#actively on the verge of weeping

[katarascape]

no haha don’t tell me about the aunties helping teach me how to walk i’m gonna cry

[trendywaifus]

WEEK THREE

↳ double trouble

two masters competing and arguing at each other as they fuck you.

transfem! jingliu & skirk x fem! reader

cw: overstimulation, pwp, double penetration, unprotected sex, mind dumbfication, slight blowjob, slight handjob, creampie, size kink

“ who are you to make an assumption about the way i carry myself, blade fodder? “ jingliu growls through gritted teeth, firmly gripping your hair while your lips are wrapped around her cock, sucking her off. skirk rolls her eyes, calmly crossing her arms as your free hand strokes her. “ blade fodder? how laughable. and why so quick to anger? it was merely just an assumption. but, purposely handicapping yourself while waving your sword around seems rather foolish, don’t you think? “ she speaks with a mocking tone, “ hiding behind a mere veil is weak. regardless of whatever trauma you’ve faced in the past, trying to actively avoid it by walking forward blindly is for cowards. “

jingliu spits, “ i should kill you where you stand for that, you—“

“ and hurt the girl in the process? you wouldn’t to do that, no? besides, we agreed on a bet. we’ll fuck her and have her decide who’s better at giving her pleasure. whoever she feel satisfied her the best, is simply better. “ skirk reasons, casting the taller woman a small smirk. jingliu huffs in annoyance, trying her best to not react as your warm tongue brushes against a vein.

jingliu lightly pulls you away and lets go of your hair. “ on your feet, dear. “ she orders softly, in contrast to the aggression she expressed towards skirk a few moments ago. she takes off her blindfold and places it over your eyes, firmly tying the loose ends into a knot. “ wait, why am i—“

“ for the sake of the bet. that’s all you need to know.”(just to avoid bias!)

after a few sounds of shuffling, one of the women lifts you up into her arms with ease, you yelp, hurriedly encircling your legs around her waist. she lines herself with your weeping entrance and slowly sinks you down on her length. you emit a broken moan as she stuffs you full. she grunts as your pussy clenches around her. hands shifts down to the fat of your ass, what felt like claws, slightly digs into your skin.

she holds you steady and snaps her hips forward, spearing you open with her fat cock. “ bounce. “ she whispers lowly in your ear, and you do as you’re told. as she fucks into you with slow, powerful thrusts, you grip her shoulders, trying your best to be in sync with her. due to her sturdy hips, you failed pathetically. the woman sighs in disappointment but says nothing. she speeds up a bit and repeatedly grazing the spongy patches of your walls. “ just like that please. .” you moaned, filthy sounds of squelching fills the air as your slick runs down her shaft and dribbles down onto the floor in thick globs.

her rhythm was so steady and powerful, it was addictive. it made your pussy ache for more no matter how much she stretches you out over and over again. “ more, more. . “ you whined, drool tickling down your chin, already cock–dumb. her breath hitches when she feels your cunt clamp around her again. just for a second, her pace falters before she swiftly recovers and keeps going at her previous pace.

“ what are you doing, you impatient fool? i’m not done with her yet, wait your turn. “ the woman grumbles as another body presses up against your back. “ don’t you hear her begging for more, you bottom dweller? “ the breathy voice, who you now know is jingliu, barks. skirk, who’s currently fucking you, scoffs, grinding her cock into your cunt. “ hmm, i wonder why she’s begging for more, you poor, miserable mortal. you should of kept that blindfold on. “

“ i’m just itching to strike you down with my blade once all of this is over. “ jingliu says harshly, pushing her long length inside your occupied pussy, stretching you out even more than you’d imagine. you mewled loudly, on the verge of squirting everywhere. “ isn’t this a pleasant surprise? she can take two at once. “ skirk mumbles with amusement, fucking you in her own pace while jingliu’s is aimed and fast. “ and yet, she can take mine better. “ jingliu remarks, snarky.

“ simply perish, mortal. “

“ ah, if only it was that easy, you abomination.”

“ extremely ironic coming from you. “

god, you were so out of it. you have two women at each other’s throats while they fucked you dumb. you could tell skirk was getting increasingly frustrated as her thrusts became fast and unforgiving. cacophony of moans spills from your lips, the overwhelming tension in your belly proved unbearable when jingliu matches with skirk’s speed and intensity. your eyes rolls to your back of your head as you violently squirted all over their cocks and made a mess on the floor.

“ how messy. “ skirks comments, not showing signs of slowing down as she’s too busy competing with the opposing swordmaster. “ just like your sorry excuse of an apprentice. “ the sword master hisses, chest panting heavily from your pussy greedily swallowing her cock. “ is your apprentice just as arrogant and weak like you are? did you teach that boy your techniques with a blindfold over your eyes too?” skirk questions sharply, glaring up at the taller woman in front of her.

due to overstimulation, their voices became a blur. after a few minutes of back and forth, jingliu was the first to finish inside you. she continues to fuck your gushing hole despite thick loads of cum flowing out of you. not long after, skirk releases as well and refused to pull out until she was sure completely she was milked dry.

“ now, tell us who was better. choose wisely. “ jingliu whispers in your ear, sounding almost impatient. after a moment without a response, skirk and jingliu was quick to notice how boneless your body felt against theirs. skirk sighs, realizing you passed out. “ it seems like we were too busy arguing, we forgot about this one. “

well, once you wake up, you’ll give them an answer and this time, they’ll focus more on you.

[faetreides]

hey ryn!!!!! sooo i saw this (nsfw link incoming)

https://x.com/sexarchiv/status/1736871466501648453

and was desperate to hear your thoughts on this w patrick +++ art watching

love you love you🎖️💕

hi!!!!! i’m sorry this is so late but i went crazy over the link and art does a lil more than watch but i hope you like it 💘💘💘

cw: 18+ mdni, art and patrick make out during this (nsfw twt link), implied sub reader / switch patrick / dom art, one use of daddy, gross patrick who whines a lot, art being lowkey possessed by tashi (he’s on something in this one), nipple play (?), teasing, unedited

It’s a quiet night in with your boyfriends, there’s left over pizza in the fridge and the roku city background on the tv casts a soft purple glow over your shared bedroom. You’re too tired to get changed, the three of you lounge on the king sized bed in various states of undress. It’s supposed to snow during the night, so there’s just a sort of cozy vibe in the air. You really weren’t intending on being intimate with your boyfriends for the rest of the day, but absentminded strokes up Patrick’s sweaty torso quickly turn into palming his thick bulge in his boxers. Patrick softly groans, squirming and spreading his legs to give you better access.

Art slips his hand into his matching set of briefs and pumps his dick to hardness, synching his strokes up with yours. He shuffles up the bed to lie down right next to Patrick, using one arm to move Patrick to lay back against him. Art leans his head on Patrick’s, ready to tease and whisper whenever he sees him getting sensitive. Patrick automatically puckers his lips for a kis but Art cruelly denies him, not wanting to distract the other man from your touches. Somehow your hand manages to look small in comparison to Patrick’s girth, and Art squeezes his balls as he imagines it around his own length.

“He’s gonna cum too fast.” Art says, knowing that you don’t take control with Patrick like he does, but goading you on regardless.

“You just feel so good, ‘s not my fault.” Patrick moans as your thumb circles around his pinkish red cock head.

You dip your nail into the slit and lean down to let some of your saliva slowly drip down onto his aching cock. With the added lube, you pump your hand a few more times and put your wrist into it. You’re so lost in the deep groans coming from above you and seeing his pretty cock somehow pull off looking like it’s on the verge of tears that you almost forget that there’s an end goal to all of this. You’re just so in love and in actual awe of how gorgeous a dick can be, Patrick’s nastier overall but it only makes his cock look even better.

The tip is glistening and you peck it a couple times, grinning at the tiny beads of precum that trickle out of his slit. Art reflexively licks his lips and thumbs his own head, just enoying his partners playing with each other and being more than very appreciative of his favorite show. The atmosphere is so sleepy and relaxed that not many words are being spoken. It’s most a flurry of soft grunts, whines, and sweet nothings that are lost to the white noise from different sources around you.

“Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” Art coos, more at Patrick than you as he tilts his chin up with one finger and softly presses their lips together.

The kiss soon turns into a frenzied slide of their lips, swapping so much spit that their tongues actually hardly touch. You squeeze your thighs together before going back to what you were doing, trying your hardest to not cum on the spot because of them. You push your shirt down just under your tits, hissing as a rush of cold air hits your already hard and sensitive nipples. Patrick jumps like he’s been shot when you lower your full tits to brush against his weeping cock, circling your thumb around the head and tracing a vein or two.

He whines into his kiss with Art as you lower yourself even further to press your nipple into his tip. He stops being an active participation in the makeout session, too preoccupied with the teasing touch of your nipple gliding up and down his cock head. Something about your nipples being so small but so soft to the touch, getting him so worked up over the tiniest bit of flesh. It’s a feeling that’s akin to circling a vibrator around his length, but your nipples ghosting along his dick make him want to sob. He relases a symphony of broken sounds into Art’s lips, softly spoken and inhuman.

You grip the base of Patrick’s cock, holding it steady as you gingerly move your nipple up and down the tip. You take your time to really press it in deep, squishing it a bit as you force it all around him. This has you ready to cum too, the chilly air combined with how wet Patrick’s cock is sets your brain on fire, but you’re not about to have to clean your panties and be embarrassed. Art’s right, it doesn’t take much of you dragging your nipples over his slit and around his puffy tip before he’s oozing all over your hand and tits. You work him through his quick orgasm, slowing down the speed of your nipple and moving to drag it along his entire length now.

You even circle it around his balls, heartbreakingly slow but you’re not trying to make him blow his load again. Art soothes Patrick through his twitching, if the wet smacks of lazy french kisses are anything to go by.

You look up to see Art give you a two finger ‘come here’ gesture, and when you’ve crawled back up the bed to join them, you notice how damp his underwear is. Art pulls you into their kiss and drags your sticky hand to cover his soaked bulge, keeping it there as you spend no time rushing this languid embrace with your boyfriends. Before you know it they’ll be back on the court and all they’ll have time for is near bloody quickies in your shower until they head back out to practise.

Art hums, lifting his hand to pet you and Patrick, sucking both of your tongues and giggling at the whimpers you let out.

“It’s my turn now, hm?”

[essektheylyss]

I love that Imelda Goldfinch went from "mildly unsettling, probably evil but I'm going to hold out judgment before I decide whether she's intentionally malicious or has just bought into the zealotry too hard" to "oh she is EVIL evil, actively, willfully, terrifyingly zealous evil" instantly this season.

It's very fun because it also immediately puts you on the side of both Weepe and Jonas Spahr, both of whom looked very bad at the end of season 1. But I think it's also the first time we get a look into Jonas's head, and find that it is very similar to Phineas's, and that also adds a whole extra layer of "you are also partially a victim here, and you just might actually be on the verge of starting to recognize it." (And honestly, I wonder if Jonas, who does not necessarily feel like he needs to struggle for some kind of external validation, may recognize it faster than Phineas now that he's really seeing the effects up close and personal.)

This show is fascinating for how terrible all of the characters are yet also how simple they make it to identify who is simply terrible and who is terrible because there are only shit choices in the world of Midst.

[caffeinefics]

DRACO MALFOY

He was not immediately crowned, Prince Slytherin when he stepped into Hogwarts as an ickle Firsty.

Slytherin is the house for ambitious and cunning sods. It's laughable to think they wanted to be represented by a snot-nosed brat - Son of Lucius Malfoy or not.

Draco was on the radar of many Older snakes because he showed potential to be the Slytherin prince in later years.

He gets good grades, but barely studies (he will actively listen to lectures though). He'll definitely burn out after OWLS and would have an existential crisis, learning how to study, instead of studying for his NEWTS.

If he likes a topic (academic or gossip) he won't let it go until he knows everything there is to know about it.

He is Hogwart's biggest gossip, often found in the company of Lavender Brown, and Susan Bones.

Prefect Malfoy takes care of firsties and helps with their homework.

Homesick? Go to Draco. On the verge of failing a class? Go to Draco!

He also has a small compartment in his bag where he keeps snacks, candies, pads, tampons, wet wipes, lip balm, etc.

Aww so sweet what a nice guy, you might think. DON'T

"Oh, you want mummy and daddy? Go on then go home, what's stopping you? Your education? Don't make me laugh, If you cared enough about your education and being satisfied with a life you would have to make for yourself, you will quit crying this instant." "The same goes for you too, who are failing your classes."

Draco Malfoy, Head boy, Slytherin Prince has more than one university acceptance letter. But what nobody knew was that he was rejected from his dream uni.

He would choose an academically challenging degree, that would academically challenge him.

Almost failed the first sem, which proved to him that even he is not resistant to failures.

Draco's core values in life: Fall, weep, cry, throw a tantrum, stand up, dust your clothes, square your shoulders and just keep walking.

[sle3pysr3n]

Why do I kinda feel like sampo would be a little whiny bitch while getting fucked in the ass so hard he’s like on the verge of passing out and his cock is like so hard but it’s just left there untouched and weeping very angrily even after cumming so many times

HUIEFRIUFRSHUKFBSDIUHDFUIFHSDUBIVDKUBVDS WHAT THE FUCK DID I WRITE LAST NOGHT WHAT WAS I ON DFKVJNKJNSDVKJND OH MY DAYS IM A FUCKING DEGENERATE no but like I’ve had this kinda like rotting in my brain for like god knows how many weeks :) -ash (half dead not gna be active bc of sch)

[k1drobot]

People assumed much about Megatronus and Orion's relationship before the war broke out. The intimate, private history was always outweighed by the grand and operatic droves of war. No one really cared much about the fine details, because why should they? A few incorrect assumptions here and there wouldn't hurt anything. It was past.

Megatron clenched his fist, on the throne of New Kaon, the throat of this whole new world in his claws.

Orion was the carrier. He had loved Megatronus, and Orion had brought the sparkling all the way to term, only for the gladiator, Megatronus, to kill it in a rage-blind rampage. Thrown it against the nearest wall as if it were nothing but scrap metal, his decepticon mind brimming with evil intentions. Or maybe Megatronus left Orion with the care of the child, who later died to war, exposure, disease. Or maybe it had been a stillbirth. The newscasters couldn't seem to decide what story was more slanderous. Did it matter that it was all a total lie? Of course not. It was about political tactics and cheap shots. Anything to make that filthy, mouthy, rebellious low-rank keep his helm down and out of the higher-powers way.

His lip curls in fury. His face burns into anger, melts away into something calmer. Something much rarer to see on the warlord's face, mournful of a being that never was.

Megatron had been the carrier. He was a carrier type after all, not Orion, not Optimus Prime. He and Orion had loved each other fiercely, and because Orion was a hopeless romantic with too much charm for a simple archivist, and Megatronus was so, so easy to swoon over him, it resulted in a lot of… hands-on activities. And a lack of proper preventative measures, to the point where he'd told Orion that bluntly, and Orion had just grinned all broad and silly, like the likelihood of it was both impossible and beautiful.

And since Megatronus had been charmed, and was so deep in puppy love to the point where some fucking how he thought risking being knocked up was a good idea, he grinned too, and they had continued, until Megatronus had felt that minor little shift in his energy levels, that little charge somewhere deep within, and he knew.

Looking back, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, by far. Nothing really compared, not in relation to this. He much rather would've lost his vision or had impaired audio input if he could've been spared of this. But at the time, he'd been so excited. Scared of course, for many reasons including the toiling political climate and his involvement, the decepticon rebellion on the verge of blooming, the rising tension all over Cybertron. But it was also refreshing how… normal his fear had been. All the classic questions and what-ifs that every parent had, has, and always will have. Would he be a good carrier? Would the sparkling like him? Would they like their sire? Would Soundwave babysit?

Upon hearing the news, Orion had gone blank, then that wide, ridiculous, dorky smile rose on his face, followed quickly by tears, frantic hugging. Promises of love, devotion, the little librarian absolutely weeping with joy. It was ridiculous, and overly dramatic. He would never admit that he, too, had cried in sheer contagious happiness.

It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid. How he thought, how either of them thought they would ever live in a universe where they could do something like that together was foolish. They couldn't have everything they wanted. The universe was not swift to balance the scales, however. It had been slow. Long enough that Orion and Megatronus had even, Primus forbid, got caught up in picking a name. They had come to something of a bargain, because both were too stubborn to relent; if it was a femme, Megatronus could pick the name. If it was a mech, Orion got to pick.

"I like Skywatch. Doesn't Skywatch sound nice?"

"I know too many other miners with the word 'watch' in their names, Orion. Please pick something better, or the sparkling is going to get bullied."

"Backdome? Savageblitz? Slipstream? Silverwing?"

"... Slipstream and Silverwing are alright. Where in the pit you thought of those other two I don't want to know."

He grits his fanged denta on the twisted throne, some kind of ache, dull and reverberating, in his abdomen at the wash of horrible memories. They never settled on a proper designation. Not that it would’ve done any good.

Fate seemed to laugh at him at every turn. Even after the war had begun, he still had the sparkling in its gestational period. It was still too young to make a change in appearance on his body, but it was there. He and Soundwave had sworn to keep it an absolute secret. No one, absolutely no one, decepticon or otherwise, could know about it. Both the sparkling itself and the fact that Megatron was a carrier type. Both would be catastrophic.

And Orion… Optimus had not said anything after his graduation to a Prime. By then, the war was in full swing, bombings, poisonings, and more subtle ways of warfare had exploded into long winded battalions. At the time it had perplexed him, even slightly offended him that the Prime didn't seem at all interested in their child's status. Megatron had thought the Prime a coward for that.

It wasn't until a few vorns later that he thanked Primus the Prime never asked.

It wasn't even a big fight. Two mechs, autobots, had charged him from behind, guns blazing and swords drawn. He didn't see them in time, one grabbing his upper arms and shoving him violently forward, the other making haste with his blade, slashing the warlord on his side while the other fired a plasma shot into the flank of his shoulder. He'd shaken them off, blasted them with his fusion cannon, spearing one with the fool's own greatsword. They had been easy kills.

It was four days later that he noticed the change. Something was off. He didn't feel as heavy. His lower abdomen hurt constantly, a low, radiating ache. The lower part of his back was worse, he felt like vomiting if he bent forward just a touch too far. He woke up one morning to find energon leaking between his thighs, horror and realization stark in his face. He'd miscarried.

The warbird swallows heavily on his seat atop the universe, his to rule, his to conquer and assimilate, his to make unto himself, a brand new Cybertron.

He hadn't told anyone for weeks. He went into battles with unnatural scorn, swinging at his enemies with a ferocity that was volumes worse than ever before. It wasn't until Soundwave noticed, because Soundwave always noticed, that he'd finally had a breakdown. The TIC had approached him in his berthroom one night, because the warlord hadn't left it in three days. He hadn't cleaned the blood off his berth yet, and the blood on his thighs still left a faint blue hue on the metal. He was sleepless, delirious with grief and exhaustion.

His comms officer had not said anything, as usual. Instead, he approached the warlord slowly, as if he were doing so with a stray animal. With a gentleness that Megatron had not felt for too long, Soundwave rested a spindly hand on his shoulder, his head slowly moving to the mess on the bed, and back to Megatron's deadened eyes.

"I don't have it anymore, Soundwave." Megatron had rasped. "I don't have it." He repeated, his voice breaking.

Soundwave held the massive mech as he'd cried, wept heavy tears into the spy's arms, his extra appendages surrounding his large frame, cradling him close. He hadn't at all hesitated to drink in the affection. He couldn't have Orion's, not anymore. After the incident, Megatron didn't talk about it, and Soundwave chose not to bring it up again. It just sat there, in the corner of his mind. A specter, there to haunt him.

His claw carves a deep scratch into the iron throne.

He wanted to tell Orion. He couldn't, but he had wanted to. Or rather, he wanted to tell Optimus Prime, because Orion Pax was dead and gone, scattered to the winds just like Megatronus, just like the child. He gnaws his tongue in thought.

Megatron got close to telling the Prime, a few times. He was tempted in the height of battle, just to spur Optimus on, just to crawl under his skin and see if anything he could say would jostle that unshakeable stoicism. But he never did. Something about the idea of it felt justified to him, that the Prime should only find out in the most inappropriate of means, covered in each other's blood and wounded beyond what should be survivable. But working up the will to do it, finding the drive within himself to go through with it, it just didn’t seem to be there. It felt… too personal. Too sacred. Even in the mist of utter failure, when the possibility of bringing up such a topic could tactically benefit him, he never did so.

He supposed Optimus likely had a good idea of what happened anyhow, since a decepticon youngling had never been seen on the Nemesis. Energon was precious and scarce, the mere thought of bearing a child on the warship was unheard of amongst the ranks. The risk was so high it was tantamount to near instant death. If not from starvation, then neglect due to the carrier having to fight in battle so often, or simply being assassinated by a particularly bitter rival. The environment was totally opposed to any youth.

He exhaled, long and deep.

Taking another sire was never appealing after that, nor the prospect of finding another partner. Everything felt hollow. No one would be able to seal that kind of wound within his spark. Even after all these millions of years, time long enough for new stars to both be born and die out, that pain had never done anything for him but leave behind its ugly scar. It still felt too raw. It still, sometimes, felt like he bled the blood of his sparkling all over his berth again, the memory claustrophobic and suffocating even as the energon stains had been scrubbed out. He felt comfort exclusively in that his offspring would not live in this world. Yes, he was willing to fight until everything was dust, until the memory of why the fighting even began slipped through his digits like desert sand, but he would not want his child to be born into it. The warlord did not want them to inherit the purgatory that was their race’s current state. If that meant not having them at all, then so be it.

Megatron’s optics felt heavy, his vision blurry. He blinked it away.

[shadowywerewolf-main]

idk if u take requests but like... the day u do ghiaccio general headcanons will be the day i will be able to finally rest easy 🙏

Hello dear! 👋

Ghiaccio Headcanons

(Personal Headcanons)

Will this anger ever dissipate?

⛸ Was reluctant to the idea of exposing his torso like the other members and almost froze Illuso to hypothermia. Risotto has banned anyone from putting up such discussions with him.

🧊 This reluctance as well as the fact that White Album is a body suit may indicate how he is punctual about and trusts himself (mostly) with regards to his security. Not being able to mix up with others often leads a person to create a shell around themselves.

⛸ No he isn't angry at all times and possess the ability to crack jokes and laugh.

🧊 Ghia has a habit of taking out his anger on the nearest stuff lying within his range.

⛸ You know how some people express sadness in form of anger. Ghiaccio is one of them. Whenever he feels as if tears might escape his eyes, he tosses his head backwards. He then proceeds to break the nearest object.

🧊 The fixation of linguistics is the result of people confusing him with their words. People being unclear with their words or saying something that has a different literal meaning and a different technical meaning is very confusing for some listeners. It is difficult for Ghiaccio to figure out if the next person is being sarcastic or if they actually mean what they say.

⛸ He believes in being straightforward and speaking one's mind out loud to avoid wasting time of speaker and the listener; given that he was made to grow up in an environment where he had to wait too long for answers or was constantly perplexed of what others said or instructed him.

🧊 His annoyance towards misspellings and mispronunciation of names of cities may indicate his immense patriotism and his orientation towards the more logical perspective of things.

⛸ Occassionally pulls up a Karen in public. Melone has to interfere.

🧊 I think he would like the company of a more patient partner who would not complicate things for him. Someone who would keep their cool and help him with his fits. His outbursts had his partners distance themselves from him in the past. Consistency and patience is something he'd look for before entering an official relationship. He wants someone who is fluent in silence and feels free to let their guard down around the people they trust (just assassin things you know).

⛸ Also someone who has proper skills in grammar and linguistics.

🧊 Tries not to completely manifest White Album over his body during missions if it is easy for him to deal with his targets without actually putting his Stand to display. Took the 'keep your Stand a secret for as long as possible' way too literally. White Album's visor has a refractive index equal to 1 with respect to air to avoid any distortion in visibility whatsoever.

⛸ Quick thinker. Sporty freak.

The way he handled his body gives the indications of him being involved in sporting activities in the past.

Sports such as surfing or horseriding (even gymnastics sometimes) involve unpredictable flow of events and forces the player to think quickly in such situations.

Some people go for a more fatal solution in the time of emergency (blood supports in Ghiaccio's case for instance).

Such sports also need a brilliant strength of lower body which probably went on to help Ghiaccio in skating.

🧊 He never misses the leg day lest he has to suffer any sort of cramps.

⛸ "WE ARE NOT HAVING A CAT!"

🧊 *ends up as the cat dad*

⛸ Master in using reverse psychology.

🧊 Ghiaccio infuriates his opponent. He knows what buttons are to be pushed to drive someone on the verge of anger and make them lose their sense of logic. Mockery and humiliation are added bonus.

⛸ Knows a little too much about water. White Album (Gently Weeps) can get the temperature of the environment close to absolute zero. Also, one can do wonders when they are aware of little things that are involved in their subject of concern. He has a master level knowledge of his ability and hence is very confident during missions. "Even roaring train engines, even the raging seas will come to a grinding halt at my command! None can defy my whims!"

🧊 His car is his babe. Passer bys discuss about how the dude driving the car must have bought it recently.

⛸ Uses the finest cleaning wipes for his spectacles.

🧊 Actually has little eyes. It's the magnifying power of the specs that makes the eyes look large.

⛸ Uses his spit while counting paper currency.

🧊 Will this anger ever dissipate? He has tried involving himself in anger management programs, but they do only a little good for him. Whenever it feels as if he has stabilized his rage, he starts getting flashbacks of all the events of his past that made him develop such issues.

⛸ Pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue when he is concentrating on something.

🧊 Night drives. Listens to those '1900s songs playing in another room', lofi, alternative, indie, r&b and soul genres. He has numerous pen drives which he has labeled accordingly and stored in the dashboard compartment of his car.

⛸ Has a personal record of speeding tickets in the dashboard compartment of his car.

🧊 Parks the car wherever he feels like.

⛸ Fidgets a lot. Does that 'tip-top' thing you do with ballpoint pens.

🧊 The 'Cat' structure of White Album may indicate his flexible nature (physical level only), and his slightly 'cat-ish' personality.

⛸ Occasionally complicates even the simplest of things. Because of his anger, he sometimes amplifies the level of difficulty of any assignment or any given task. Risotto or Prosciutto have to interfere by yelling at him and ordering him to prompt a proper discussion to reach a conclusion. With slightly heated discussion, they do settle the things to a great extent.

⛸ Although he doesn't express his affection for the team on the outside, deep inside he is very fond of the family and would break the most difficult of the barriers for Squadra.

🧊 Sits on windowsills during late nights. Taps the glass pane to generate iced patterns. This made him wonder about what else he is capable of doing due to WA.

⛸ Outside the team, he is mostly quite, with a frown decorating his face.

🧊 He IS flirty. *Angrily smirks*

⛸ Detail oriented. He feels compelled to search up more information about anything he comes across.

🧊 One of those guys who can explain everything in depth. Knows about little and common things that we usually miss out.

[mickimomo]

Koi Fish (Oni × Namora)

Cont. Of Water Lily

Link to Water Lily

The next day, Oni returned to the river's edge a little before sunset, as promised.

The vieled woman was on the verge of tears and exhausted as she searched for Namora.

Working at the Temple of Bast and preparing for Shuri's coronation ceremony had been tedious and hard.

She had expected that.

What she hadn't expected was arguing with Cebisa over every little decision she made and then being demanded to head the entire ceremony while wearing her late father's attire.

For tradition.

Because tradition was more important than how she felt.

And she was doing Wakanda a huge disservice by not stepping into her father's shoes upon her return from exile.

That was enough to make her leave the temple and ignore the panicked cries of everyone who had watched their argument unfold.

Cebisa had always been a maternal or aunt-like person to her. But there was always this struggle for the woman to see the priestess as a human at times.

A lot of people struggled with it.

They saw her as an extention to their diety.

A hollow shell that should do as they thought to make Bast happy.

They took her vows and made them extremely difficult to follow and made no room for growth. Most times, they often forgot she had feelings.

It didn't help that she wasn't allowed to act on them.

If she had enemies from the outside world, they'd be overcome with anger.

But if they were were her enemies, somehow she was at fault and they could never hold themselves accountable.

Just like today.

They were so busy huffing and puffing about the aesthetics of her looking like the former shaman, instead of thinking about how dressing up like her dead father would trigger her.

How doing any of this was taking a toll on her, and how she wished they could just let her do things her way for once.

It didn't always have to be around tradition, did it?

"Namora." She called out softly as she slowly got into the cool water, trying her hardest not to cry.

Tears began to fall down her veiled face as she moved into waist deep water and watched the feathered warrior's head emerge from the water.

Namora's soft expression quickly morphed into one of concern when she realized the priestess was sobbing and falling apart.

"Yuum k'iino'." She whispered as she allowed the woman to hug her tight and weep. "Ba'ax úuch?"

The warrior's eyes burned with tears as Oni continued to cry and cling to her. Her arms slipped around her as she hugged her back.

Her heart was breaking at the sight of her sobbing, and her mind was burning with questions.

Who hurt her?

Why was she crying?

How could she gut someone without breaking the treaty?

She rubbed the priestess' back soothingly, refocusing on the vieled woman as a muffled sob caught her attention.

She was still trying to remain silent in her distress again, but the shaking of each sob made each one clear.

Namora let out a soft sigh as she gently pulled her back so she could cup her face through her veil.

"Ba'ax úuch, in lool?"

Oni struggled to activate her translator on her kimoyo beads on her wrist before careful azure hands moved down to help her.

Once the system was up, Namora gave the priestess a firm look as she cupped her veiled face once more.

"Tell me what happened and who I need to drown."

Oni couldn't stop herself from laughing through her tears. "Namora-"

"-You laugh. But I am serious." She huffed. "I want names and faces."

"You cannot drown them." She sniffled with a soft chuckle. "It's how they are."

"The council-?"

"No. Cebisa and the people who work in the temple with me."

"Cebisa..."

"She yelled at you when we sparred in front of everyone the second time."

Namora's frown deepened at the memory. "They made you cry?"

"Yes." Oni held her aching head. "It has been a long day."

"This is more than a long day."

"I think I could have managed. I just wasn't expecting them to bring up my father."

"Why did they bring him up?"

"Apparently, the people want me to wear Utata's ceremonial robes for Shuri's coronation ceremony."

Namora's eyes widened before darkening like the world during an eclipse.

"Take me to them."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You'll hurt them."

"They made you cry."

"They're still dear to me, despite making me cry." Oni looked down with a sniffle. "My heart would break beyond repair if I had to endure anyone else dying."

Namora's gaze softened before she pulled off her rebreather. "Then you will come with me and stay the night."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise." She held out the rebreather.

Oni gently took it and put it on behind her veil.

Once it was secure, Namora held out her hand.

Dark brown fingers gently intertwined with azure ones before they both slipped underwater.

Namora began to swim, pulling the priestess along.

Oni swam to lessen the pull, looking around at all the fish and plants growing in the river.

They journeyed through a few dark tunnels before resurfacing in a medium pond that was near a waterfall that flowed into another river in the distance. The land around the pond was lush and green, overgrown with trees, vines, and wildflowers. The golden light of sinking sun flooded the area, giving everything it touched an ethereal glow.

The most breathtaking part of the scenery were the water lilies that floated around them with lily pads of varying sizes.

There were even a few Amazon water lilies.

Namora watched her inspect one of the small white blossoms with hesitant fingers before touching a large pink blossom.

"How..." Oni breathed out.

"I found some and brought a few here."

"Namora, these grow on the other side of the world."

"You like them, so I got them." Namora shrugged. "This pond is your sanctuary."

"Sanctuary?" Oni blinked.

"Yes. I wanted you to have a place that was uncharted and desolate. Somewhere you could find peace. So, I made you a pond."

"You made a pond?"

"Yes."

"How did you make a pond!?"

"Don't worry about the specifics. Just enjoy it." Namora looked around. "I think it is fitting for a diety." She tilted her head. "Kind of like a shrine."

Oni blinked. "I-I am not a diety. I am the vessel of one."

"To Wakanda, yes. To me, you are more." Namora furrowed her eyebrows as she pondered over her words. "Your temple people... they do not speak to you. They speak at you." She looked up at the priestess. "They do not see you as I see you."

"How do you see me?"

"You are like a breath of fresh air after holding one's breath for too long. You make me lightheaded and there is always a yearning for more." Namora offered as her cheeks began to tint purple. "You are strong and striking like the wind, but there is a softness to you. A sweetness that you hide and reserve for those you care for. Like the kiss of a gentle breeze while one sits in the sun." Namora continued. "You are multifaceted behind your veil. Even if the world cannot see you, I will always see you." She breathed out as the priestess watched her. "The way your anger burns everything down like a wildfire. The way your joy can brighten up an entire room. The way your grief feels like a storm." She gently touched her chest. "I feel you."

"You speak as if you're enamored."

She offered the tiniest shrug before looking at a lily. "You loved a flower you could not see or have without envying those who had access to it freely." Namora trailed her fingers over the pink petals. "Am I not allowed to like water lilies too?"

Oni felt her face burn as she meditated over her response in silence.

Namora was a sight to behold in the golden light.

She wasn't in her armor or donning her headdress, like usual.

Instead, she was dressed in a fiery orange gown with touches of red, white, and black that flowed around her as she moved her legs. Very reminiscent of koi fish Oni had seen while in exile.

"Yuum k'iino'."

"Mm?"

"You asked about my name... but I never asked about yours." Namora refocused on her. "What does it mean?"

"Ah. Well. My father searched up many names from different cultures. He had always enjoyed the many cultures of the world when he was a war dog... and well... he loved the idea of having a name with multiple meanings depending on who you asked." Oni looked up at the sky as she recalled her father explaining her name to her when she was younger. "It gives one the option of picking the meaning of their own name."

"What meanings does your name have?"

"Oni can mean God has favored me... or to be born on holy ground. Or..." She fell silent as her mind replayed her father's death.

"Or?"

"It can mean demon."

Namora stared at her. "Demon?"

"Yes." Oni met her gaze. "I was ill when I was born, and Bast blessed me by healing me and choosing me to be her vessel." She lowered her gaze behind her veil. "But after my father passed, I earned the title of Demon of Wakanda."

"You do not look like a demon to me."

"Because I am not covered in blood and trying to kill you."

"I have sparred with you. It would be an honor to see you in such a light."

Oni could only swallow as she watched Namora allow herself to sink until only her eyes were above the surface.

Her gills on her neck fluttered for air, and her skin regained a warm tan hue.

Vows.

Vows.

Remember the vows.

Oni turned around to escape the intensity of her gaze before allowing herself to slip below the water's surface.

The water cooled her heated skin as she allowed herself to slip below the lily pads with her veil and dress floating up around her.

Namora watched her from above with soft eyes, watching locs of twisted hair peek out from under her lifted veil before she settled on the pond floor.

Oni lifted her hands to fix her veil before a pair of warm hands caught her wrists.

She lifted her head to see Namora had torn a piece of her dress to blindfold herself.

Oni couldn't refrain from laughing softly as the warrior floated downward, upside down.

Her dress floated around her like a roaring flame.

"Is this amusing?" Namora did her best not to smile at the warmth of her mirth.

"Not in a bad way." She smiled as she cupped the warrior's face. "You're very clever, but I can't believe you tore your dress."

Namora hummed softly. "It's worth it if I can be in your presence when you are unveiled." She reached her hands out blindly. "This is okay, right?"

"Mhm." Oni smiled as she pulled her closer and rested her forehead to hers before closing her eyes.

They held onto each other, enjoying the sounds of the world around them.

Namora slowly rotated upside right, gasping softly as her lips brushed against something soft.

Before she could say anything, a soft, warm, and flexible pressure was pressed against her mouth.

Her hands blindly attempted to map out what her lips were against, but her wrists were captured.

The membrane of the rebreather contoured to their lips as they pulled each other closer.

The warrior's heart pounded in her ears as the priestess pressed her forehead to hers.

"Do not tempt me further, Namora."

The warrior shivered as her hands slid down her sides, panting softly as her hands memorized her body through her dress.

The warmth of the priestess vanished after a bit of groping and nuzzling. And as hard as the warrior tried not to voice her displeasure, a soft note betrayed her as it sounded in the back of her throat.

Oni looked down at the blindfolded warrior before smiling behind her veil.

[irrfahrer]

HATER & ANGST ANTHEMS—3 songs that portray your muse’s negative side of life! Bitter, negative, sad, bad vibes. What songs portray the darker sides of your muse?

“The Dark Ones” By Karliene: Hush child | Open your eyes | You are not alone | We are your dark ones | Holding you close |  Come dance with us | Dance in the darkness | We've been waiting for you |  That world doesn't want you | Like we do | We see you | For in the night | Fire shines bright |  Come dance with us | Dance in the darkness | Oh how we've been waiting for you 

  While Ziv is not a Jedi who is even remotely on the verge to the Dark Side, she is due to her Life with the Murakami Orchid permanently in contact with and studying Sith Alchemy and on especially bad days when her own isolation wears especially heavy on her [That world doesn't want you | Like we do], the scientist that Ziv still is finds a unhealthy fascination for this science.Ziv is still more of a scientist than anything else.

“Dead to me” By JT Music: Why bother screaming, don't see the point | No one will hear it, we're in the void | As I drift into darkness doom is drawing near me | And all along I'm screamin' but nobody hears me | Survival's all I've left to do | As you become nothin' but memory | I know that I was never dead to you | But I'll move forward because you're dead to me | Because you're dead to me The problem when one is given the task to protect someone else with their life, is that that task its ones life from that moment on. Especially when one carries around ones neck the mainingredient for a ritual for Immortality and a Sickness that corrupts everyone (and everything, considering what happned with the nature on Dathomir that became not only poisonous but even made lifeless stone corrupt into blackwing-crystals) into flesheating Zombies. Zivs tasks is suppose to be beeing the Warden of the Murakami Orchid and keep it away and hidden and therefor keep herself away and hidden.She is not a Jedi, she is not suppose to be a Jedi. She is the Warden of that specific Murakami orchid and that is all she should be. Not a Healer, not a farmer and terraformer, not a spy, not a rebel, not a friend, not a mother. And keeping it save means keeping it out of anyones reach and knowledge. Isolating herself and the Orchid. Zivs stubborn struggle to still be part of the Galaxy (to still be a Jedi as she wanted to since she was a pup), to help people as a Healer, farmer and midwife, to seek out places where the Empire had tested the Blackwing Virus, to support the rebellion as a Deep Current Spy, to continue researching on Darth Drear, to keep in contact with the people around her, is her way of rebelling against that task put upon her. The Murakami Orchid-after all a curious child- is rebelling themself by beeing curious about that Galaxy Ziv takes part in against both their actual tasks. As a Healer Ziv had decided that a sickness can not be defeated by leaving it on its own but by actively fighting it (with naturally a cure or knowledge in the Sickness case).

"The Unquiet Grave” By Karliene: Why does thou sit upon my grave | And will dead lips to speak? | Why does thou weep upon my grave | And will not let me sleep? | My breast it is as cold as clay | My breath is earthly strong | And if you kiss my cold clay lips | Your days they won't be long There is a understandable terror in encountering the Sickness and the Balckwing Virus (and the concept of immortality caused by sacreficing someone else, because how cruel can someone be). Ziv is not especially bothered by death or by people dying.In a medical sense. That belongs to her job and she is sad when she looses a patient but when she dwells too long on that she looses her strenght and focus to help other people because she would be afraid of making mistakes or can nolonger focus enough on what other patients need and only on what she should have done for that other patient. That is a circle that stops her form helping people needing her now. The bad kind of attatchment in that manner, focusing on mistake sin the past instead of learning from them. For Ziv specifically it is the fact that she is a Healer and had been trained as a Healer since she had been six years old and send to the Halls of Healing. She is trained to make people better and if not better, to support them in their lifes. Having to face the by a by the Dark Side corrupted plant whos only desire is to spread and eat, infected people and not beeing able to help them but isolate them until the eat themself up and slove the problem themself goes against anything Ziv stands for. She is there to heal. Especially since the problem does not slove itself by beeing left alone and isolated because the Infected just fall into stasis and wait for the next not infected victim to start the whole thing again and especially also because as longer the infected are left alone as more the Virus concious develops and as more it learns from the collected memories of the infected so it very much will move itself to new victims themself if noone comes for them ( aka.flying themselfs ships with infected into Dathomir). There is a horror like trying to face against a stormwave ready to swallow and drown one when facing the councious SIckness that is the Blackwing Virus and even more the Original SIcknss from Odacer Faustin and Ziv lives with it everyday and indeed, tries to not let the dead sleep, because she is still a Healer who tries to heal.

Tagged By: Stolen from @bewitchingbaker  Tagging: @sithisms  @mando-of-esverr @lighthouseborn @peacefaithed @strongfuck  @starfaithed  @talesgolden  @retrocognizantrecreant @cnlyluck @onehell-of-apilot  @space-hecate @asycuwish @skyler-bane @bewitchingbaker @hopexncarnate   @beskar-himbo   @ofthestcrs @honorhunt  @lady-proudmoore  @savior-of-humanity   @stillfocvsed   @gildedcommander @fallesto @outcaststar @jedilovcd @poewingsdameron @cardinal-carvings    @smertzimy @visceratorn @infernusfuror @inkedstone @kyberllcore  @cfmartyrs  @general-kalani  @luminousxbeings  @thaneirstaer @admrl @notsith   @gwiazdowe @lvkexskywvlker   @ariadne-inthesky @archaeotech @sxbaist @lightfaithed @trueheartofarebel  @protectxthem    @hunters-house   @envychosen @masterofthelivingforce   @startrailed @bladelancer     @wartornpilot @hosnianleft   @sithdestined     @safrona-shadowsun  @stubborn-amphibian   @ncxile  @skywlkrr  @jedixamidala @chromium-siren @aetcrnus   @bountyborn  @memcriaes @2sabers @creaticn @thestupidmeanone @fatewills…and everyone else who blinked today!    

[publicdomainbooks]

IX. WRECKAGE.

And now comes the strangest thing in my story. Yet, perhaps, it is not altogether strange. I remember, clearly and coldly and vividly, all that I did that day until the time that I stood weeping and praising God upon the summit of Primrose Hill. And then I forget.

Of the next three days I know nothing. I have learned since that, so far from my being the first discoverer of the Martian overthrow, several such wanderers as myself had already discovered this on the previous night. One man—the first—had gone to St. Martin’s-le-Grand, and, while I sheltered in the cabmen’s hut, had contrived to telegraph to Paris. Thence the joyful news had flashed all over the world; a thousand cities, chilled by ghastly apprehensions, suddenly flashed into frantic illuminations; they knew of it in Dublin, Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham, at the time when I stood upon the verge of the pit. Already men, weeping with joy, as I have heard, shouting and staying their work to shake hands and shout, were making up trains, even as near as Crewe, to descend upon London. The church bells that had ceased a fortnight since suddenly caught the news, until all England was bell-ringing. Men on cycles, lean-faced, unkempt, scorched along every country lane shouting of unhoped deliverance, shouting to gaunt, staring figures of despair. And for the food! Across the Channel, across the Irish Sea, across the Atlantic, corn, bread, and meat were tearing to our relief. All the shipping in the world seemed going Londonward in those days. But of all this I have no memory. I drifted—a demented man. I found myself in a house of kindly people, who had found me on the third day wandering, weeping, and raving through the streets of St. John’s Wood. They have told me since that I was singing some insane doggerel about “The Last Man Left Alive! Hurrah! The Last Man Left Alive!” Troubled as they were with their own affairs, these people, whose name, much as I would like to express my gratitude to them, I may not even give here, nevertheless cumbered themselves with me, sheltered me, and protected me from myself. Apparently they had learned something of my story from me during the days of my lapse.

Very gently, when my mind was assured again, did they break to me what they had learned of the fate of Leatherhead. Two days after I was imprisoned it had been destroyed, with every soul in it, by a Martian. He had swept it out of existence, as it seemed, without any provocation, as a boy might crush an ant hill, in the mere wantonness of power.

I was a lonely man, and they were very kind to me. I was a lonely man and a sad one, and they bore with me. I remained with them four days after my recovery. All that time I felt a vague, a growing craving to look once more on whatever remained of the little life that seemed so happy and bright in my past. It was a mere hopeless desire to feast upon my misery. They dissuaded me. They did all they could to divert me from this morbidity. But at last I could resist the impulse no longer, and, promising faithfully to return to them, and parting, as I will confess, from these four-day friends with tears, I went out again into the streets that had lately been so dark and strange and empty.

Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water.

I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the streets and vivid the moving life about me. So many people were abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been slain. But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes, and that every other man still wore his dirty rags. Their faces seemed all with one of two expressions—a leaping exultation and energy or a grim resolution. Save for the expression of the faces, London seemed a city of tramps. The vestries were indiscriminately distributing bread sent us by the French government. The ribs of the few horses showed dismally. Haggard special constables with white badges stood at the corners of every street. I saw little of the mischief wrought by the Martians until I reached Wellington Street, and there I saw the red weed clambering over the buttresses of Waterloo Bridge.

At the corner of the bridge, too, I saw one of the common contrasts of that grotesque time—a sheet of paper flaunting against a thicket of the red weed, transfixed by a stick that kept it in place. It was the placard of the first newspaper to resume publication—the Daily Mail. I bought a copy for a blackened shilling I found in my pocket. Most of it was in blank, but the solitary compositor who did the thing had amused himself by making a grotesque scheme of advertisement stereo on the back page. The matter he printed was emotional; the news organisation had not as yet found its way back. I learned nothing fresh except that already in one week the examination of the Martian mechanisms had yielded astonishing results. Among other things, the article assured me what I did not believe at the time, that the “Secret of Flying,” was discovered. At Waterloo I found the free trains that were taking people to their homes. The first rush was already over. There were few people in the train, and I was in no mood for casual conversation. I got a compartment to myself, and sat with folded arms, looking greyly at the sunlit devastation that flowed past the windows. And just outside the terminus the train jolted over temporary rails, and on either side of the railway the houses were blackened ruins. To Clapham Junction the face of London was grimy with powder of the Black Smoke, in spite of two days of thunderstorms and rain, and at Clapham Junction the line had been wrecked again; there were hundreds of out-of-work clerks and shopmen working side by side with the customary navvies, and we were jolted over a hasty relaying.

All down the line from there the aspect of the country was gaunt and unfamiliar; Wimbledon particularly had suffered. Walton, by virtue of its unburned pine woods, seemed the least hurt of any place along the line. The Wandle, the Mole, every little stream, was a heaped mass of red weed, in appearance between butcher’s meat and pickled cabbage. The Surrey pine woods were too dry, however, for the festoons of the red climber. Beyond Wimbledon, within sight of the line, in certain nursery grounds, were the heaped masses of earth about the sixth cylinder. A number of people were standing about it, and some sappers were busy in the midst of it. Over it flaunted a Union Jack, flapping cheerfully in the morning breeze. The nursery grounds were everywhere crimson with the weed, a wide expanse of livid colour cut with purple shadows, and very painful to the eye. One’s gaze went with infinite relief from the scorched greys and sullen reds of the foreground to the blue-green softness of the eastward hills.

The line on the London side of Woking station was still undergoing repair, so I descended at Byfleet station and took the road to Maybury, past the place where I and the artilleryman had talked to the hussars, and on by the spot where the Martian had appeared to me in the thunderstorm. Here, moved by curiosity, I turned aside to find, among a tangle of red fronds, the warped and broken dog cart with the whitened bones of the horse scattered and gnawed. For a time I stood regarding these vestiges. . . .

Then I returned through the pine wood, neck-high with red weed here and there, to find the landlord of the Spotted Dog had already found burial, and so came home past the College Arms. A man standing at an open cottage door greeted me by name as I passed.

I looked at my house with a quick flash of hope that faded immediately. The door had been forced; it was unfast and was opening slowly as I approached.

It slammed again. The curtains of my study fluttered out of the open window from which I and the artilleryman had watched the dawn. No one had closed it since. The smashed bushes were just as I had left them nearly four weeks ago. I stumbled into the hall, and the house felt empty. The stair carpet was ruffled and discoloured where I had crouched, soaked to the skin from the thunderstorm the night of the catastrophe. Our muddy footsteps I saw still went up the stairs.

I followed them to my study, and found lying on my writing-table still, with the selenite paper weight upon it, the sheet of work I had left on the afternoon of the opening of the cylinder. For a space I stood reading over my abandoned arguments. It was a paper on the probable development of Moral Ideas with the development of the civilising process; and the last sentence was the opening of a prophecy: “In about two hundred years,” I had written, “we may expect——” The sentence ended abruptly. I remembered my inability to fix my mind that morning, scarcely a month gone by, and how I had broken off to get my Daily Chronicle from the newsboy. I remembered how I went down to the garden gate as he came along, and how I had listened to his odd story of “Men from Mars.”

I came down and went into the dining room. There were the mutton and the bread, both far gone now in decay, and a beer bottle overturned, just as I and the artilleryman had left them. My home was desolate. I perceived the folly of the faint hope I had cherished so long. And then a strange thing occurred. “It is no use,” said a voice. “The house is deserted. No one has been here these ten days. Do not stay here to torment yourself. No one escaped but you.”

I was startled. Had I spoken my thought aloud? I turned, and the French window was open behind me. I made a step to it, and stood looking out.

And there, amazed and afraid, even as I stood amazed and afraid, were my cousin and my wife—my wife white and tearless. She gave a faint cry.

“I came,” she said. “I knew—knew——”

She put her hand to her throat—swayed. I made a step forward, and caught her in my arms.

[dontcallthislovee]

Throwback to that one time...

That my two apartment mates (I'm going to call them roommates) were talking about me, not including me in things on purpose, plotting against me, etc. behind my back several years ago. I'm not sure if one of the people who did this to me still follows me or not and if they do, if they are even active on tumblr right now, but this is not meant to be directed at them or to make them feel any type of way. It's just something that's been on my mind a lot lately because I never was fully able to get over it. I consider it to be the worst betrayal I've ever experienced, and I've had a lot.

So several years ago, I moved across my state to move in with two of my best friends, or at least I thought they were at the time. I had been friends with one of them for a couple years already and she met the other one when she moved to that side of the state and became friends, so I became friends with her through my friend. I genuinely did my best to be as friendly as I could to her other friend, but it always felt like no matter what I did, I was the bad guy and she was this poor, sweet victim. No matter what happened. It got very frustrating and I should've more carefully considered this before picking up and moving my entire life across the state to live with them.

The first few months of living together was really great. It was everything I thought it would be, being able to live with friends. I had never got to experience it before so it was something I was really looking forward to. But then soon after, I started feeling like I was being left out of things by my two roommates on purpose, like they'd suddenly stop talking when they heard me coming towards the room, etc. It felt like they were plotting to just leave me behind quietly and hope I don't make a fuss. I started bringing it up to them and they played it off as, "Oh, it's just your anxiety." "You're just paranoid." "It's all in your head." So after several months of this continuing, I'm starting to think maybe I have some severe mental illness that's causing this paranoia. Maybe I have schizophrenia? I had been having some minor auditory hallucinations, so this is why I went there. Like I don't even know. Just any other explanation other than what I'm thinking is happening being true. I was seriously considering checking myself into a mental institution because of this. (They both also have depression and anxiety, so they understand what saying these things to me meant.)

Finally, over Christmas break, they both went home to their families and I stayed in our apartment alone. I just lost it. I broke down and I went into one of their iPads and read their text messages. And I was right. I was fucking goddamn right the entire time. There was months of text messages of them saying they'd always choose the other over me if it ever came down to it. And I'm sitting there wondering what made them think it'd even come down to it at some point? I had asked them frequently if anything I did bothered them so I could change it if necessary and they never said anything. So I'm sitting there seeing these things, realizing they gaslit me this entire fucking time knowing goddamn well what they were doing to me. It literally felt like someone took a knife and stabbed me in my heart. I have never been hurt so deeply as I was when I discovered this.

When they came back home, we didn't speak to each other for I think it was at least 2 weeks. Living in rooms directly next to each other, in the same apartment, I did not speak to them and they did not speak to me for at least 2 whole weeks, if not more. I spent some of the time at my boyfriend's place at the time because I was just a wreck. I was weeping for hours a day. I was so anxious about everything that I was seriously trembling, my entire body. I ended up going to see a therapist and she pretty much immediately knew that she could not offer me the amount of help that I needed right then. I was on the verge of being suicidal and seriously struggling to not start cutting again, though I may have, I don't actually remember. So the therapist referred me to a partial hospitalization program. Go during the day and go through classes to help you learn how to cope and deal with the stress and the things that got you there. It was there that I learned that the minor auditory hallucinations could be caused by increased stress, like thinking you're a nutjob.

It was at some point during that program that I was assisted in getting up the nerve to have a sit down with my roommates and see if we can talk this out. They were very cold when I spoke with them about it. From my point of view, they had no reason to act this way towards me. It was a complete blank as to why they'd act like this as I was under the impression they would not have known that I read their messages yet. I, however, was wrong. Thank you, Apple for screentime and ratting on me. I was planning on telling them anyway, but it made that time in between unbearable. Literally no one said anything to either side when they got back home. I had removed all of my belongings from the common areas and put them in my room. I wanted to be as separate from them as I possibly could since I already was, but I was just the only one who hadn't known it.

When we sat down to talk, it was me that had to lead the whole thing. I had to nudge everything forward. We could've gone the last 5 months living there without speaking if I hadn't asked to have a sitdown. I can almost guarantee it. They are not very confrontational people and will avoid it if they can, which is why I'm assuming they never told me what I did that made them dislike me so much. I still to this day do not know. I apologized to them for going through their things and that it was wrong and I shouldn't have done it. And I'm not trying to excuse it by any means, but what I found as a result kind cemented the fact that it was necessary for my mental health. I literally thought I had lost my mind until I found the proof I was right. And they were letting me. I tried explaining my side of things and then they spoke and basically, if I remember correctly, just doubled down and made me feel like I was the only person in the wrong because I had invaded their privacy, which I still feel guilty for despite the fact that it probably saved me from a psych ward stay. They made me feel like they didn't see or understand my side of things at all and that what I found didn't matter because of the way I found it out. Which is so fucking stupid because that'd be like a dude trying to tell his girlfriend it doesn't count that she found out he cheated because she went through his phone without his permission. Like, this isn't the law or the courtroom, you can't claim fruit of the poisonous tree. You are not innocent just because of how the proof was found. You're still fucking guilty! And it just never felt like they knew this. They never apologized for anything because they felt that they never did anything wrong. They even tried to deny gaslighting me when I KNOW it happened because I wrote in a journal sometimes and there were multiple entries recording when they told me I was just crazy! Sitting down with them ending up being almost entirely pointless since they essentially continued to gaslight me. They're the only ones who got something out of it, they got an apology where it was deserved. However, I did not.

So, since I never got an apology and never got them to admit they even did something wrong, I've struggled for like 5 years now, I think that's how long it's been. How do you get over or through something that you never got ANY type of closure on? And that you most likely never will. I don't really talk to them anymore and I'm perfectly happy with that. I haven't been able to really trust anyone since then though. Even when someone says they're my friend or they like me, doesn't matter, I just don't believe them because x, y, and z all betrayed me in super hurtful ways and the only common denominator is me in all of it, so I must be the one that has something wrong with them, right? My therapist says no, but it's kinda her job to make me feel better so I'm not sure I completely believe that. And what pisses me off is that NO ONE tells me what I did to make them feel so negative about me. So I have no fucking clue what is so awful about me that people would rather make me feel insane than tell me what is actually wrong with me.

[goalieprotectionsquad]

I of course very easily came across the hp shooter’s dad’s fb page (I was not looing for it) because I have a lot of fb friends in hp & someone and i am SHRIEKING at the fact that he changed his profile picture to the ~hp strong~ sort of deal that hp ppl are doing following the shooting. ppl in the comments are like you know i felt bad for you because it wasnt your fault but then i learned you co-signed for those guns. and obviously none of this is funny but seeing the gall of this fucker is. truly incredible.

i did get to talk to my coworker today abt trying to figure out how to grieve/process/etc. as someone in the greater hp community. she is feeling the same way which made me feel a lot better abt how fucked up I’ve been feeling. my other coworker said she took yesterday off bc all day monday she was on the phone with her best friend who lives 2 blocks from where the shooting happened and was out for a walk at the time and was planning on walking by the parade. my other coworker grew up in hp and said she’s pretty much been a weeping mess for the last two days. i asked my OTHER coworker, the one who actually lives in hp now, how he was doing and he gave one of those “y’know, fine” answers and clearly didnt want to talk about it. today i emailed the university police (barf) and am scheduling our dept for active shooter training which is exciting and very fun to think abt.

i think everyone was sort of in the same headspace today of not wanting to be at work, wanting to stay home, wanting to feel safe, wanting to be with our families. none of us know how to cope with this, especially as ppl who weren’t directly affected by the tragedy (we all know ppl in hp, but only my one coworker lives there, and nobody we know was at the parade). i know there’s no real way to cope with it but good god. i realized this morning that not a single one of my friends has more rights than the shooter. many of my friends have uteruses, most of them are queer, some of them are not white. that also fucked me up

ok this turned into a longer vent than anticipated whoopsies. i was already having trouble with feeling hopeless and now that shit like this happens in my own greater community, like. this isn’t going away, at least not anytime soon. I honestly don’t know if it will go away until this country breaks down. I would not be surprised if that happens in the next 4-5 years because hoo are we headed downhill at breakneck speed

anyway i am just sad and for once am not worried that I’m just settling into sadness because it’s comfortable. I know exactly why I’m sad, I just don’t know how to even BEGIN to fix it. the more time that passes, the more I realize how deeply this shook me. I didn’t mean to talk about it in therapy yesterday but ended up talking abt it for a while and just expressing like. what the fuck

i’ve been on the verge of tears all day today and cannot seem to just get it over with which sucks and means that I’ll probably have a meltdown at an extremely inconvenient time, because why not.

[marksollinger]

making slow but eventual progress on this fic has me fixating even more on the reasons why i find myself resonating with julia just as much as i did with gerry when i first listened to the podcast... incarcerated family members... working night jobs... homelessness... traumatic experiences with counselors, mental health professionals and social workers...

[giant-sketches]

Happy birthday @gentlegiantdreamer!!!  You are such a wonderful and inspiring person to me and I hold you dear to my heart! So for your birthday I made you this art and wrote you a little story to go along with it. I wish you a day full of fun and love! There is also a speedpaint!

I hope you can feel the effort I put into this and long hours of work too. I hope you and everyone enjoys my interpretations of Lilypadton and enjoy the story. Disclaimer: Almost Drowning/Cussing/Pain/Shouting/Monster Transformations

Word Count: 1746

At the start Patton was very active after his first transformation as Lilypadton. That may have been due to him going about the day believing it was a one time deal, but that wasn’t the case. From time to time the other sides would catch glimpses of his skin turning green around his hands and dark patches appearing on his neck. However, whenever the subject was brought up with the moral side he’d brush it off as a trick of the light or some kind of baking material he missed in his clean up. They all knew better though, especially his boyfriends Janus and Virgil.

“We need to go talk to him….TODAY!” Janus was pacing around Virgil’s room with his arms crossed, expressing his impatience with his partner.

Virgil thought it best to give Patton space, but his changes were becoming more frequent. Now things were even worse as their cutie had locked himself in his room for the past two days.

“I know you wanted to give him space, but now he’s trapped himself in his room. We’re the only ones on this side of the mindscape that can help him through this.” Janus hissed and cursed himself for not doing something sooner.

“Please calm down Jan.” Virgil got up from his bed to hold his boyfriend. “It’s going to be alright. Let’s go see him now and tell him about what’s happening to him.” He paused in thought. “Though, I never thought we’d ever have this kind of discussion with him honestly. To think he was like us this whole time.”

Janus touched his scaled face and looked at Virgil with soft eyes. “Are you going to show him? You know how h-” “Yeah I know...but I have to. It wouldn’t be fair for me to hide it when he’s going through something ten times worse.” Janus kissed Virgil’s cheek to reassure him.

Both left the room and slowly made their way to Patton’s door. Virgil tried the door knob, still locked. “Patton? Sweetpea we’ve come here to see how you are doing. Can you let us in, please?” Silence...no wait there was some kind of groaning sound coming from behind the door. “G-go away…” Was that Patton just now? It sounded like he was gurgling water while trying to speak.

“We can’t do that! We have something important to talk-or show you!” Janus looked to Virgil nervously. The former dark side nodded his head as Jan’s nails grew out to a point and sliced the doorknob off. “Excuse the intrusion.”

Both stepped into a darkened and rather humid room. Thankfully, both of them could see in the dark. In the corner they spotted Patton curled up and shaking, facing the wall. He visibly showed signs of changing with his green tinted skin and dark patches all over his arms and neck. “Pat?”

Startled, Patton sprang to his feet and turned to face them. They gasped at how their little buddy appeared taller now, his eyes now distinctly like a frog’s, and his hair showed faded tips of green. His eyes were filled with tears as he had to look down at his friends. He felt like a monster!

“No, no please….you have to LEAVE!” Patton’s voice croaked and boomed as he shot up another 10 feet and banged his head on the ceiling with a loud thunk. He groaned as he fell to his hands. The tears intensified as water seeped from the cracks in the wall and began flooding the room.

“Shit! Hold on to me!” Virgil clung to Janus for dear life as they quickly rose to the ceiling with the increasing water level. Patton was down below still weeping and expanding. His form pressing up against every nook and cranny of his tiny room. “Patton! Patton please! You need to stop crying or we’re going to- gurrglrrglr”

Time was up. The water had now completely filled the room as Janus and Virgil started sinking. Luckily, their froggy friend heard their pleas and snapped out of his distress. Quickly he expanded the room, changing it’s form as he scooped up the two tenderly in his webbed hands. With a kick of his strong legs Pat breached the surface. The room was now a large pond with only a small island in the center. The sun was warm and there was the sound of life all around them, but this was no time to relax.

“Virgil? Janus? Oh my gosh please, you have to be okay kiddos! Please!” Patton begged for his sweethearts to be okay as he set them on the soft grass. He poked at their stomachs as gently as he could.

*Cough* *Cough*

Oh thank goodness! Both were hacking up small volumes of water as they gasped for air, sweet-sweet air! “Patton?” Their vision was foggy from nearly drowning as they tried to focus on the green blob in front of them. Virgil raised up his arms, “A-are you okay?”

“What do you mean am I okay?! Are you okay? You two almost drowned b-because of me!” The big softie was on the verge of tears once again as he leaned in to nuzzle his dark darling with his nose.

“Woah...how big are you Patty?” Virgil giggled. He definitely wasn’t expecting to be cuddled by a gentle green snout of all things. “We’re okay Pat. Just a bit out of breath and-” Janus shivered, he had gotten too cold.

Virgil noticed as he escaped from Patton’s schnoz and immediately started cuddling up to his scaly boyfriend to warm him up. Pat climbed up onto the island, but at his current size of 100 feet he covered the majority of it as he scooped them up in his hand to hold them both closer to the sun. Jan was thankful for this as he hissed happily. His cold blood started to run warm again.

“Thank you darling! The numbness is fading now.” He lifted himself up to look at Patton with a warm expression. “Wow, look at you Pat.” “Yeah, Mr. Green right here.” They both joked to cut the tension. Patton laughed along with them as the ground shook, causing ripples in the water. His size really was something to behold. Still, their joy was cut short, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have bottled up my emotions like that and hidden away. You two could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“Oh Patty! We understand…w-we have something to tell you.” Virgil looked to Janus hoping he would start. “That’s right Patton, Virgil and I have both gone through what you’re experiencing right now. Okay, maybe not the exact same thing, but something similar.”

Patton was surprised. “W-what do you mean?” Janus smiled flashing his fangs, “I’m sure you’ve already noticed my face, but have you ever wondered why it looks like this?” Pat shook his head, he always thought it’d be taboo to ask about. “It’s because of my monster side.”

Monster side?! What was that? Patton was obviously confused as Virgil spoke up, “Mhm...Janus, Remus, and I...we all have a monster side to us. Janus doesn’t hide his like I do though and Remus is always shifting so it just seems ‘normal’ for him. It was a huge surprise when yours was revealed. Honestly, I never thought you’d be like us Pat.” Virg was feeling anxious as he kept his head down while talking.

“B-but you’ve never looked like Janus at all Stormcloud. What does your monster side look like?” Damn...that was a question he really wanted to avoid. “Guess there’s no use hiding it anymore huh? B-before I show you, you have to promise me you won’t freak out...okay Pat?”

Virgil looked so serious as he stared at Patton. What was he so worried about? “Awe kiddo, you know I’d never be scared of you! I love you too much!” He beamed a smile that put the sun to shame at them as Virgil sighed feeling a bit more relieved. “Alright.”

Concentrating, he closed his eyes as eight pitch black spider legs spread out from his back starting from the spine. He winced in pain, it’d been a long time since he last transformed. A pair of sharp mandibles poked out from the corners of his mouth; four slits opened up underneath his cheeks in pairs, each containing a solid black eye with a hint of purple.

“Aaaahhhh!!!” Suddenly, Virgil screamed lightly in pain as the transformation came to end with his new set of fangs and claws growing to a point. Janus caught him as he slumped over, huffing from exhaustion. Weakly, he looked up to Patton trying his best to smile.

Patton was mortified as he watched Virgil writhe in pain in his hand. When it all finally came to an end he was looking eyes wide at a big black spider...fuck! His heart was racing as he tried to not physically throw his boyfriend into the pond. Wait! That’s right this was his little sweetie, his Stormcloud, Prince of Darkness, etc. There was no need to be so scared...he gulped as he reached down to stroke his loves face.

Oh! He was still so soft and honestly his spider legs kind of tickled. The fear in his heart dissolved instantly. Patton giggled at how nervous he was only moments ago as he pressed them both to his cheek. “So I’m not alone after all.”

God, Virgil was instantly healed by his Sweetpea’s warmth. He hugged into the green flesh happily. “Of course not Patton, we’ll both always be here for you!”

“I’m so happy right now! You two are the best boyfriends in the whole wide world!!!”

Patton slid into the pond once more as he laid on his back. He kissed his cuties to his plush lips and then placed them right on top of his chest as he floated along the water. All the while they laughed and smiled at their giant lovers' touch.

“This new form is scary, but at long as I have you two I think I’ll be okay.”

“We love you Patton and we’ll always love you no matter what you are.”

The couple laid on Pat’s chest as tiny frogs hopped up from the lily pads to play with them as they enjoyed their time together. All content in knowing that each of them had a little cute monster inside of them that made them special.

[dixbolik-lovers]

AU!Sacrifice. The new ruler-reader throws a huge ball. Everyone eyeing the ex-prince on there laps, naked and with heavy golden collar with chain. Ruler with coldness in there eyes touches the boys, basically getting them prepare for the sexual activity’s on the public eye. Reactions-headcanons with Karl, Richter and mother’s of Sakamaki?

OwO The return of this Au.... I’m not quite sure what you meant with this, but since this is a copypaste of the same one with the Mukami, I’m taking the fun route and making the characters listed the victims~

. . . 

Karlheinz

To have sunk so far is such an insult to his pride that Karlheinz can’t so much as speak. He’s practically frozen in place as you touch him, unable to do anything to try to spare himself the humiliation. His eyes are empty, his jaw is slack, and he’s practically dissociating. This far in, there’s no way he can use his charisma to charm his way out of the situation-- and Karl knows it. He’s both paralyzed and drowning in pure shame from it all. 

Richter

Even though he’s so humiliated that he can barely breathe, Richter still finds himself getting aroused. Cursing how willing and easy his body is, he tries desperately to deny that he’s getting off on being displayed. Despite the shame of the position, being held in your lap makes him feel wanted in ways that he’s not used to-- and those ways go directly to the most needy parts of him. Richter’s small amount of will to resist doesn’t hold out for long. 

Beatrix

For someone of Beatrix’s dignity and poise, being spread naked and chained on your lap is the ultimate in shame. Her face is painfully red and she’s obviously fighting the urge to struggle or squirm away when you touch her, but she still obeys and doesn’t put up any fight. Doing what you say is better than making a fuss and bringing on something worse... no matter how much she despises every part of this nightmare of a situation. 

Cordelia

She’ll protest and struggle violently... which is only going to get her into more trouble. Cordelia’s sense of pride can’t handle being treated in such a way, and yet, she’s easy enough that she’s soaking your lap with her wetness just from a little touching. Even though she’ll deny it to the very end, Cordelia is the kind of woman who enjoys what you’re doing quite a bit deep down. She both despises the shame and loves the attention. 

Christa

For Christa, the position you have her in is utter shame. She’s frozen and on the verge of tears, struggling weakly, and whispering a steady stream of no. She’s absolutely terrified of what you’re going to do, and it shows. The longer you touch her, the more upset she gets, until she’s weeping in your lap and visibly dissociating. You’ll have to keep snapping her back to reality if you want the full effect of your little show to reach her.