if not, he is not above using his croquet mallet now that he has someone to keep safe). Unfortunately for him, he realized at a quite young age that he felt attraction towards other boys. Even worse, somehow other people could tell as well, including those peers that ended up killing him for it (the rumour spread throughout school was that he had died due to AIDS, and most people just accepted it). He never acted on those unnatural urges of his, but when he met this ghost who had just escaped Hell... he decided not to risk eternal damnation, and to stay here with Charles, instead. Edwin has no interest in the supernatural or in magic, and sort of looks down on them, but luckily his friend's got that covered.