#RIP Wes Craven

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 80's Fest Movie 🎥 marathon...Freddy's Nightmares: Dreams That Kill (1989) on glorious vintage VHS 📼! #tv #television #horror #anightmareonelmstreet #freddysnightmares #dreamsthatkill #wescraven #RIPWesCraven #freddy #freddykrueger #robertenglund #christinebelford #vintage #vhs #80s #80sfest #durandurantulsas6thannual80sfest

[dark-but-just-a-game]

Nick Lashaway as Brandon O'Neal in Wes Craven's My Soul To Take (2010)

[mypoisonedvine]

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately.  No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it.  And believe it or not, he wanted more than that.  Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone.  He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night.  Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you.  He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job.  It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels.  The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security.  This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window.  His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation.  But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

~

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you.  He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with.  Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you.  It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction.  Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong.  This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been.  His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike.  God, did he really have a crush?  How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said.  He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive.  "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer.  Like fish in a barrel.  "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again.  "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious.  Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about.  He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson.  It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him.  “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained.  “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying.  And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still.  A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do.  And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people.  You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again.  He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it.  No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all.  Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive.  Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied. 

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around.  Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own.  I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled.  “For me it’s probably cocktails.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess.  Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected.  All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh.  “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration.  After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself.  Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far.  Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment.  “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown.  Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off?  You’d seemed so flattered before.  “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice.  “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face.  “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there.  So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch.  “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there.  I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly.  “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on.  “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace.  “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply.  “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself.  Bitch.  But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course.  Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted.  Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician.  But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

~

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him.  He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties.  “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him.  But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going.  Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth.  “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck.  “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while.  “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long.  That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait.  I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything.  “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet.  It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day.  Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that.  “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face.  “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly.  “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned.  “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers.  Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself.  Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen.  And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours!  Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek.  “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this.  Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest.  “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck.  “You’re right— you can do whatever you want.  I can’t stop you.  Isn’t that what you wanted to prove?  Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated.  “No, no— you wanted me.  I could tell.  Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you.  “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.  

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts.  “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come.  “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick.  “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic?  That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only.  That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least.  You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.  

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved.  “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin.  You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.  

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself.  You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head.  He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip.  “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head.  “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say.  Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.  

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further.  His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum.  "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled.  You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away.  Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other.  "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.  

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking.  Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you?  Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open.  Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course.  Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely.  “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips.  “So wet.  Fuck.  When’d you get like that, huh?  Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly.  “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed.  “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction.  There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips. 

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless.  “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised.  “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside.  He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks.  “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl.  Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet.  He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head.  “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned.  “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on!  Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this.  From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening.  Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly.  “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you.  You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside.  “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh.  “Fuck, it’s tight.  Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town.  I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this.  The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment.  “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously).  “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend.  You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust.  Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life.  “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to.  It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this.  “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once.  Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder.  He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore.  Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck.  One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss.  “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him.  “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again.  That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late.  “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this.  “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair. 

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole.  “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain.  “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper.  Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling.  “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See?  Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb.  Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck. 

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass.  You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster.  “Needy little slut.  You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone.  “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue.  "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction.  "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why.  It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird.  Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.  

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting.  But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back.  Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected.  You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly.  “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly.  “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him.  For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure.  “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going.  “Fuck!” you screamed.  “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.  

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something.  Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized.  Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder.  “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll.  Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries.  If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good.  You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious.  And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless.  You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually.  Shameless.  Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed.  “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.  

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.  

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm?  Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that.  “What?” you just asked groggily.  “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going.  Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific.  “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing.  But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could.  You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor.  Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him.  He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat.  “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest.  You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.  

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved.  It’s over, he’s finally done with you.  You did it.  It’s over.  But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you.  “You see it, don’t you?  He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time.  His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing.  You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that.  Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you.  But what had you done wrong?  All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person… 

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder.  “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.  

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek.  “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault!  I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly.  After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence.  “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took.  Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you?  Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?” 

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience.  You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that.  I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked.  “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself.  “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

[growmydarling]

Perhaps you would like to tease and humiliate my stuffed belly.....

Christ, what a massive slovenly piggy we have here. Have you no shame? I think you like ot when I tease you for having grown yourself out of all your clothes. That way it's easier to clean all the ice cream off your porky body. I bet you do this by yourself, even. Getting off to your own greed, thinking about blowing up to the point that you have to special order pants so they don't rip at the seams trying to stuff your thunder thighs into them. At that rate, why even wear clothes? What a naughty, craven feedee you are.

[sadesluvr]

I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about Stu/Ghostface coming face to face with a horror fanatic female!reader character and she finds his whole Ghostface thing incredibly sexy ^^’

'Some Kind of Groupie' - Ghostface x Reader

A/N: YAY MY FIRST GHOSTFACE / Scream ASK! TYSM Anon, I’m going to be updating my header to say who I write for, but take this as a sign to ask for Scream related content :) 

I didn’t specify which Ghostface, so fill in the blanks…(Outside of one line, they’re silent in this anyway, which I think is hot) Also, Reader is implied to be a little unhinged but we love her. Enjoy!

Ghosts. Killers. Blood. Guts. 

Gore. 

You loved it. All of it.

Which was why you were sat calmly on your bed, a devilish look in your eye and a smirk on your face as you stared up at the figure in front of you. Sheathed in black with an unmistakable white mask and contorted features was the Ghostface, the fiend’s signature knife pointed out at you and aimed towards your exposed neck.

Others would tremble and beg for their life, but not you.

“I’ve heard all about you…” you said seductively. “You’re the killer who’s sweeping our town. You’ve killed a lot of people…”

The figure cocked their head. 

“I don’t blame you…” you said, playing with the strap of your nightie, your movements inviting by dragging the fabric down your bare skin. “…They probably deserved it,” 

The figure was likely going to kill you; but the sheer thought of being choked under their strong grip or motion of gloved hands smearing bloody remnants across your eager lips as you were ravished to death was enough to send a tingle down your spine and a heat straight to your pussy.

The masked individual was now looming over you, and you instinctively stopped touching your clothes. Using the blade of its knife, it hooked under the strip of fabric, slowly beginning to continue pulling it down for you, the tip of the blade grazing your skin ever so slightly.

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest. You wondered how long you’d been stalked; if they’d seen you fiddle with knives (for just a bit too long) when you were out at dinner with your friends, or how you were lined up front and centre at every new Craven or Carpenter release. Better yet, if they’d seen the way you’d touch yourself when you popped in a horror movie into the VCR, shoving your vibrator deeper into your pussy as the killer chased down the buxom blonde, her clothes ripping off in her panicked flurry. There was always something about how the victim would be cornered, and the killer; either an endearing psychopath or a deformed sleaze, would grab and pull at the body, walking that oh-so fine line between arousal and murder.

Nothing but your panties remained. The material didn’t last long around your legs, as the killer ran its gloved fingers up your thighs, stopping as it reached in between, rubbing the outside of your lips through the fabric. Its movements were greedy yet controlled, the leather creating a pleasurable pressure on your desperate cunt as the other hand ripped the sides of your underwear. You gasped at the sudden friction of pure leather on your bare skin, gasping as the figure motioned their fingers in circles around your clit, occasionally slipping into your folds.

There was no way you didn’t look like a complete slut. 

Ghostface’s movements began to increase, yet you noticed that the grip it had on its knife remained. It only made you hotter.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “I-I’m gonna —”

Tsk.Tsk. So soon. What was the point in coming here if it wasn’t to take what was wanted?

The figure withdrew their hands, and your own instinctively went between your legs, hoping to finish yourself off with your fingers - an attempt that utterly failed as the knife blocked your path, the blade once again coming into dangerously close contact with your fingertips. In a swift motion and brutal display of strength, Ghostface grabbed your thighs and pulled your torso towards the edge of your bed, legs dangling off the edge to either side of the figure. Large hands spread your legs apart before releasing its cock, wasting no time in lining it up with your entrance. One hand remained firm on your hips whilst the other snaked up your body, making sure to grope your breasts before planting its grip around your neck.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” 

That was all you heard before you were thrust into, pussy stretched apart as the figure drew its hips in and out of you. Your bed creaked as your mouth remained agape, wanting to make a noise also but finding it to be utterly impossible to do so as the masked figure squeezed at your throat, hips slapping against your own. Its robes flapped around with every movement, tickling your bare skin as the threads of the fabric danced along your thighs, the gentle indirect activity a contrast to the bruising grip on your hips as the killer focused on pounding you.

No inch of you was left unexplored, reaching the point of overstimulation as the leather friction returned to your cunt, rubbing your clit as its cock continued to thrust into you, your juices beginning to leak down its throbbing vein. Ghostface thrusted deeper into you, large hands squeezing tighter at your neck to the point you may have passed out completely if it weren’t for the fact that you’d decided to lock your legs around its waist, drawing him deeper.

You wanted a killer’s hot cum; each and every drop. How funny would it be if you got knocked up? Not only because the father was an enigmatic, psychopathic murderer, but because you didn’t know who it was. It could’ve been anyone; perhaps the blonde or brunette you’d seen by the fountain, or the Tarantino fan in your friends’ film class, or the local music video director…Even an Econ student.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you reached orgasm, a Pandora’s Box of possibilities swirling around your head. The sensation was unimaginable, and you momentarily saw white as you came, juice gushing all over the masked figure’s cock as you stared around your room in a daze, smiling at all the horror-related posters on the wall. 

Fiction had become reality.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The fall of Reservoir

From the audio recording of Frin Yuel Retired Artark, Recipient of the Stone of Valor, Hero of the Battle of Reservoir Recordings restricted from public distribution by order of Central Command.

“I have been called many titles over my years of service, but there has been none more insulting to me than the “Hero of Reservoir”.

There was nothing heroic about that engagement; at least not from our side of the battle.

Yes, yes, I know; what madness do I speak against our glorious people to not call us all heroes on the field of battle. Hear this old soldier out and decide after if your judgment is as strong as you think.

We were half way through the first contact war with humanity when we stumbled upon their core world of Reservoir. It was a backwater colony planet that had just transitioned from a colony into a functioning world of their empire when our fleets darkened their skies.

By that time I had been in several intense battles with the humans, but this was the first time we were attacking a well-established metropolitan world of theirs. At best our early skirmishes had been in space or along resource worlds that had their mining operations established.

The orbital battle was over quickly. The human planet had no orbital defense platforms and only a small fleet was present which was quickly swept aside. No sooner had the last of the human ships been destroyed in low orbit above the world did the ground invasion begin.

I remember watching as the first and second wave of our infantry forces detached from the troop carriers and began their descent below the cloud cover. My war host was in the third wave so while we waited for deployment we watched the video feeds of the first and second.

It was not a smooth landing.

The moment they broke the cloud cover they were met with withering barrages of anti-aircraft fire from emplaced redoubts and mobile vehicles. Scores of dropships were violently ripped apart or had their engines damaged and spiraled out to the surface below. I can remember hearing troops in the latter calling out for help right up until the moment they impacted the ground and the feed went silent.

It is not easy to listen to your comrade’s die….. I can still hear them sometimes in my dreams. Even now after all these years I can close my eyes and listen to their tortured souls calling out to us again and again……

……….

Apologies; I got a bit side tracked there.

Eventually the second wave was able to carve out safe landing zones and signaled the third wave to deploy.

We launched with vengeance in our hearts and fire in our bellies. Our one purpose now to avenge our fallen friends and shatter whatever human fools had slayed them.

The humans for their part did not make our task easy. Over the span of several weeks we had to grind their resistance down meter by bloody meter, losing thousands of warriors with the capture of each one of their cities. Yet our resolve was unwavering and though our losses mounted the day finally came when I found myself standing outside the final human bastion of their world.

Even when cornered like vermin the humans refused to surrender. We shelled their city for days, reducing their towers of stone and metal to rubble and yet they only burrowed deeper and became that much harder to dislodge. Vehicles that went into the city were beset on all sides by craven hit and run attacks, while our scouts were ambushed and cut down by well concealed snipers. This went on for several days until our commander had finally had enough.

When the order finally came to storm the city a great war cry was let out from our warriors and we poured into the city. I wish I could say there was some battle plan or larger strategic picture we were following, but the reality was we were storming one building at a time before advancing to the next.

That is where I found my worthy foe.

Within the heart of sector G17 there were reports of a lone human soldier causing untold damage to our attack. I ignored the reports at first, but as the day progressed the reports continued to come in only far worse. Now they said the human soldier had slain a hundred warriors and still stood their ground. By the end of my fourth block cleared I was hearing that an entire cohort had been wiped out and now warriors were avoiding the area.

At this notion of fear spreading through the ranks of my brothers I was filled with a seething rage and made my way to sector G17 to confront this human champion myself. It was not hard to find them, as the trail of bodies led straight to them. As I followed the trail I realized that the reports had not exaggerated the casualty list; if anything they had underestimated the dead.

Standing at the entrance to a metal bunker of some sort stood the foe I sought. They wore power armor standard to their people but damaged in several places. The paint had long since been scorched away by ricochets, their once proud cloak torn in a dozen places and hanging limply from their waist; yet their rifle was still firmly clutched in their hands so tightly I wondered if even the gods themselves could pry it from their grasp.

While I approached the warrior I saw three of my fellow soldiers come forward and try to slay the human first. The first went down with deep hole in their chest where the human’s plasma shot had carved through them. The second warrior used this opportunity to close the distance with the human but with a swift backhand from the power gauntlet their neck was snapped and they collapsed to the ground. The third soldier made it close enough to land a blow against the human, adding to the collection of gashes already dotting the armor. Their combat blade dug deep between the leg joints and the human let out a cry of pain. The third soldier twisted the knife inside the joint, reveling in the victory to come. I watched as the human let their weapon fall from their hands and clasped the third warrior’s head between their mighty gauntlets. In a grueling and morbid motion the human crushed the third warrior’s skull like a grape and let the broken body fall to the ground.

The human stood motionless after the melee, which to my surprise had taken less than a minute to complete. They made to pick up their fallen weapon as they finally registered my presence but the blade wound had done more damage than they expected causing them to tumble to the ground in a loud bang.

I watched for a moment as they crawled towards it in an attempt to bring it to bear before I casually kicked it out of their reach. It was then that more of my warrior brethren began to flood into the area and saw me standing over the human that had done such horrendous damage to our forces. One by one they began chanting my name as if I had been the one to bring the foul beast low and called for me to end their life once and for all; but all I could focus on was the human before me.

Through their visor I saw the face of the human looking up at me. A thin red stream of blood ran from the corner of their mouth with specs of blood dotting the inside of the helmet from where they had coughed it.  Their eyes…….even though their body was broken and defeated their eyes never once showed a hint of remorse or pleading as they fixed me with a death glare. If it was possible I half imagine they were trying to kill me with their stare right there and then before I emptied my clip into their chest cavity.

I just stood there with my finger held down on the trigger as round after round of plasma energy burned into them while the surrounding soldiers cheered. The human died half way through the clip but I kept my fingers firmly on the trigger until every shot was emptied.

As you know after that I was given the title “Hero of Reservoir” for I had seemingly killed the human butcher all by myself. There were of course the video feeds from the warriors helmets that came before me that contradicted that sentiment but central command quickly quashed that notion; erasing or restricting what footage there was while fabricating their own that made me out to be the ‘Hero” after all. With the substantial losses they had taken claiming the planet they needed someone they could hoist up and show the homeworld to as a sign of admiration and prowess in our war against the humans.

Like I said before I never cared for the name. Not because it was based on a lie, but from what I discovered when I went to investigate the bunker the human soldier had been so ferociously defending.

It took several explosive charges to pop off the hinges but with a loud thunderous boom the door finally gave way and I led a war party inside. We had expected some sort of redoubt or military bunker and went in with our weapons firing on anything that moved; which was fortunate as the door led into a series of tunnels dotting the city filled with humans.

My fellow warriors were lost to the blood lust and carved their way through the humans as if they were made of paper while I stopped and examined the nearest fallen human.

They were a frail thing, not half the size of a normal human adult. I believe they were called “children” by their cultural standards and were designated as the youth of the species. The child lay huddled in a corner they had attempted to hide in when the breaching charges had gone off but were caught by the explosion nonetheless and died.

As I gently pulled on them to turn them around I saw that the child had been holding something tightly against their chest. When I saw what it was I recoiled and nearly fell over another dead human from my realization.

The child had been clutching a stuffed toy animal, not a side arm as his fellow warriors had believed.

With a grim realization I came to the conclusion that this was not a military bunker or the last vestiges of the human military lurking within the walls of these tunnels. They were human civilians who had been led into the depths of their city in the hopes they could survive the coming battle.

I tried to call off the attack into the lower levels but by then our warriors were lost to the haze of battle. By the end some three hundred human civilians were massacred in that bunker; their bodies sealed within a rocky tomb when we detonated charges to collapse the bunker complex.

That is why I hate being called a hero for that awful battle.  I am a pretender, a charlatan, a fraud; held up to justify the deaths on both sides as if a statue of me will someone make us forget what we had done.

The real hero of reservoir died by my hand, giving their life to defend the defenseless.

[cinnamonshaybackup]

All The Wrong Reasons— Aemond Targaryen

aemond targaryen x f!targaryen reader, reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter (because I’m obsessed with this trope currently, my apologies in advance)

Flying to storms end after husband!Aemond sent as envoys, (Rhaenys I’s dragon never died in this, so reader rides Meraxes)

konīr iksis iā gēlȳn naejot sagon addemmagon, valītsos - there is a debt to be paid, boy

ao tepagon chase naejot iā riña rȳ iā jelmāzma!? ñuha own lēkia - you give chase to a child through a storm!? my own brother!?

Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla, hae penance syt ñuha laes - I only wished to scared him as penance for my eye

ñuha jorrāelagon - my love

word count: 720

SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for Episode 10

“Y/N, we have decided to send you after Aemond, to show our goodwill, please make haste to Storm’s End.” Alicent spoke, glancing at you as she spoke before patting your hand, and walking out of the room after you nodded.

You dressed quickly in your leather riding outfit, a servant lacing your black boots for you, as you quickly made your way to the dragon pit, 

“Meraxes!” The large dragon, your ancestor Rhaenys’ had ridden the very same into battle alongside the Conqueror and her sister Visenya, whose very same dragon was ridden by your husband. You trailed your gloved hand across her scales, affectionately smiling at the dragon you had been lucky enough to claim and form a bond with.

You quickly scaled Meraxes, situating yourself in the saddle, “Soves, Meraxes!” You commanded, and the dragon acquiesced to your request.

You arrived at Storm’s End quicker than you would have expected, only to hear your husband’s maniacal laughter carrying through the stormy wind.  “konīr iksis iā gēlȳn naejot sagon addemmagon, valītsos!” Aemond’s voice carried to you before you saw him, noticing your younger brother and his dragon in distress flying away from him.

Your blood simmered, the situation sinking in, Aemond was taunting Lucerys, chasing him through a storm with angry intent on a dragon, much larger than Luc’s own Arrax. “LUC!” You screamed, feeling your throat slightly raw from how loud you shouted, Luc looked back at you, the terror slightly lessening in his body, he knew in his bones you would protect him or die trying, as you always had.

“Vhagar! Serve me! No! Vhagar!”

You frantically bid Meraxes to fly faster, cutting Aemond off from his chase of Lucerys, you glared at Aemond as Meraxes stopped Vhagar in her tracks.

Meraxes snorted as Vhagar roughly stopped, jostling Aemond in his saddle.

“ao tepagon chase naejot iā riña rȳ iā jelmāzma!? ñuha own lēkia!?"!?" You screamed across the winds at him, your violet eyes flashing wildly in your fury. Aemond’s eye widened as he looked at you, his face in shock as his wife glared murderously at him. 

“Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla, hae penance syt ñuha laes! Vhagar stopped obeying! Arrax shot fire at her!” He yelled back, trying to appease you, the wind making it hard to hear.

“YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM! VHAGAR IS LIKE TO SWAT HIM OUT OF THE SKY TO APPEASE YOUR FURY AS A SPIDER IS TO DRAIN A FLY, YOU CRAVEN! HE IS A CHILD! YOU FIGHT FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS!” You screamed again, the words ripping themselves from you. You knew by now Lucerys was a safe distance away, the risk of harm coming to him gone, and you exhaled in relief, knowing how close you had just come to losing a brother.

“ñuha jorrāelagon!” Aemond tried to convince you to forgive him.

“Fly home, husband. I will meet you there, but I do not wish to lay eyes longer on you, as of yet.” You spat out, turning Meraxes and following the path Lucerys had taken back to Dragonstone. 

The tightness in your heart released as you saw your brother safely dismounting Arrax as you landed near to him on Meraxes, you dismounted, slipping slightly as you hit the sand running to him. Tears freely fell down both of your cheeks as you grasped him, holding him tight with a hand in his curls pressing his head to your chest as you kissed his head, clutching your younger brother as he cried, the adrenaline leaving his body as he was finally safe.

“He said he’d take my eye, Y/N” He cried, and you bit your tongue in anger, shushing him as you held him. “No harm will come to you from his hand, dear brother, lest I strike my husband down in fury. I will protect you until my last breath, Lucerys, as I do all of our brothers.” you assured him. Tightening your arm around him before releasing him, “I must return, Luc. I love you, tell mother I have not yet forgotten where my loyalties lie, as I still bleed black.”

You pressed one last kiss to his head, in bittersweet goodbye as you remounted Meraxes and cast one last look at your family home, turning back to King’s Landing as your blood simmers still.

(literally just a little blurb because I refuse to accept that Lucerys is gone.)

[animebw]

I've been struggling to figure out how to write this post for the past couple weeks. Part of me thinks I shouldn't bother writing it at all. Not like my words will accomplish much in the grand scheme of things. But if I don't say anything, these thoughts will just keep gnawing at my mind like caged animals. And as the chaos in Palestine shows no signs of slowing, I need to get this out before it's too late for my words to do anything but cast regretful looks back at a moment I was too cowardly to add my voice to.

So.

Most of you don't know this, but I'm Jewish. Not incredibly so; my dad's side of the family is full of active temple-goers and worshippers, but I've mostly just tagged along for holidays and bar mitzvahs. It's a part of myself I used not to think that much about, just one aspect of my life among many. But in recent years as right-wing anti-semitism has ramped up, I've begun appreciating my Jewish connections more and more. Judaism may not be a religion I follow, but it's been an integral part of my culture and community over the years. It's the connections I share with my extended family who I usually only see a couple times a year on Passover and Hannukah but nevertheless tie us together unshakably. Being Jewish is an indelible part of me, and I've always wanted to make a more active effort in connecting with and exploring that part of my heritage. There was even a time back in college where I was tentatively planning a birthright trip to Israel to connect with my ancestral roots or whatever. Classic post-graduation travel abroad stuff.

It feels really weird to think back on that now.

I've never read much of the Torah, I admit. Not like I could, since I never learned Hebrew. But everything I've picked up about Judaism over the years has overwhelmingly painted it as a call for compassion, kindness, and community. Yes, the world can be cruel, it says, which is why we must add light to the darkness wherever we can. Celebrate the freedoms we've won. Cherish the bonds we've forged. Weep even for those who've wronged us as they suffered in turn from God's judgement. Judaism, to me, has always been about how absolutely essential it is to choose love over bitterness and hatred. It is our responsibility to cultivate a kinder, better world, so those who come after us need not suffer the same ills as us. It's been a comfort in many rocky periods of my life.

And it is with that perspective that I say unequivocally: what Israel's government is doing to Palestine is indefensible. Bombing hospitals, dropping chemical weapons, denying critical aid to innocent civilians trapped in the barrage, even bombing safe routes they themselves told Palestinians to take. Displacing people from their homes, their lives, their dignity with no regard for their basic humanity. Speaking with increasingly dangerous rhetoric with a desire to wipe the entire population off the face of the map. Never mind the decades upon decades of abuse that Palestine has already suffered under Israeli occupation, second-class apartheid citizens in their own homeland. There is no excuse on the face of the planet that can justify this cruelty and carnage.

Yes, Hamas are bloodthirsty terrorists themselves, and there can be no peace until they are brought to justice. But Israel's actions in response to the October 7 attacks have long crossed the boundaries of justified retaliation. What Bibi Netanyahu and his far-right government are enacting upon Gaza is exactly the same breed of genocide that has been enacted upon Jews across the world throughout history. From our subjugation in Egypt through the Holocaust, we know all too well how it feels to face this evil, see it rip through our communities as it seeks to tear apart the fabric of our very personhood. So to see the craven extremists in Israel's government invoke those horrors in an attempt to justify subjecting another downtrodden, oppressed people to the same fate... I don't think I can properly describe how angry it makes me.

Netenyahu and his government do not speak for all Jews. Hell, according to recent polls, they don't even speak for most Israelis anymore. They do not get to claim Judaism for their own murderous purposes. They do not get to use my voice as justification for their war crimes. They betray the soul of this culture with every hospital they blow to bits and every scrap of aid they deny the suffering children next door. And I refuse to be silent in face of their propaganda. I refuse to let this culture, which has been nothing but a source of kindness and community to me, to be weaponized to excuse the same monstrosities we celebrate rising above every year. I refuse to accept their definition of Judaism as long as I have breath to speak against it.

Palestine deserves freedom. Palestine deserves self-autonomy. Palestine deserves the same kindness that Judaism preaches to all downtrodden people of the world. And Israel must stop this senseless slaughter before their history of surviving the world's horrors ends with them becoming the horror in someone else's scripture. Find and destroy Hamas without punishing the people of Gaza- over half of whom weren't even born when Hamas came to power- for their crimes. Work toward a two-state solution where Jews and Arabs, Israelis and Palestinians, can live side by side in solidarity of the trials they've both overcome. Remember compassion in a world that venerates blind hatred. Remember the kindness we claim rises above all attempts to squash it down. Remember that the heart of Judaism is supporting those who struggle through darkness, helping them find their way out into the light.

Remember who we claim to be.

And refuse to let us be defined by death.

#FreePalestine

[lunarflux]

my dark companion (7/9)

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre—smut, dark romance song inspo—bad omens - death of peace of mind, billie eilish - my boy, halsey - young god, isabel larosa - i'm yours, florence & the machine - seven devils, 070 shake & christine and the queens - you can't kill me, breakk.away - outside summary— Aemond indulges in his twisted desires with a woman who knows his every need. They meet in secret, their passion driven by his anger and her willingness to submit to his painful advances. Aemond craves her, yet despises the intimacy that follows. He questions why she always returned to him, knowing that she did not love or care for him. The cycle of desire and anger persists, leaving him yearning for more, caught in a tormented state until their next encounter.

It was odd, knocking on Adiel’s door. For the first time, he was on the other side of the wall, and there was always the chance she might not reveal herself. Aemond stared at the wood, listening to the shuffling behind it. Before long, it slowly opened. Adiel stood before him. The vacant expression on her face was one he had not seen. It wasn’t the mask she wore in front of crowds. She was emotionless.

Aemond stepped inside. She didn’t react as he reached for her throat, wrapping his fingers around her snuggly. She looked up at him, grimace unchanged and solid. He kissed her, but her even her warmth felt foreign.

“You are unsatisfied,” he whispered.

The flicker of rage appeared only for a moment before disappearing again behind nothingness. “Is your marriage to me a punishment or something you truly wish?”

Aemond didn’t know how to respond. Her words were so cold. While he hadn’t expected her to react to him with joy, he foresaw a much different reply.

She removed his hand, throwing it down to his side. “You do not care for me. Our marriage would do little for your life. It will not further the kingdom nor will it bring you satisfaction.”

“If my care and satisfaction are far from your priorities, I don’t see why—”

“—What is it that you really want from me, Aemond? You want me to be your wife or your whore? Your confidant or a body? Tell me now or I will allow my father to rip me from this marriage,” the anguish slowly came into sight. Not a tremble to her voice, she cast ill-intention with her demeanor. “I am no whore. You know this. I chose you, Aemond—to answer when you called, that was my decision. It was not because I care, not because of love, I simply chose you. As a woman, there are few choices in life that are mine, and you have just ripped that away from me!”

“Is it not enough that I have chosen you then?” Aemond mocked.

Adiel’s eyes suddenly softened almost with dejection before reverting back to anger, “But why do you want me? I told you, did I not, that I want to see you broken—”

The small point of a dagger suddenly prodded the center of his throat. He should have counted on someone like Adiel to carry such a delicate weapon, but nonetheless, the potentially fatal gesture forced him to see how in distress she was. This was not the spite and craven behavior she normally possessed. This was her real grief brought on by confusion.

Adiel poised the dagger carefully, “Have you grown so addicted to your misery that you wish to possess me?”

Aemond inched forward until red started to seep onto his porcelain skin, and her eyes shifted. It was panic, and he could see it so clearly. Though she was in a position to damage him, she had never meant to. The pain she wanted was emotional, and cutting him crossed a line she never intended to approach. Adiel dropped the blade, and it clanked on the floor. Her hand trembled as she reached for his wound, but she stopped herself. He was always the one to touch her first. Even now, her submission to him took over her impulses.

Aemond took her hand and laid it upon his neck, covering the small cut, “I found your fear, Adiel. We have played this game many times, and only now do I see it because it is I who tastes your pain at this very moment, and I will selfishly say that I do not wish to taste another’s.”

As he spoke, the distress in her eyes turned to sadness.

“You may never say it aloud, but I know. You wanted me to deny my need of you because it tormented me to feel it at all. And now, I shall return the favor,” he took her other hand and placed it on his chest.

Resisting the urge to touch his face, she swallowed her anguish, “And what favor are you gracing me with?”

Aemond leaned in towards her until his lips just barely brushed against hers. The pitter-patters of her breath tickled his cheeks, but he held himself back, hovering so closely to her as if beckoning her to kiss him first.

“Letting you writhe in torment as you deny your affection towards me,” he whispered. “I see it. You wreak of it. I have spent many days in agony in your absence while you deprive me of your touch, and I have chosen to suffer no longer. Perhaps you should do the same. Deny me, and you will only know agony. Accept me—claim me as I you and we shall shoulder this affliction together.”

Adiel stepped backward, pulling her hands free. She shook her head as her eyes welled up with emotion, her lips quivering, an emotion she never let anyone see before.

Aemond reached for her, trying to take her in his arms in an attempt to show her gentle intimacy, but she held her arm out, keeping him at a distance.

“Does being with me outside of this game we play really instill this much fear in you?”

“I do not wish… to be exposed,” she spoke slowly.

“I have known you to be quite exposed to me in more ways than one.”

“Yes, but not like this.” When Adiel’s eyes met his, the look of dread clouded her attempt to appear strong. “True affection, Aemond, it is terrifying. That is true madness. The possession, the craze, the fire—it will die down. You and I are but a flame about to be suffocated.”

Again, he reached for her, and this time, she accepted his touch. He held her cheeks, drawing her tears away with his thumbs. As he did before, he posed himself, letting her hunger of him pull her closer, “Then let us set fire to the kingdom and watch it burn.”

It was so much different. The taste of her without anguish, the feeling of being with her without torment. No submission, no dominance, the dance of the two of them reciprocating the other with shared desperation. Aemond took his time with her, undressing her with care and gazing upon her. He was not taking her—she was accepting him. Caressing her curves as his tongue traveled up and down her folds, he worked away at her, groaning into her core every time her thighs quivered. She mounted him, grinding her hips against his. He entered her slowly, and she moaned into their kiss.

Tonight, Aemond let her take him, use him in any way she wanted to, and what she wanted was to move together, meeting flesh to flesh so that they ached together.

Adiel held onto him. Her eyes, still glistening, bore into his, and every second that passed, she spoke to him through her motions. He understood her perfectly, finding that his dominance was never needed. She knew exactly what to do, and to do it together was to feel ecstasy like never before. The chorus of their moans filled the room, completely uninhibited and ignorant of whoever might hear.

“I need you,” he sighed into her chest, “Cum for me—”

Adiel grabbed the back of his neck, out of breath and panting, but never once stopping the rhythmic grinding of her hips, “Say it again—”

Just as she held him, Aemond took a fistful of her hair, drawing her in to rest her forehead against his, “I need you—fuck—I need you—I fucking need you—”

He said it over and over again until she threw her head back. The most perfect, sweet cry erupted from the bottom of her throat. Her walls clenched around him, sending him over the edge as they came together.

Aemond kept her close until their breaths slowed as they came down from their high. He kissed her delicately, savoring the euphoric moment with the last remnants of his energy.

When Adiel’s eyes fluttered open, the sadness had faded.

“If I allow myself to love you, it will be the death of me.”

“Allow yourself to love me and live,” Aemond brushed his nose against hers before laying another kiss on her lips, “If death shall follow, then I will pray to your moon goddess that she take me with you.”

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 1 - Part 3

(Proofread by @lovelyladylavie / AlienMadame22 (AO3)! Thanks!)

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

>> Donnie decides to help Leo.

There is a brief moment—a fraction of a second if Donnie really wants to be specific—where he considers using the boom cannon to deal with the problem in front of him. Only three problems with that.

First, the boom cannon was left within the walls of his kingdom, so he couldn’t even use it if he wanted to.

Second, he could expend his ninpo to create something similar, but he doesn’t have the experience nor the time to test the limits of his power.

And last but certainly not least, the boom cannon would just kill everyone at point-blank range. 

Donnie doesn’t even need Mind Raph to tell him that!

Instead, he takes the remaining fraction of a second to reassess the situation. The human guards seem to be holding their own just fine, as he doesn’t need to race to the princess’s aid. Leo, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to get walloped.

And the only one who’s allowed to kick Leo’s ass is his twin!

The purple-clad samurai runs over, avoiding the few dead bodies littering the dirt path to get to his blue-clad brother. 

“Get away from my brother, your honorless craven!” Donnie yells as he swings his katana, managing to nick the burly man’s bicep, blood dripping down his blade.

The man roars, swinging around his fists wildly to push the two turtles away from them. While it catches Donnie off-guard—forcing him to stumble backward to avoid getting hit—Leo successfully ducks and avoids the attack. He tries to swipe at the man’s legs, but the tips of his blades just barely miss his opponent’s kneecaps. 

Donnie quickly regains his balance after stumbling backward as the burly man’s attention narrows in on him. He barely has a second to dodge another hit, the man’s fist smashing into the ground which sends dirt flying.

“Hey! No one gets to beat up my egghead brother except me!” 

The man whips around but he doesn’t have time to defend himself before Leo’s blade is on him, slashing diagonally into the man’s chest. The man roars and stumbles, his body twisting toward Donnie. The purple-clad turtle takes advantage of the situation and lands a hit, his sword also cutting diagonally but in the opposite direction. 

Their foot-branded opponent takes several steps back, his hand cradling the actively bleeding “X” mark on his chest. He glares at the two turtles, a frown contorting his wide face.

“Maybe you should have considered wearing some armor!” Donnie pats the custom light-weight armor adorning his chest. “It would have certainly helped.”

The man’s eyes flicker to something behind them briefly before his attention returns to Leo and Donnie, a sickening smile replacing his frown. “And yet, we will still accomplish our goal!” 

Donnie doesn’t have a chance to respond before the man disappears in a familiar cloud of red smoke.

He also doesn’t have time to ask what the man meant before someone screams behind him.

“They kidnapping the princess!”

Oh no.

Both of the turtles turn around and see some of the black-clad assailants pulling the princess from her carriage. She’s putting up a fight, her legs swinging wildly and nailing a few of her kidnappers in the head. However, her iron grip on the carriage door doesn’t last long, and with one violent tug, she’s ripped away from it.

Before Mind Raph has a chance to yell at him, Donnie’s sprinting forward.

It’s a bit of a blur as Donnie charges toward the princess, stepping over dead human soldiers and shoving enemies aside. He reaches the princess just as one of the black-clad assailants lifts something in the air. He’s not sure what it is, but he doesn’t like the way it glints in the sunlight.

Without hesitation, Donnie… >> sucker punches the assailant in the stomach.

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 90's Fest Movie 🎬 🎞 🎥 🎦 📽 marathon...The People Under The Stairs (1991) on classic DVD 📀! #Movie #movies #horror #thepeopleunderthestairs #wescraven #RIPWesCraven #brandonadams #everettmcgill #wendyrobie #SeanWhalen #VingRhames #AJLanger #kellyjominter #BillCobbs #dvd #90s #90sfest #durandurantulsas4thannual90sfest

[cinnamonshay]

All The Wrong Reasons— Aemond Targaryen

aemond targaryen x f!targaryen reader, reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter (because I’m obsessed with this trope currently, my apologies in advance)

Flying to storms end after husband!Aemond sent as envoys, (Rhaenys I’s dragon never died in this, so reader rides Meraxes)

konīr iksis iā gēlȳn naejot sagon addemmagon, valītsos - there is a debt to be paid, boy

ao tepagon chase naejot iā riña rȳ iā jelmāzma!? ñuha own lēkia - you give chase to a child through a storm!? my own brother!?

Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla, hae penance syt ñuha laes - I only wished to scared him as penance for my eye

ñuha jorrāelagon - my love

word count: 720

SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for Episode 10

part one, part two  alternate ending

“Y/N, we have decided to send you after Aemond, to show our goodwill, please make haste to Storm’s End.” Alicent spoke, glancing at you as she spoke before patting your hand, and walking out of the room after you nodded.

You dressed quickly in your leather riding outfit, a servant lacing your black boots for you, as you quickly made your way to the dragon pit,

“Meraxes!” The large dragon, your ancestor Rhaenys’ had ridden the very same into battle alongside the Conqueror and her sister Visenya, whose very same dragon was ridden by your husband. You trailed your gloved hand across her scales, affectionately smiling at the dragon you had been lucky enough to claim and form a bond with.

You quickly scaled Meraxes, situating yourself in the saddle, “Soves, Meraxes!” You commanded, and the dragon acquiesced to your request.

You arrived at Storm’s End quicker than you would have expected, only to hear your husband’s maniacal laughter carrying through the stormy wind.  “konīr iksis iā gēlȳn naejot sagon addemmagon, valītsos!” Aemond’s voice carried to you before you saw him, noticing your younger brother and his dragon in distress flying away from him.

Your blood simmered, the situation sinking in, Aemond was taunting Lucerys, chasing him through a storm with angry intent on a dragon, much larger than Luc’s own Arrax. “LUC!” You screamed, feeling your throat slightly raw from how loud you shouted, Luc looked back at you, the terror slightly lessening in his body, he knew in his bones you would protect him or die trying, as you always had.

“Vhagar! Serve me! No! Vhagar!”

You frantically bid Meraxes to fly faster, cutting Aemond off from his chase of Lucerys, you glared at Aemond as Meraxes stopped Vhagar in her tracks.

Meraxes snorted as Vhagar roughly stopped, jostling Aemond in his saddle.

“ao tepagon chase naejot iā riña rȳ iā jelmāzma!? ñuha own lēkia!?"!?" You screamed across the winds at him, your violet eyes flashing wildly in your fury. Aemond’s eye widened as he looked at you, his face in shock as his wife glared murderously at him.

“Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla, hae penance syt ñuha laes! Vhagar stopped obeying! Arrax shot fire at her!” He yelled back, trying to appease you, the wind making it hard to hear.

“YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM! VHAGAR IS LIKE TO SWAT HIM OUT OF THE SKY TO APPEASE YOUR FURY AS A SPIDER IS TO DRAIN A FLY, YOU CRAVEN! HE IS A CHILD! YOU FIGHT FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS!” You screamed again, the words ripping themselves from you. You knew by now Lucerys was a safe distance away, the risk of harm coming to him gone, and you exhaled in relief, knowing how close you had just come to losing a brother.

“ñuha jorrāelagon!” Aemond tried to convince you to forgive him.

“Fly home, husband. I will meet you there, but I do not wish to lay eyes longer on you, as of yet.” You spat out, turning Meraxes and following the path Lucerys had taken back to Dragonstone.

The tightness in your heart released as you saw your brother safely dismounting Arrax as you landed near to him on Meraxes, you dismounted, slipping slightly as you hit the sand running to him. Tears freely fell down both of your cheeks as you grasped him, holding him tight with a hand in his curls pressing his head to your chest as you kissed his head, clutching your younger brother as he cried, the adrenaline leaving his body as he was finally safe.

“He said he’d take my eye, Y/N” He cried, and you bit your tongue in anger, shushing him as you held him. “No harm will come to you from his hand, dear brother, lest I strike my husband down in fury. I will protect you until my last breath, Lucerys, as I do all of our brothers.” you assured him. Tightening your arm around him before releasing him, “I must return, Luc. I love you, tell mother I have not yet forgotten where my loyalties lie, as I still bleed black.”

You pressed one last kiss to his head, in bittersweet goodbye as you remounted Meraxes and cast one last look at your family home, turning back to King’s Landing as your blood simmers still.

(literally just a little blurb because I refuse to accept that Lucerys is gone.)

[writervaul-t]

"Leave me!"

"No!" Her words were as sharp, as biting as Benji's as she sawed at the ropes around his wrists. From a distance, shouting could be heard and that just about sent Maeryn into a spiral as her blades, dull and haven't been sharpened since their capture several days ago, were taking too long to cut the ropes. "Its not cutting fast enough!"

Tears nearly bit at the corner of her eyes, exhaustion ready to take her at any moment. Days of no sleep and barely a scrap of bread made her short sighted. Maeryn remembered her training at the Temple, focusing her mind on what was in front of her and nothing else. She swallowed that down a sob, pulling her focus on cutting the blade faster. Benji looked around, panicked as the vagrants who captured them could have been anymore.

"Its not safe, Maeryn. Leave me! Find Starlyte and get help." Benji insists, doing his best to look over his shoulder at the dark haired girl.

"No, we're leaving together." Maeryn replies, the different hues of purple in her eyes seemingly swirling, like a fire burning.

"Maeryn, I'm begging you," Benji pleads. "This is the one time I ask of you to not be stubborn. Go back to Raventree Hall and at least inform Alysanne the news of my death-"

He stops abruptly as Maeryn turns to him fully, all the anger and frustration from the days they were starved, beaten, and tortured evident on her face. Tears run down her face as she says, "Do not say that word. I cannot leave you. I won't. You will not die here, Benjicot Blackwood, do you hear me?"

"Mae-"

"You cannot die here and leave me in this world alone. Not when I just found you. Not when you promised to be with me." Maeryn's voice is quieter now, the sadness finally wavering through her and thrumming between them. Her hands rest against his chest, clutching so tightly at his torn robes he was sure she would rip more off if she could. "Now shut up and let me free you so we can kill these craven idiots and go home."

She let go of his clothing and hurriedly picked up her blade, using all the strength she had left to cut the ropes off as Benji, finally, stopped speaking and could only stare at the girl beside him in awe.

[paulagnewart]

Sonic the Oz-Hog Act 4/12: Knux Readux!

Knuckles the Echidna Volume 2 issue 1 AU Publication Date: 14th April 1997 Price: $2.70

Spinoffs. No self-respecting media can live with them. No self-aggrandising media can live without them. And for those of us who lived through the space year that was 1997, corporations were chomping at the bit for a slice of those sweet spinoff dollarydoos.

Best place to start and witness such influence would be, arguably, the cinema. After Baz Luhrmann's blockbuster remake Romeo + Juliet spent weeks atop the box office, the majority of March was a bitter struggle between Wes Craven's thriller Scream and Cameron Crowe's football drama Jerry Maguire. A fascinating if ultimately pointless grudge match between two distinct genres. For all their efforts, neither claimed victory when by month's end, a film 20 years their senior blasted both off the map. The Star Wars Special Editions had arrived.

The promotion (and merchandise deals) was huge. A New Hope proved an instant hit, swiftly followed on 10th April by The Empire Strikes Back. Everything old was new again, and the re-hits just kept coming. Audiences pounded the pavements, eager to revisit Jurassic Park when its sequel The Lost World saw release on 29th May (only a week after its US premiere, a then-impressive feat). Superhero buffs ignored the winter freeze to watch Batman and Robin on 26th June, a film often lauded yet pulled respectable numbers and local reviews at the time.

Speaking of space, following a successful campaign through latter 1996, the Oddbodz were back. Smith's Chips and Glow Zone launched their second series of 61 collectable glow-in-the-dark cards featuring a myriad of wacky, wicked and occasionally controversial space-themed characters. If gross-out humour wasn't your speed, ripping into packs of Thins, Ruffles, Cheetos or Doritos chips instead offered adventures in a galaxy far far away with official Star Wars 3D Magic Motion and Techno Tazos.

After the toyline's initial launch in January, Beast Wars had successfully put Transformers back on the map, though kids would have to wait at least three more months to see their favourite characters in animated action. To Channel 7's credit, they at least gave the program a decent timeslot. More than can be said for Channel 9's decision that April to broadcast the all-new Star Trek: Voyager season 2 and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine season 4 at the ghastly time of 11pm weeknights.

In spite of the former losing 30 minutes off its timeslot, the rivalry between weekday morning children's entertainment continued between Agro's Cartoon Connection and Cheez TV. Both were banking on the spinoff craze, and viewers waking up 14th April could choose between the premiere of Power Rangers Zeo episode 'Oily to Bed, Oily to Rise', or the premiere of Earthworm Jim episode 'Darwin's Nightmare'. For the musically inclined, American rockers No Doubt had enjoyed 8 weeks atop the music charts with the third single on their third album, 'Don't Speak'. At least until April saw them bumped off by Aussie pop prodigy Savage Garden and their third single 'Truly Madly Deeply'.

But of all the spinoffs to arise and bedazzle locals, after three years of development and an exclusive preview party the night prior, SEGA World Sydney opened its doors at 4pm on Saturday 22nd March 1997. Touted in print and on TV as "Australia's Largest Indoor Theme Park!", it offered hours of unrivalled entertainment and programs for Sydneysiders and visitors alike. Anyone who could afford its hefty entry fee lost themselves in all the games and rides they could handle (except Mortal Kombat, which was pulled last-minute). An escape into pixilated fantasy guaranteed to forget their real-world troubles for several hours. Mundane adult things like Victoria and Western Australia's brief yet brutal summer bushfire seasons where 3 lives and some 59 homes were lost. Or how after one year into the top job, captain conservative John Howard faced international anger over comments at the United Nations General Assembly, and local anger over casual dismissing threats by extreme right-wing rival Pauline Hanson's One Nation party.

Be it stage shows, costumed cameos and all types of merchandise featuring their antics, fans of Sonic, Tails, Sally and Robotnik were in paradise. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for a fifth member of the cast. For someone who enjoyed strong popularity and a species originating right there, SEGA World put the bare minimum effort into giving Knuckles the Echidna his own time to shine. A remarkable oversight undoubtedly leaving young fans wondering where that embattled echidna was hiding. As luck would soon have it, they needn't look far.

Nestled comfortably among the shelves between Sonic issues 45 and 46 came Knuckles: The Dark Legion. Sales had proven strong enough (or at least stronger than Tails and Sally's comics) to warrant the development of a second miniseries. Exciting in its own right, only amplified when exclusively announced through AOL in January 1997 it would evolve to a fully-fledged ongoing spinoff. No longer was trotting off to the newsagents exclusively a Friday end-of-month treat. Knuckles' arrival meant a mandatory Monday mid-month booster for us deprived of Mobian adventures.

Over the course of its 32 issue run, Knuckles the Echidna was, much like Endgame two months later, once praised as a pinnacle of Archie Sonic. Fans adored the series, giving ol' Rad Red his own unique mythos and adventures. While Sonic naffed around aimlessly in a post-Robotnik world, we saw Knuckles as the cool, 'mature' comic. He had stakes. He had drama. Quite a turnaround after the heavy criticism its writer took in late 1996 over Sally's leaked demise. Within months he was described as "a kewl writer!", or "one of the ONLY "good" and "balanced" writers Archie has", or how they're "so much better then sonic comics now its not funny." with "all the good villains and family members." Fans swarmed en mass to his WWWBoard, creating their own stories, characters and entire websites tied to the Brotherhood and Dark Legion. Not everyone agreed on the book's mission statement "Why does everybody liek it so much? All it is really is a bunch of Penders' characters running around with slight appearacnes by Chaotix and occasionally knuckles himself.", but it made a lot of other people happy. Enough for both The Dark Legion and Lost Paradise reissued as 'back catalogue' orders to selected comic book stores in late 2004.

And just like Endgame, those nostalgic memories have since dissipated when adults reflected on his tales with matured, scrutinous eyes. We grow. We learn. We reevaluate on what was once adored as adolescents, realising perhaps those good times weren't all that good. Maybe the series and characters were fine in concept but lacked competent execution. Maybe our childish expectations meant they were never good to begin with and the critics were right all along.

The youthful, creative glory days from the late-90's to mid-2000's of Knuckles of an Echidna, Kragok Comics, Echidna Gals, Dark Legion HQ, Echidnapolis, Knux Redux, Tisha-Li's Dark Legion Camp, Kensuke Aida's Julie-Su Shrine, Echidnoyle, Shattered Moonlight, Knuckles 9000, Kiri Megami's Chaotix Hideout, Darkest Mysteries, and of course True Red's mighty Knuckles Haven have long passed.

It's from learning said past our futures are forged, but do any of these characters have a future? Do they even deserve a future?

Or maybe it's just best they're all forever banished to the Twilight Zone of cultural irrelevance.

Next Time: For years I said it wouldn't be done. Yet promises, like the hearts and cheekbones of fictitious rodents, were made to be broken. Will May's hedgie rectrospect-y truly be worthy of such hate? Or have revisionists painted a far worse picture over the past two decades?

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[msbeanfl]

Honest Pay for Honest(ish) Work

The Department of Menace Eradication’s Bounty Board is a jumble of jobs, and none of them are as safe and easy as they claim to be. You tediously scan the available contracts, hazarding guesses at their devious twists:

“WANTED: SMALL RAT”, most likely measured by some abstract comparison;

“STANDARD SORROW-SPIDERS CONTRACT” would be easy enough if Sorrow-Spiders possessed any degree of normality;

“BOUNTY: JACK OF KNIVES”, not a chance.

Something catches your eye, subtle amidst the screaming capitalisations, as though placed quite deliberately where only an observant eye might spot it. By that reasoning you’re definitely the first to have seen it here, and you ensure that you are the last as you rip it from the corkboard.

You hold a newspaper clipping entitled “Troubling Times Call For Discerning Inquirers”, and the details are as follows:

Have a knack for finding the truth, or does the truth often find you? In these Troubling Times we must employ all manner of skills to ensure we print nothing but the most intricate, outrageous, bloody, and verifiable of facts. At our offices on Doubt Street we ascertain the depth and breadth of talent that applicants have to offer, whether you might belong among our eloquent wordsmiths or be better suited to life on the beat as a no-nonsense reporter (with further roles covering everything in-between). To audition: either visit our headquarters or drop in on proprietress Bean unannounced at any hour.

P.S. Cravens of delicate disposition need not apply - danger is all but predetermined.

[mswyrr]

Trump means to do everything he says. And major news outlets like the New York Times are already normalizing his atrocities ahead of time. Just in case they need to keep him sweet if he wins. Recently, they described his mass deportation plan as "housing policy" and then a mainstream journalist backed this (completely false, monstrous) framing up on Twitter.

You don't believe he'll really do what he promises to? These craven journalists lobbying for his favor ahead of time do.

We already know what we'll see in the New York Times if Trump is elected as he's ripping your neighbors from their homes.