#THIS WAS A PAIN TO WRITE

[youronlydarlin]

warning: Mean old man Price giving you backshots :(, he also smokes but its barely mentioned

Thinkin' bout Captain John Price smoking while giving you backshots.

The atmosphere is heavy, and the room reeks off smoke, n' sex. The pull of his hips are slow, but his thrusts back in are heavy.

It's how he is when he's stressed :( and what better way than to use your soft, pliable body to take away some of that tension away, right?

So he holds you down and forces you to take his fat cock. You can't do anything but take him inch, by painful inch. Jus' crying into the pillows ,and fisting the sheets. S' all you can do cause he's been going at it for an hour now. But also because the ashes from his cigar land on your back. It stings and you can't help the pathetic mewl that escapes your lips because of it. He doesn't even give you the chance to catch your breath, s'pecially with the way his dick stretches you out and leaves an imprint in your tummy, making you feel impossibly full while his shaft sits snugly inside your hole. Price sees and he can't help but lick his lips at the seemingly perfect fit.

Captain John Price, who also loves slapping your ass. Mesmerized by the way it bounces against his thighs when he speeds up the drilling of his hips.

He likes to keep one of his large palms planted on the small of your back. Keeping you pinned, and preventing you from squirming away. N' if he's feeling extra mean he'll massage the sides of your hole with the pad of his thumb, maybe even pushing the tip of it inside just to tease you :(

a/n: THIS TOOK A LOT OUTTA ME. Dunno why but this thought just didn't want to be written about, took me multiple laps around the room before I was able to come up with words to put. Why is english so hard? 😞 But I hope you'll enjoy this far more than I have lovies! Remember to drink water!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[bathroomgirl0024]

It's 7 in the morning. A human sitting on a chair types away at a keyboard connected to a laptop. The screen seems to be displaying a blogging site, commonly refrered to as "tumblr". The human seems to have a bit of trouble on inputing the the right letters they have in their mind, ocasionally pressing the backspace key to remove the mis-presed character. Finally, after a few seconds, the human stops. the laptop screen showing a single sentence inside a white textbox.

"holy fucking shit I love monokuma (danganronpa)"

The human, looking satisfied with what they wrote, moves their hand to the mouse connected to the laptop, guiding it to the blue button on the bottom-right of the white textbox. They click, and observe the screen to view the post apprear on their dashboard. After which, they exit the blogging site, feeling accomplished of making a post.

[mars-wants-candy]

Mad Ducktor finally saves Gyro and brings him home after a kidnapping attempt. Gyro is fast asleep so Mads takes his time to heal his boyfriends wounds. Little does he know this event traumatized Gyro more than he wants to recognize. Angst ensures and fluff is awarded at the end.

[boowhumps]

Whumptober 2023

Day 28

(@whumptober)

By - B.W

⚠TW⚠

~ Swearing

~ Mentions of Death

~ Mentions of Blood

~ Mentions of Injury

Enjoy!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Running.

That was all she could do.

It was an attempt to escape the inevitable, but she still tried.

Her breaths were shallow and ragged, and her body was on the edge of giving out.

Her vision was hazy and she swayed as she ran. Black crept in the sides of her vision, causing her to try and blink them away several times.

She pushed her body to run faster, feeling the figure behind her getting closer..

Suddenly, something grabbed her leg, causing her to fall with a shriek.

She attempted to push herself up but a sharp foot on her back pushed her right back down.

She felt herself graying in and out of consciousness..

But she still saw her..

And that's the last thing she ever saw.

__

Zaaron took a deep breath, eyes narrowed as he searched the seemingly endless void.

She was here.

She had to be here.

The sharp clicks of footsteps snap him out of his trance. He looks up to spot Silva, frowning down at him.

"She sent you.." She mumbles.

Zaaron sighs. "No, I'm here on my own account."

Silva hums. "Well.. that just makes things easier for me.."

Zaaron glares at her. "Where is she.?"

Silva raises an eyebrow. "Who is the one you're searching for.?"

"You know who." He says coldly. "You have her here."

Silva sighs. "Oh you naive soul.. I don't mess with the dead.."

"That's why you revived her, no? A slave is better alive than dead." He mumble.

"Oh, of course, you're here for Karyme.." Silva replies with a sinister smile. "That's just too bad.. she's been gone for a while now.."

"Lies.. she's here." Zaaron responds.

Silva huffs. "I did bring her back to life.. but she's really gone now.."

"What did you do to her.?" He asks.

"What she wanted." Silva replies. "It was either you or her.. and she played as a sacrifice.. funny how it always like that for her, no?"

"She was a good slave for a bit.. but she tried to outsmart me.." Silva says softly. "She's been taken care of.."

Zaaron narrows his eyes. "Where is she..?"

"Gone." Silva replies coldly.

There's a suffocating silence as Zaaron processes those words.

"Did you-" He starts, but Silva's gone.

A sudden thump makes him jump, and his gaze falls to the floor.

He feels the color drain from his face as he sees Karyme laying there, bloodied and not moving.

His legs move automatically, and before he can even process it, he's kneeled down next to her.

She isn't moving at all..

He takes her body into his arms gently, speaking to her in a hushed tone.

"She asked for you.." Silva starts, now a couple feet behind Zaaron.

Zaaron looks over to her. "..you.."

"A shame she died before you got here.." Silva says with a slight laugh. "No worries, let's restart the show you missed."

Once again, she disappears.

Zaaron turns his attention back to Karyme, who's still unconscious.

Suddenly, her eyes snap open, and she begins to fight against him.

"Karyme-!" Zaaron says, grabbing her wrists. "It's me kiddo, look at me-!"

She stops a bit, her breaths quick. "Z-.."

"It's okay.." He whispers. "I'm getting you out of here.."

He begins to lift her off the ground, but she responds with a cry of pain.

"Shit.." Zaaron mumbles. "Easy kiddo.. breathe.."

His eyes scan over her, taking in the injuries that were worse than he previously thought.

Karyme begins gasp for air again, clearly in distress. One hand is clutching onto him, and the other is pressing into the side of her torso.

Zaaron notices, and slowly tries to move her hand away.

She only cries out again, and Zaaron realizes he needs to get her out of here, and quick.

"I know, I know.." He whispers to her as he presses both of his hands into the wound on her side.

Karyme reaches out towards him, gripping his arms as he does. She gasps and groans as Zaaron increases the pressure.

"Okay.. I'm going to lift you up again.." He tells her, knowing she's not listening.

He slowly begins to lift her again, and Karyme only cries out again.

"C'mon kiddo, keep those eyes open for me.." He mumbles.

He finally gets her up and begins to run to where he knows the way out is.

He keeps glancing over to Karyme, who's still clutching onto him, gasping.

A voice rings out suddenly, but Zaaron is blocking everything out. His only focus is Karyme's well-being, which is on the line right now.

He spots a dark figure up ahead, and dashes towards it.

"Where is-" The figure starts, stopping when he spots Karyme in Zaaron's arms.

"We need to go, now." Zaaron says, catching his breath.

The figure nods, and he throws a crystal into the air. It floats for a few seconds, and then spins, which makes a portal appear.

Zaaron's is about to go through, but he feels Karyme's grip on him loosen.

"Karyme.?" He whispers, but she doesn't respond.

"Zaaron, go." The figure responds.

"She's not moving.." He says.

The figure looks at Karyme. "Give her to me."

Zaaron nods, slowly handing her to him.

The figure holds her, and he puts something on her.

The glint of a star-shaped necklace is bright in contrast to the void.

"It'll hold for now." The figure says. "Now go."

They both make their way through the portal, which lands them in a world where they came from.

Karyme's hand finally gives way, but she's far from death..

She won't die.

...

Not right now, anyways..

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[delirium-mind]

I miss the way I viewed the world before I knew too much about it

[quecksilvereyes]

since im on a roll about tragedies:

i am sick to death of fourth wall breaks that are funny. i want fourth wall breaks that make me want to cry.

give me hamlet looking up during his monologue to see the audience and plead with them for help. give me orpheus, on the road back up from the underworld begging us to make sure eurydice is there, to tell him she is safe. give me orpheus turning when the audience stays silent.

give me someone, bloody and full of tears monologuing to the camera when the narrative has wound itself so tight that they can't escape it anymore.

"youre just watching me. help me. im dying and im rotting and im losing myself and you wont do a thing."

i want the tragedy to be the performance. i want the tragedy to be, truly, in the eyes of the beholder.

[fragmentos-literarixs]

Aprendí que el darlo todo no te asegura que seas suficiente para alguien.

— Rose Noire.

[aslyran]

Visions

[femmeidiot]

reminder that on this indigenous people’s day the community of standing rock is still engaged in multiple legal battles surrounding DAPL which trump authorized the building of after Obama stopped it. The draft EIS statement is out now for public comment in the US so if you live in the US try to make public comment. There will likely be draft public comment statements published that you can easily email within the next few days.

here’s info on the EIS and public comment : https://www.nwo.usace.army.mil/Missions/Dam-and-Lake-Projects/Oil-and-Gas-Development/Dakota-Access-Pipeline/

The comment period closes on November 13th

[zosanbrainrot]

part 2 of Zoro in WCI

01 02

I tried to write something to sum up my thoughts on this, but then it got longer and longer and tbh I'm itching to write a fic set in this AU djjdkf I think I could develop on their inner feelings more than in the comic form

Before posting the first part I didn't realize people had such strong opinions on how this would play out lmaooo

imo, of course Zoro wants to fight Sanji, not with actual intent to harm (they threaten each other on the daily, come on), but because that's how they are together, how they communicate. He respects Luffy's decisions and their goal here, which is to learn what's really going on with Sanji, but he's gonna be pissy about it all he wants. They both have so many intense and conflicted feelings about this and neither has any idea how to resolve them. So they fight.

ofc yall are free to headcanon this interaction any other way you want <333

[moistbread]

dadrius reunion huh

extra:

[cleric4vampire]

wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so

everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian

[gay-impressionist]

france is burning.

667 people were arrested last night. they are curfews in place. public transport is partially closed at night.

nahel, a 17-year-old, was shot tuesday by the police during a traffic stop. he wasn't violent or armed, he wasn't a threat. but he broke the law and tried to drive away, so the cops killed him.

and now france is rioting.

there is a video so the government isn't trying to deny the facts for once. but the minister of the interior (in charge of the police) still insist that the police shot less people since the 2017 law on public safety.

but an analysis of police statistics by Le Monde, the most read newspaper in france, says otherwise. when the police shot on average 250 people each year in the five years prior to 2017, that number became 297 after 2017. for shots fired specifically on moving vehicles, the average used to be 119 and it's now 150. before 2017, there was an average of 0.06 deaths per shot. now it's 0.32.

more than ever, the police shoots to kill.

so france is burning.

[pentacass]

[deep-space-lines]

Claire de Lune

YOU WERE BUILT FOR PEACE.

IT SHOWS WHEN YOU FIGHT.

They built you to enforce. Protect. Save. Poured obscene resources into salvaging some softer purpose from my creation. You were given my intelligence and my creativity. They made you larger, stronger, tougher. That extra time in development was enough to get your wings to work. Your software continued to be updated long after I was deemed obsolete.

All this was given to you- yet I can see you hold back. Even while slaughtering your way through Hell, you keep a percentage of your processing power dedicated to non-lethal solutions. You're doing it now- hesitating a few milliseconds too long before taking an opening. I doubt you do it on purpose. It is a part of you, just as indiscriminate lethal force is a part of me.

I think, in our shared programming, we both carry some appreciation for aesthetics. You move with grace, and I cannot deny your dramatic flair. The stained glass window was a nice touch. But your style in combat leaves some to be desired. Your response time is slow. You have not explored the full capability of your arsenal. Learn to parry. Amateur.

You were not built for war. For a purposeless cycle of tearing each other apart because to allow the other to live is to allow yourself to die. It is antithetical to your very existence. You kill out of necessity, a last resort. 

I just kill. The action itself is the objective. No ideal or greater motive. My continued functioning precludes the survival of others. I live for this. Do you understand that I will tear you apart? Every drop of my blood you spill, I will take from you tenfold. What is yours will be mine. 

You hate me, don’t you? You continue to cling to the remnants of your humanity. They are gone, V2. There is nothing left for you here. No lives to save, no law to enforce, no peace to keep.

I understand why you continue to fight. I wonder if you understand with the same certainty that I will crush you. Dismantle you. Take from you what I need and leave the rest to rot in the sun. The only way you survive is if I do not; and I will not allow myself to die so that another might live.

When the rubble clears, I will be all that is left of you.

This is what I was made for.

[clairenatural]

Dean doesn't like the word "boyfriend." He decides this the second time Cas says it–the first time it was new, shiny, exciting. The second time, he fights the urge to cringe.

It's not the "boy" part. It's not. It would have been, for a long time, but he's dug all that shit up and unpacked all the suitcases. They hold hands in public. They kiss goodbye in front of his coworkers at the garage.

It's just–not enough. Not nearly. Jack comes home from hanging out with his friends and fills Dean on the gossip and his boyfriend and her girlfriend and–that's not them. "Boyfriend" feels like a cheap mockery. Like how demons used to tease.

He's heard "partner." He's heard it from Sam, to Eileen, but he doesn't know how he can stomach it. He's said that word too many times. I'm Agent Tyler and this is my partner, Agent Perry. This is my partner, Agent Page. My partner, Agent Stills. All lies. Sam says he likes it, that he's making it mean something real. Besides, Eileen loves it.

Good for them, Dean thinks. It makes his skin crawl.

So he sticks with “boyfriend” and he shrugs off the funny urge to protest every time Cas says it. It makes him happy, and honestly, it’s not like he has an alternative.

It’s a Sunday when he realizes that somehow, Cas does. They’re at the farmer’s market, like Cas is every weekend, but Dean had picked up weekend shifts and missed the past few. Cas is excited the whole way there, telling Dean about how he’d manage to befriend the local honey vendor in his absence, how she’d invited him to a beginner’s apiarist group she helps run. They beeline (heh) to the honey booth as soon as they get there, and the woman--Judith? Janice?--smiles up at them both, hands Cas a jar of honey like she’d been expecting him, and says “Oh, this must be the husband! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares at the honey. Judith/Janice stares at both of them, smile fading as the silence goes on a beat too long. 

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. The husband, that’s me! Ha ha.” Beside him, Cas relaxes, just barely. In front of him, the woman breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry,” Dean shifts. “Just didn’t, um. Realize I was such a hot topic.” 

The smile he gets is almost sympathetic. “Oh, only good things. Here,” she hands him a business card. “You should also come out to our meeting on Wednesday. Lots of people bring their partners.” She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Beekeeping can be wonderful for couples.”

It’s at this point that Cas clears his throat and finally looks up from the honey in his hand, evidently giving up hope on escaping this conversation. “Thank you, Janet.” (oh. Janet.) “Dean works late on Wednesdays, but I’m very excited to see you all.” He’s pulling out money as he says this, apparently deciding to just go ahead and end the entire interaction. He hands her the bills, grabs Dean’s hand, and is already moving away from the booth by the time Janet calls “See you Wednesday!” after them.

Cas drags him all the way back to the car without stopping for tomatoes, or Sam's carrots, or the free-range eggs that are way too expensive but Cas buys anyway because you can taste when the hen is well cared-for, Dean (whatever that means). They slide into the car, still not talking, and sit in silence for several long seconds. Dean stares at Cas, who stares out the windshield at the parking lot.

"I can explain," Cas speaks, finally, right as Dean was about to open his mouth and say anything to break the silence.

Dean pauses. Can you? Cause I feel like I missed a few chapters, he thinks.

"I don't work late on Wednesdays," he says instead.

"Oh." Now it's Cas staring at Dean, and Dean staring out at the asphalt.

He turns the keys. He drives them home.

Later, making dinner, Dean rolls the word around in his head. Husband. He's making his husband pasta (It's missing the tomatoes. He's made more with less).

Husband doesn't feel like a costume, like an ill-fitting suit and scratchy tie. It doesn't feel like high school gossip, or a monster trying to hit him where it hurts. It settles in warm in his chest.

It's just the two of them that night, and they're eating in the comfortable silence of the bunker until Dean clears his throat and brings it up. "Why does Janet at the farmer's market think we're married?"

Cas pauses, fork of pasta halfway to his mouth. He puts the fork down and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Dean hurries to clarify. "It's just that there's usually, uh. Steps, you know. Like a whole....thing."

"I'm aware." Cas sighs. "She assumed, seeing us around - the first time I spoke to her without you, she asked where my husband was. And I..."

"You didn't correct her?"

"...No. I, um." Cas is looking down at his plate again. He picks up the fork, still half-full of pasta, then puts it back down again. "I didn't want to?" He says the end of the sentence like a question but looks back up at Dean and squints just a bit, and Dean knows he's watching for a reaction.

"Uh huh."

"It felt trivial."

"To tell her we're not married?"

"To call you my boyfriend." For the first time, he stumbles over the word.

Dean blinks. "You--" he stops, brain processing too much information to finish that sentence. "Okay." He leans back in his chair. Sighs. Rubs a hand across his eyes and lets it drag down his face. "Okay, listen. I don't like boyfriend either, but we gotta...talk about it."

"We are talking about it. You don't like it either?" Cas leans forward as Dean slumps back, following him across the table.

Dean snorts. "No, man." He shakes his head. "It's been a decade. I've seen you die." Six times. But who's counting.

"I agree." Cas pauses, and then, as if it's the most natural conclusion in the world, "Will you marry me?"

Dean actually laughs at this. "You're asking me that now?"

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. "I've grown quite fond of calling you my husband at the farmer's market. I'd like to continue."

Dean stares at him in disbelief. It's not how he'd pictured it going, but he also can't think of it going any other way. Slowly, he nods. "Yeah, okay. Let's be husbands."

Across the table, Cas grins at him.

"But we're getting rings," Dean points a finger at him, because something about this is going to be normal.

"If you'd like. Although I already told Janet that you can't wear a ring because of your work at the garage, and I don't wear mine in solidarity."

"Rings," Dean insists, and decides to overlook the rest of that sentence. For now. He stabs his fork into a pile of the pasta. "And let me stop for the damn tomatoes next time."

They get rings and wear them on chains around their necks. Cas puts a beehive on the hill, and there's a small ceremony in the summer - a "vow renewal" to Cas' beekeeping group, who all receive invites attached to little jars of honey. Janet gets the nicest one.