#but that passage left me convulsing

[elbiotipo]

I'm not gonna critictize franchises I have no connection to but the whole concept of "the Greek Gods, the beacon of Western Civilization, moved to the United States, which is now the new Olympus" is firing up every single rant-writing neuron in my brain.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Welcome to Fictober!

Get ready for a series of enjoyable stories leading up to Halloween.

Every Saturday, a new story will be released, offering you a dose of Halloween spirit. With a special story posted on Tuesday 31st October.

From nostalgic trick-or-treating to the joy of pumpkin carving and the thrill of watching classic horror films, and even a few different things that you totally won’t be expecting. These fics will capture the essence of the season, offering a few tricks as well as a few treats.

So, mark your calendar and join us on this journey to make your Saturdays a little more special in the run-up to Halloween.

Forever At The Pumpkin Patch. [ 7th October, 2023. ]

in which, your boyfriend knew that halloween was your favourite holiday of the year, you went all out, dressed up in extravagant costumes, decorated your shared house more than you did at christmas and made little goody bags to give out to the children that knocked on your door. after being together for a total of four years, you lover boy organises a candle lit picnic at your favourite spot, the pumpkin patch where he asks you a very important question.

The Masquerade. [ 14th October, 2023. ]

in which, your friend drags you along to a high school reunion halloween party, which you one hundred percent do not feel in the mood to attend, but his nagging doesn't hold off, so being the good friend you are, you give into his nagging. a shocking revelation occurs when your ex walks through the door who you as well as everyone else didn’t expect to turn up leading to a confrontation that's nothing but emotional.

Halloween Movie Marathon. [ 21st October, 202. ]

in which, of your first halloween where all of your children finally understand the concept, after having taken them out trick or treating, the four of you all cuddle up on the sofa, hot coco in one hand whilst your other dips in and out of there sweet bucket, a movie marathon where the films are child friendly halloween films which both you and your husband can’t wait to show your children, creating not only a family tradition but memories to last a lifetime.

The Impossible Miracle. [ 28th October, 2023. ]

in which, what you thought would turn out as a fun filled halloween evening with your fiancé turns out to be anything of the sorts, you collapse in pain, coughing up blood as your body convulses where your rushed to the hospital via your fiancés car where the a trip to the witches inform you of something you never thought would be possible given your lover is a creature of the night.

A Love Beyond Time. [31st October, 2023. ]

in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved fiancé. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your fiancé's lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.

If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know, either in through my asks, messages or comments.

Whose ready…?

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Arrows (Special Request) - Doc - Part 2

Part 2 of Arrow. If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

My dear friend loves the whumpiest of whumps... this is what I have provided. This chapter Hurts. Happy Birthday @arctrooper69!!!

Also: got a new Poll up for your thoughts! Should Doc Have Her Own Blog?

Warnings: Bone/joint injury, profanity, vomiting, heavy whump, medical procedures/language, needles

WC: 2,650

Only the occasional rumble of Wrecker’s voice marked the passage of time as my mind lapsed into a haze of pain and silent pleas and something not quite reality. I wanted him to stop – needed – him to stop, the words begging for just a moment’s reprieve filling my mouth and halting my already choppy breath, but if I had managed to force them into existence, I was too far gone to truly hear it. The growing guilt and fear tensing his shoulders and quickening his stride, however, left what logic flickered within me certain I had spoken them, screamed them as my body struggled against him even now, unable to keep still beneath the relentless hurt coursing through me.

I vaguely saw the way my fingers clawed atop his back plate, felt my uninjured leg strain to find purchase against his hip, his stomach, boot dragging over plastoid in a futile attempt to push myself free of him. My throat felt raw, burning at the very thought of attempting to speak even as cries of pain continued to catch on nearly every breath.

“… seen her hurt before!” He was shouting. “This ain’t just some…!” Fading in and out. “…am hurryin’!” I hated the note of fear in his voice, hated my inability to offer him even a whisper of reassurance as the sickening chill of panicked sweat soaked into my blacks, mind balking amidst the lingering uncertainty that the world was spinning madly around me.

“Wr-eck… please…” Stammered. Broken. As soon as the ruined semblance of my voice choked past the tortured flesh of my throat, I couldn’t say with any certainty that it had ever existed as anything more than one of countless half-formed thoughts flitting too quickly through my mind to find any meaning.

“..ry! Kriff, I’m s… -ost there, jus… on…” I remembered the distant fear that nights on this planet would bring with them a chill, that I should pack an extra blanket for Echo, just in case… but the merciless cold at war with the fire raging through my veins was inescapable. Cursing through gritted teeth, Wrecker came to a sharp halt, sending a shockwave of sickening motion rippling through me.

“…orry-sorry; jus’… argh, just hol…” I tried to focus, tried to find some reason behind the sudden stop. A light thump seemed to echo from somehow just below me followed by the telltale trill of a blaster firing, the shimmer of a blue ring just catching my attention from the corner of my eye, and then we were moving again.

It wasn’t until feeling their hands ease me from Wrecker’s shoulder that I even realized we’d finally reached the others, and I had to fight to hear them over the deafening boom of my heartbeat, the static screaming around me… screaming… I was… I was screaming. Their touch felt like acid. The suffocating humidity from my frantic gasps sat heavily within the too-small hollow of my bucket, rebreather overloaded from how long I’d been hyperventilating, from how long I’d been abusing my vocal cords with ceaseless, shouted pleas, but, body nearly convulsing beneath the fresh torture of nerves shrieking against even the most delicate caress, those too-quick huffs came even faster, chest fluttering in something closer to a tremble than actual breath as they lowered me onto the ground… no… it wasn’t soil beneath me… a cloth?

“..ong with her?!” Hunter demanded. My uninjured arm coiled at my side, fingers burring mindlessly into whatever bit of fabric they’d laid me down on, leg continuing some listless attempt to push me up, to move, to flee this agony.

“-ey, hey, hey; come on, Doc; you’ve got to stop moving.” Some blurred visage of Echo flashed before me.

“…uncertain. I’ll need… remove the proje… test for toxins.” Pressure… pushing against my back, pinning me firmly to the ground… Panic resurging in a rush, whatever broken sounds of hurt caught in my throat turned desperate, body straining to reach for the man before me despite the arm nearest him refusing to even twitch.

“I’m here; I’m right here.” Echo murmured, so nearly stifling the fear from his voice as he quickly caught my hand in his. Somewhere nearby, Wrecker and Crosshair were… arguing? Yelling about something… at something… I tried to look, but someone held my helmet still, tilting it just enough to expose my neck. The sting of the autoinjector should have been a familiar nuisance, but the nerves reacted as though the thin needles gouged through muscle and veins and bone, and shied from it with a barked cry of agony, certain I would find a river of blood pouring onto the ground if I could just convince my eyes to focus.

“..et worse… can’t wait…” Tech’s voice seemed to spin around me, lilting on some faltering orbit as the words fluctuated between near silent and deafening. Maker, my chest ached from the frantic racing of my heart. “…lp hold her… pull…” The weight shifted atop me as something tugged at my armor. The first jostle of my shoulder as they removed the bell sent a burst of white across my vision, stomach heaving against the sickening hurt and fire and wrong as something clicked against bone. My hand wrenched away from Echo to claw uselessly against the joint, body trying to curl onto its side despite that relentless weight holding me down.

“Don’t le… move her arm.” Something tightened around my elbow, locking the useless limb in place. I think I was still screaming. Begging them to let me go. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fight them. Every muscle lay taut, teeth clattering violently from the terrible tremor wrought from cold and panic and pain.

Only when the wretched thing piercing my shoulder began to move, did I fall silent, throat locking shut in those first few seconds, the entirety of my existence too overwhelmed with that deathly wrong hurt to remember anything else. With a sickening hyperfocus, I felt every shift, felt the faint tremble from how his hands shook, felt the tiny twists as he worked to ease it free without furthering the damage or severing a tendon.

For just those for first few seconds, no sound could escape me, but then the trance broke, and I couldn’t remember how to stop as air I didn’t know my lungs still possessed tore from me in a sound I could barely hear over the static blaring in my ears. I don’t know when the thing finally came free, the vague awareness of Tech calling Echo’s name more akin to a near forgotten dream than reality before a new pressure burr down against the wound.

“Why … still awake?!”

“ …’t know, but …”

The weight shifted atop me, centering over my hips as their voices pulsed in a nauseating dysrhythmia. Hands tightened around my thigh like a vise and, before I could more than gasp at the terror of what was to come, something else settled over my calf, trapping my leg between them.

“-on’t look, Doc,” I didn’t even realize my head had been trying to twist enough to see them, movements halting and unsteady, until Echo’s words rumbled through my helm’s speakers. If he said something else, I couldn’t hear it as Tech began prying the second projectile from my knee. My back snapped up, body thrashing in a futile attempt to unseat them.

The pressure against my shoulder faltered slightly amidst a tiny grunt of pain, just audible above the frenzy of orders being shouted between the others, but my entire focus locked on it. The guilt that twisted through my chest was crippling as I quickly wrenched my hand back, unaware when it had lashed out for something, anything, and found only Echo’s thigh, fingers clenching ruthlessly around the muscle just above his prosthetic.

“Kriff, no-no, it’s okay.” I think he called my name, offered some manner of gentle reassurance, but that brief flash of lucidity was already overwhelmed by the deathly cold slicing into my knee, the certainty that they were cutting through the joint entirely as fumbled pleas tangled once more atop my tongue between the feral keening my screams receded into.

“Tech, yuh … -thing for the pai…” Wrecker was shouting.

“I – ng – I have!” He snapped, and even I could hear the struggle in his voice. “Hunter, hold h…”

“I am!” There was no relief when it finally came free, when the notches of whatever stone was lashed to the tip of that slender shaft broke through cartilage and tissue alike before slipping out from the ruined joint, nerves still aflame in the echo of that agony.

“Need to flush… try to… -oxins…”

Crosshair’s rifle fired twice, followed by a shrill cry from somewhere in the distance.

“More incoming.” There was a sharpness to his words I wasn’t used to. I wanted to see him, to understand why, but I couldn’t move beyond the way my body shook. Something pressed into the wound, stretching torn flesh before forcing liquid into the joint. My torso bucked, writhing against the cold and pressure and Maker, why wouldn’t it stop.

When the same hurt poured into my shoulder, I couldn’t hold back the gag, stomach convulsing as my body seized. Someone cursed and wrenched my bucket off. I didn’t notice the way he paused, didn’t see who dragged the wet gauze over my cheek to clean away the remnants of sick.

“Wh… what the kriff is …” I understood the horror in his voice more than the words, and fought to search for him amidst the churning colors… Echo… Confused, I belatedly realized he wasn’t looking at me so much as my face; my skin. “Tech, what is-”

“Think they want their friend back.” Wrecker called out through an audible scowl.

“Later – we need to move!” Hunter yelled over him. The rapid chirping of a heavy repeater joined Crosshair’s rifle.

“Too bad,” He growled, “That thing’s coming with us.” The cloth shifted beneath me, hugging my form as it began to rise. A stretcher… that’s what they’d laid me down on. Echo and Tech stood at my shoulders while Hunter took the position at my feet. I could still hear Crosshair and Wrecker firing rapidly behind us as we fled.

Every pounding footfall sent tiny percussions rippling through me, but my throat was too raw for anything more than a tortured wheeze. Muscles in my forearm, my thigh, stretching down my back began to lock, too exhausted to make sense of the continued abuse from how violently I trembled. Couldn’t unclench my hand… couldn’t breathe as I merely waited for my spine to cave; waited for that inevitable snap that never came.

“Everybody in! Get the ramp closed!” Hunter’s order boomed. The darkness of the Marauder’s halls granted a comfort at least in its familiarity. Home. This ship was home. Nearly the instant I was lowered onto my bunk, the faint hum of a scanner loomed over me.

“The toxin is blocking acetylcholine uptake as well as a few other autonomic functions,” Tech stated.

“What?!” Hunter barked. Someone’s hand rested over mine, but I couldn’t force my fingers to loosen enough to return that touch.

““It’s preventing her nervous system from self-regulating; she can’t moderate her heartbeat or”

“I heard what you said – what the hell can we do about it?!” He interrupted sharply.

“I… I d…” I could hear how desperately he fought against voicing the answer, how he balked at what it meant.

“Dank farrik!” It was such a rare thing to hear that kind of anger in Hunter’s voice; that fear. Knowing I was the cause sent a fresh surge of guilt twisting through me. “Is that thing awake yet?!” Silence followed by another sharp curse. Something shifted near the IV I hadn't noticed them place in my hand, and I vaguely noted Tech shuffling beside me.

“What was that?” Echo asked, not trying to hide the depth of sadness stealing through him.

“Beta blockers – I don’t know how to cure her, but I can try to treat the most dangerous symptoms.” He answered. A moment later, the daggers of the autoinjector tore into my uninjured shoulder. Despite how my breath caught, nearly hissing through clenched teeth, my throat was simply too raw to form anything near to the scream vying to escape.

“That was the same neural inhibitor she used for me.” He offered without waiting for the coming inquiry. “If her fever gets worse, there are more medications to try, but without knowing exactly what this toxin is, I can’t anticipate how it will interact with them. Until the need is urgent, that is all we should give her for now.”

The muscles in my arm were the first to respond, fingers slowly beginning to uncurl, and Echo’s small gasp held a hope I still couldn’t bring myself to feel. Fire continued to pour from the wounds, rippling through me with each beat of my still racing heart even as that terrible cold forced an occasional tremor from muscles long since driven past the point of utter exhaustion, but I could see… Thoughts once too frayed to grasp now lingered almost long enough to hold, and, as my eyes flickered listlessly before me, I managed to meet Echo’s gaze long enough for him to let out a sigh of relief.

Another touch settled atop my other hand, the sensation strangely numb in a way I would allow myself to worry over later. Gaze shifting wearily, I saw the anxious dread just twisting Tech’s normally sedate expression, saw how the fingers of his other hand tapped nervously against his thigh.

“Hey,” he sighed, thumb dragging softly over the back of my hand. “That stuff helping?” I couldn’t begin to answer him, eyes merely closing as my chest bucked in a weak sob. “Oh, cyare.” The heartbreak in his quiet whisper threatened to break me. When I forced my eyes open once more, straining to find him in the dim light, I ached at the defeated slump to his shoulders, the deep worry in the subtle downturn of his lips.

“I am doing what I can to chemically negate the effects of the toxin, but…” Desperate to ease his frenzy I forced my jaw to move, forced my shredded vocal cords to catch the huffs of air fleeing me in still too-quick huffs. “I would advise against trying to speak. I suspect you’ve damaged-”

“I…it,” I knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t care…. I needed him to know that his efforts hadn’t been worthless. “It… h-helped.” His eyes widened, and the rush of relief that swept through him was worth the razors clawing down my throat.

“Was that,” Hunter’s question died the instant he came back into the room, attention instantly locking on me, and the way he breathed my name still managed to send a tiny thrill down my spine as he quickly approached the bed. “We’re going to get you fixed up. Alright? You just need to hang on.” It wanted to be an order, but the threat of desperation in his voice rendered it into a plea. I tried to respond, lips barely managing to twitch around words my lungs and throat simply couldn’t manage.

“Hey, no-no; none of that.” He said quickly, hand reaching out to settle atop my shin. “Just breathe… okay?” It took a moment to convince the muscles in my neck to move, but I gave a small nod in reply. Hunter’s gaze suddenly turned pointedly toward the main hall of the Marauder, expression darkening.

“Tech. It’s waking up.” Before Crosshair even finished speaking, all trace of doubt fled the distraught man before me, shoulders stiffening as his jaw went taut, brows furrowing over suddenly sharp eyes as he turned toward the medbay door.

“If it has a language, I’ll decode it. They must have an antidote.”

Next Chapter

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[littleheartbeat]

It was just a piece of fruit. A small, little, teeny tiny wedge of an apple.

Somehow, that piece was more than large enough to get wedged in my throat.

A cold feeling washed over me as my heart began to pound heavily in my head, so hard that I could feel each pulse throughout my body. Tentatively, I tried to take a breath, but found that I simply couldn’t. There wasn’t a passage of air at all.

No. No no. No, I couldn’t be choking, I couldn’t be.

You were downstairs. I had insisted on taking my apples with caramel dip to the bedroom so I could sit and relax. Funny how things turn out: A simple, calm evening turned into a life-threatening situation in an instant.

My hand reaches for my throat as I yank the covers off. In doing so, I knocked off several items from the nightstand. It would often be something I’d complain about, but in this case, it was a blessing. The crash caught your attention. Your voice calls my name from downstairs.

I scramble towards the bedroom door and do my best to shout. All that comes out of my now blueing lips is a gag. I slam my fists into my abdomen in a pathetic attempt to dislodge the fruit. I couldn’t feel it move one bit. Repeatedly, I do this. I even grab a nearby book and slam the edge of it up into my stomach.

Nothing worked.

On trembling limbs, I crawled out of the bedroom, unable to keep my drool from slipping from my lips and into the carpet. The stairs are just a few feet away, and now, you’re just a few steps away. I could make it-

My vision darkens as I began to crawl down the first few steps. My body slips and falls, colliding with nearly every step.

That is, until you meet me halfway and catch me in your strong arms. My body’s bucking and practically convulsing with pain and the lack of air. You see my pale lips, my reddened cheeks, the veins in my neck popping as my heart frantically beats away the little oxygen I have left.

You know that I’m unable to breathe, but you don’t know the cause. You simply assume that my heart is having a fit. I’m too slow in bringing my hands to my neck to signal that I’m choking.

So, you quickly tilt my head back, plug my nose, and give me as deep of a breath as you could. I can feel my cheeks expand, I could feel your breath try to make its way down my throat to my starved lungs, but it doesn’t make it there. The pressure from your air makes my ears pop. There’s no where for it to go.

You pull away and adjust my head once more, craning my neck further back in a painful manner. In response, my chest hitches higher and higher against your arms, desperate to get a single bit of your air. My hands painfully claw at my own chest, practically tearing at the material of my shirt, as if that was what was keeping my from breathing. It was as if I was trying to carve into my own body and yank the fruit out of my throat.

Once more, you offered me your air, blowing as hard as you could into me.

The air didn’t reach its destination. Once more, the apple stopped it. Only this time with the air, the fruit seemed to be pushed further down my throat.

I begin to panic more, fighting against your comforting arms and biting your lips. My hands go down to my abdomen to smack into myself once more. Compared to earlier, these are weak, pathetic slaps that barely make my body move. Was i truly this weak already?

I realized that I was dying. My head was pounding with pressure, my surroundings were already graying at the corners of my tearful eyes, and my body was fighting for some small amount of air.

Your eyes widen in both guilt and understanding. It clicked: I was choking.

On the stairs, you position yourself behind me and hook your arms around me. Your fist is placed right above my belly button, and with all of your might, you pull sharply into me.

No noise is made from me as you do this, so you do it again, and again, and again. By this point, I’m limp in your arms and my heads hanging down.

I can barely watch as your arms slam into me. I can barely feel as you begin to drag me upstairs to get me on a flat surface. I can barely feel your warm hands pressing into my cheeks to try and stir a reaction, I can barely feel your lips pressing into mine once more to give me your air, I can barely feel it fail to flow.

I can’t feel your hands as they thrust deep and hard with all of your weight into my body to try and get the apple out. I can barely see as your eyes are wild with horror and dismay. Your body bops up and down against mine. Funny, what would normally be such a pleasant sight of you on top of me is perhaps the very last thing I see.

I hear your voice.

And then I simply don’t.

Everything fades.

Part of life is that it ends.

Will you let this be the end?

[guardian-angel12]

The entire Quadrant was dark from the outside view, and it only made the restless ache in Tess' body worsen.

"This is it?" Thor asked from behind her.

"Yes," she said so softly her voice broke a little. "Home."

He wouldn't judge, just because he'd grown up in a palace and she'd grown up on a rusted ship in the middle of space meant nothing, it was home to her. But less about the place itself and more of the people in it—or, who used to be in it.

Tess took a deep breath and stood. "Bring her around, Rocket."

He nodded, still so deathly quiet since Wakanda, she knew he was battling with himself but she doubted there was anyone left in the universe who wasn't.

She was shaking as the pod docked, the Quadrant still not responding to anything Rocket wasn't putting in himself, having the codes to dock without an alarm and the passage into the huge freight. What if he wasn't there? What if, just like Groot and all the others, Kraglin had turned to ashes—alone, at that—and she was truly left behind, and that was why he hadn't responded to her messages, why she couldn't reach the Quadrant's communication range.

"Tess," Thors gentle voice made her realize she was near convulsing, staring at the door, completely numb to everything. "do you want me to go first?"

"No," she whispered. "I need to do this."

"You may not like what you find."

"I know, but I need to know if he's alive."

He nodded slowly, and she took a shaky breath as the airlock opened, Thor and Rocket close behind as her feet hit the metal ground and she tried to relish the feeling of it, of being home and not on that dirt and horrors planet she'd felt trapped on for the last month.

"Kraglin?" she called out, her voice echoing almost eerily through the darkened halls. She started moving, straight to the cockpit, only to find it empty and lifeless. She let out a shuddering breath and started to the cabins instead, heart beating faster and faster with fear.

She hesitated only a moment before letting his door slide open, stale air hitting her face. She took a few steps in and could tell no one had been in here for a bit, his scent wasn't fresh and it was cold, a few empty glass bottles laying near the bed that weren't there when she'd left that morning on the Benetar with the Guardians, but the remnants of liquid were dried by now. A tiny sob escaped her lips, and she ran her hands over her head, turning a circle. "No..."

Thor's presence only warmed the area a little, but she couldn't focus on him, or Rocket, looking around with sullen eyes at the ghosts in the place that had been his home too.

Then she felt it, footsteps reverberating through the ship, tingling up into her bones. Only the three of them weren't moving. Her head was up the second she felt it, and she bolted from the room.

"Tess—?" Rocket tried to ask her, but she just ran, heading for the feeling until she heard the steps.

When she rounded the corner she thought her legs would give out.

"Tess..?" Kraglin's voice cracked when he whispered her name, eyes going glossy as they ran over her a few times. She knew she looked like shit, month-old wounds still healing and a gash half-closed on her face, tears already streaming down her face.

''Oh—" was all she managed as a sob, running straight for him and launching herself up to throw her arms around his neck, ignoring the aching of her broken rib and pressing her face into his neck, sobbing as he wrapped his hands around her, holding on like he'd never let go again.

"I thought..." he started to say, voice breaking again. ''I thought you were..."

"I'm okay...you're okay...'' she whimpered, a smile breaking her lips.

"You... you're hurt....'' he mumbled, pulling back a little once she set her feet back on the ground, putting his hand close to the stitched wound on her face. "I'm okay. I promise.''

His jaw shook a little and he pulled her in again, breathing out a long breath of relief.

[novumtimes]

AOC and Her Squad Hit with Class Action Lawsuit from Angry College Students | The Gateway Pundit

Claiming that their anti-Israel rhetoric lit the fuse that convulsed Columbia University this spring, five Columbia students are suing a collection of far-left lawmakers over their support for anti-Semitic encampments at the college. Democratic Reps. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of New York and fellow progressive “squad” members Reps. Jamal Bowman of New York and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota were named in the lawsuit as well as several anti-Israel organizations, according to Fox News. “The Gaza Encampment was extreme and outrageous conduct. It was illegal. It violated university rules. Its occupants harassed, followed, physically blocked, intimidated, and bullied Jewish students,” the lawsuit reads. “During the protests, I witnessed numerous offensive and antisemitic signs and messages, including antisemitic skunk posters with the Star of David,” a student identified in the lawsuit as “Tim Doe” said, according to the New York Post. “In one instance, I was walking with my non-Jewish friends when I was singled out because I was wearing my yarmulke. A leader of the pro-Palestinian protest approached our group and confronted me. He singled me out, yelling that I needed to move, and when I refused, he began to shove me out of the way,” he said. A student identified as “Eric Doe,” said in the suit that he “felt like he was living under an ominous cloud of doubt and uncertainty as he waited for the protestors or administration’s next move that would further impact his studies and life on campus.” “Michael Doe,” a sophomore said that during the pro-Hamas protests, he was told, “Keep walking Zionist” and was followed and screamed at by anti-Israel protesters. “In a civilized community, one does not call for the obliteration of a major metropolitan area, praise terrorists, or threaten death and destruction upon our classmates and their families, friends, and coreligionists,” the lawsuit said. “Those were real damages sustained by the 36,000 students at Columbia who chose to obey university rules, go to class, and pursue their education, only to be frustrated at the finish line by the … acts of their classmates and professors, with the assistance and encouragement of outside activists,” the lawsuit said. At the time, the protests were supported by Ocasio-Cortez and Omar. “It is especially important that we remember the power of young people shaping this country today, of all days, as we once again witness the leadership of those peaceful student-led protests on campuses like Columbia, Yale, Berkeley and many others,” Rep. Ocasio-Cortez said in April, according to The National Desk. At one point in the protests, Omar suggested some Jewish students were ”pro-genocide,” according to The New York Times. In June, Columbia settled a lawsuit with a Jewish student who sued on behalf of students who were forced to attend classes online because the college stopped in-person learning during the protests, according to The Washington Post. As part of that agreement agreed to ensure safe passage for students that could include giving students 24-hour security escorts if needed and allowing students facing threats alternative ways of coming and going from campus. “We think peaceful protest is a constructive way to solve situations,” Jay Edelson, an attorney for the plaintiff, said. He said this spring, extremists on campuses tried to “push out, figuratively and literally, people who they deem are on the wrong side.” He said in the settlement, “students have a focused security monitor who’s going to be able to serve as the eyes, ears and voice for anyone on campus who feels unsafe. “That is a major win.” This article appeared originally on The Western Journal. Source link via The Novum Times

[monstermaster13]

Attack of the Aykroyds.

A classic scary story always begins with a good opening, and this story is one of them. We all know of werecreature stories, right? Well this is a werecreature story with a distinctly Aykroydian twist, so listen very closely. When young Melanie 'Mel' Sanders agreed to go on a monster searching expedition deep in the depths of the alleys of the city of Oakendale, she h had no idea of the terror that befall her on that fateful night, for there are many legends about this particular part of the city. Lead by world-famous monsterologist Eucalyptus, the group travelled by motorcycle to the deepest part of the city to find some clues, coming around the bend, she found an retired monster hunter sitting around. 'I see you are heaidng towards the alleyway.' 'Yes...what of it?' 'The after dark zone is a dangerous place Miss Mel, stay away from there.'

"Why?"

"Stay away from the after dark zone, for that is the home of the Were-Aykroyd."

Mel had heard this myth, several years ago an adventurer had been kissed and hugged by a Dan Aykroyd character and years later he was turned into Dan Aykroyd himself, before he got turned, he vowed that he would seek vengence, anyone the Were-Aykroyd caught would be kissed and hugged by him and turned themselves, but she didn't have time to worry about myths as she packed her things, to find the clues they had to go to the after-dark zone, as they left they waved to the monster hunter who muttered to himself...'Good luck, Miss Mel..you are going to need it.' Because members of the team were scared, Eucalyptus agreed to sit up all night with her monster hunting equipment just in case the Were-Aykroyd was to strike and come after them, 'Don't worry, i'll make sure he doesn't us hug us to death.' She joked.

"Oh that's good."

"No really, you can count on me to protect you from his hugs."

Later that night, Mel was awoken by gunshots followed by the sound of a piercing scream, she jumped out of the tent she was sleeping in and hurried over to Eucalyptus's tent. 'Eukie, Eukie, Eukie...are you okay?', when she went to check on her...she had found that Eukie was lying on the floor with a kiss mark on her neck and a dazed look on her face. Had she been claimed by the monster they had heard about in the myth? A couple of minutes later, Eukie woke up and convulsed as she felt like something was possessing her body. She awoke as her eyes gave off an eerie glow. Suddenly Mel heard a rustle in the bushes. 'Thump! Scrape! Thump! Thump! Thump! Scrape!' it startled her and made her back away a little. Was it the Were-Aykroyd?

Mel began running back through the inky darkness of the after dark zone toward the exit area once she left there, she'd motor back home to her apartment to contact her boyfriend to help her, it semeed like an eternity to her but she had finally found it, her passage to safety and as if that weren't enough, Eucalyptus was there ready to help her. Once Mel met up with Eukie, she found Eukie was okay and that the Were-Aykroyd didn't hurt her, but as she got closer she reached up and hugged Eukie...only to realize, Eukie's body was slowly growing and bulking up and she was losing her fur which was transitioning into skin, which was aging up to 68 years as her chest and torso were growing, her breasts retracted into her chest as brown hairs grew on it and also on her stomach. She leaned a little closer to touch her only to realize just how sexy and thicc her best friend was becoming as her arms broadened as her hands enlarged as did her feet, and on those feet...two of the toes were sticking together and becoming webbed...could it be that Eukie was now becoming a Were-Aykroyd too?

Eucalyptus's shoulders and back broadened as her stomach swelled, brown hairs even grew on it down towards her naval area as her privates became the more masculine variant, and her legs altered, her koala-like tail retracted as her ears shrank down and became humanoid look, her hair turned from dark green to brown as her forehead grew in size, her eyebrows thickened as one of her eyes turned green while the other remained brown, her nose broadened with a little indent popping up in the middle as her features contorted, turning into an identical copy of Aykroyd's features as her voice deepened and contorted to match, a few minutes later...her mind and personality had merged wth Dan's, now making her or 'him' a Were-Aykroyd too. He stood at 6'1 and looked quite handsome.

"Are you in there? Eukie?"

"Hello Mel, you look like you could use a hug and a kiss to make you feel better."

"Eukie, snap out of it."

"Aaaaw, come on...don't play hard to get, how about a hug?"

She started to run away towards the direction of her apartment only to run not into the now Were-Aykroyd Eukie but the Were-Aykroyd who turned him, both of them looked like they wanted to befriend Mel instead of hurt her. She was still scared of them though, but she had to admit she thought that Eukie looked awfully handsome as a Were-Aykroyd, she broke down in tears. 'Stay away from me.' 'We're not going to hurt you.' 'Eukie, you're just like him now, you're a Were-Aykroyd. You are going to hurt me.' 'Why would I do that? You're my best friend and best friends would never hurt each-other.'

Mel attempted to fight her bestie only to be kissed by Eucalyptus as a Were-Aykroyd, she began hearing a strange lullaby-like chant in her head as she collapsed and drifted off to sleep, she didn't know why but it sounded so soothing. She awoke a couple of minutes later to find the same kiss marks on her neck, she had been kissed just like Eukie had, and that's when she felt something...her stomach gurgled loudly as if she had eaten something terrible, her blue tank top that she was fond of wearing, the one with the buttons was straining as her stomach was slowly growing and rounding out, making it look like she was gaining weight, she then saw her fur slowly transitioning into skin as brown hairs slowly grew on her arms, it felt like something out of a werecreature movie, you know when the fur/scales/whatever coating the species the character is turning into forms on their hands and arms.

The hairs were also growing on her chest as her chest broadened, her breasts were slowly retracted into it with a slurping sound as her tank top's buttons popped off, straining and threatening to tear that top open, her torso slowly broadened as well as her arms enlarged and her hands followed suit, she watched as the hairs developed a little downward towards her naval area. With a loud rip, the tank top ripped open..but luckily she was wearing a transformation proof shirt underneath it, but that shirt slowly tore apart too, not being able to hold her growing body.

Her jeans felt a little bit snug as her legs broadened, her rear slowly plumped up as it lost its feminine shape, becoming what was known as THICC. Her tail retracted as her privates altered to the more mannish variant, but her jeans didn't rip, they just grew to accomodate her much larger rear. She looked down to see if her boots were okay, which they weren't...they were straining and creaking as her feet slowly grew in size, growing bigger as they pushed against her boots, and with a ripping sound her boots tore open, exposing her much larger feet as two of the toes on both feet joined at the knuckle, making her look like she had webbed toes. A piercing crunching sound was heard as her back broadened.

As horrifying as this was to her, she couldn't help but be entranced and even a little turned on, she always heard that it was erotic to turn into a Were-Aykroyd in some aspects, even some compared it to becoming a vampire. She groaned and purred a little as her shoulders broadened, her height slowly growing to 6'1 as she examined her body. She couldn't help herself as she massaged her chest and torso. 'Mmmm...this oddly feels good and kind of sexy, I love this. What's wrong with me?' 'Nothing's wrong, you're just turning.'

Those scenes she had remembered from the dream she had earlier were coming to play in her mind, the scene in which the victim got massaged and the kiss scene. It was no wonder she found that scene to be sexy, and the scene in the alleyway with the people on the Discord server that simped over Dan, they worshipped this Were-Aykroyd. The massage scene was a scene that was so perfect in execution, so sexy, so oddly entrancing to watch, watchng the victim slowly turn into a fellow Were-Aykroyd as he was kissed and massaged, it made her jealous...made her want it.

Her neckline altered as her koala-like ears contorted into a pair of more humanoid looking ones, her long dark brown hair lightened as it shortened, there was a pulsing sensation in her forehead as it grew, altering her brow in the process, her eyebrows thickened as her eyes widened, one turning green while the other remained brown. Her nose broadened as a little cleft popped up in the middle of it, as her features plumped up and contorted, turning into a perfect copy of Dan's features as his lips became a bit more kissable, it was true what Jamie Lee Curtis said about him. She felt her face as her jawline contorted, traces of the koala-girl and monsterologist the city knew and loved were vanishing appearance-wise.

She groaned as her voice deepened and contorted, becoming a perfect copy of Dan's voice, sounding masculine but also distinctively Aykroydian, which was perfect...as her mind and personality shifted, she struggled to keep herself from being turned fully but Dan's traits and personality slowly merged with hers, slowly overtaking her and making her feel like this was natural. 'Yes that's right, i'm a Were-Aykroyd, i've always been one. No wait, I haven't. I'm a koala-girl, ugh...my head hurts. I don't feel like myself anymore'. She tried to resist but ultimately the Aykroyd side of her took over completely, enabling the transformation to complete itself as he was now a Were-Aykroyd himself, the new Were-Aykroyd identified as Dan and always felt that way. He chuckled to himself as his changes finished.

'Dan' looked around in the alleyway, the night was his world...he was a city life painted guy, in the day, nothing mattered to him, it was the night that flattered. He was a Were-Aykroyd after all, and he liked going out at night. He lived for it, even it got him in trouble. In the night, through the wall he could sense something breaking, a figure wearing white as they walked down the street of his soul. The Were-Aykroyd who turned him took him and took his self control, he had him living only for the night, and even though another amount of days and nights went by, he never stopped himself to wonder why. Before the morning came each time, the story was told, and 'Dan' was in control. The Were-Aykroyd side took his self control but also helped to forget his role.

He lived among the creatures of the night, but he didn't have the will to try and fight...against his transformation or a new tommorow...'So I'll guess I just believe it. That it would never come'. But why would he fight it anyway? Each transformation was empowering and kind of sexy to him, turning into a different Aykroyd character each night was one of many perks. It was a very safe night, and he traversed the alleyway, living in the forest of a dream, he knew he had to believe in something so he make himself believe it and the night would never go.

The Were-Aykroyd wasn't a villain and he wasn't after 'Dan' at all, all he wanted was someone to be his friend and now that 'Dan' and 'Eukie' were also now his friends...he wasn't lonely anymore. Dan was afraid of his transformation at first, but over time he had come to appreciate just how erotic it felt to transform and how nice that massage scene felt, and of course knowing his transformative kiss could turn others made things even better, he felt lke this was meant to happen. As the three Were-Aykroyds left the alleyway and headed back to the apartment, they could see the monster hunter from earlier looking at a news article on his phone with a headline itself...the headline read 'Three Were-Aykroyds sighted in the Sanders apartment'. The monster hunter, who revealed himself to actually be Dan Aykroyd himself chuckled as he said to himself...'Excellent work. Part 1 of my plan is complete'.

And thus with that Danny planned the next part of the plan, by sending the three Were-Aykroyds out to possibly turn others and befriend them, he could have an army of his own, pretending to be a retired monster hunter was the best plan ever. And now he could have some Were-Aykroyds as fans and folowers too, and soon lots more would be following him and becoming Were-Aykroyds too. As for what happened later, it wasn't long until there was a following for the Were-Aykroyds, and the people on the Discord server decided to stop by for tours of where the Were-Aykroyds were sighted.

Remember my dear friends, even though the idea of a Were-Aykroyd may sound stupid to some and some may find it to be hard to believe...it's nothing to laugh at, trust me on this..but luckily though you have survived this without being turned, since this is just a little story after all, it's not like they're real or anything, or maybe they are. Hang on, let me check...yep, i've got a couple of them doing a homage to The Birds outside my apartment, they are indeed real. Oh and by the way, you might want to check to see if there any in your neighborhood. Maybe your best friend is one, maybe your favorite person on Deviantart is one, or maybe the person you see everyday and talk to is one, maybe you are one of them yourself, next time you go to bed, always check to see if any Were-Aykroyds are around or if you are one, if you wake up in a dazed state and with a kiss-mark on your neck from having dreams about being kissed and/or massaged by a Dan Aykroyd character, then you are one...and you have been turned.

Oh, but it looks like you've had quite a scare up there. I mean all those Were-Aykroyds going around and all. What you need is a hug, come on...don't be shy, come and give me one. Oh and by the way, pull over for a bit...do you want to see something really scary?

[bxwitched]

Captive - Part 2

Character pairing: King!Ivar x Slave!Reader

Summary: You find yourself a captive of King Ivar the Boneless.

Words: 1,721

Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, slavery and sexual content. Explicit 18+ only, please read at your own risk.

You woke slowly as your eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar room. Your whole body tensed as the night before came flooding back to you and you scowled as you looked down at the arm curled tightly around your waist. Your back was pressed against Ivar's bare chest and you could feel his every breath, his every exhale as warmth tickled the back of your neck. The intimacy was overwhelming and you felt your insides twist.

You slowly untangled yourself from his hold, careful as you sat and rose from the bed. You moved with careful steps to retrieve your undershirt from the floor and you slipped it on to cover what modesty you had left.

You watched the king as he slept. He looked peaceful, almost boyish without a sneer marring his handsome features and you couldn't deny the flutter in your core when your eyes roamed over his torso. His torso and arms were well muscled and his skin was smooth, accented with black ink that told stories of the gods.

You could not stop the heat from rising in your cheeks as she thought back to the evening before, the way that his hands and mouth had caressed your skin and how his fingers touched your most intimate parts, forcing you to experience a pleasure you had never felt, not even by your own hands.

He had forced you, you had no choice, it was against your will you told yourself as the guilt settled in your heart. You knew that this was only the beginning of his games. You sneered at his unconscious form before you looked around the room for a weapon, he must have taken the hairpin from the table when you fell asleep.

You spotted his armour discarded in the corner and creeped towards it, sneaking glances back at Ivar every time the wood creaked beneath your feet. You searched the pile until you found his weapon belt, his axe was gone but a small iron blade remained. You gripped the cold metal between your fingers as you returned to the bed.

Ivar could feel your eyes on his body, he had heard your quick inhale as you had looked over his bare skin and he had to supress his grin. He thought of your naked body, the way that you had moaned for him and how your body had convulsed in when he brought you to ecstasy.

A strange pressure had settled in his groin as he had you panting against the furs and his trousers had tightened as he had played with your body. He had never been hard before, not with Margarette, nor with the few other slaves that had dared to try, but with you spread out beneath him he was as hard as rock. He ached to be inside of you and experience the pleasure that your wet heat could give him.

You were a puzzle to him and he wanted to solve you; he wanted to know of your life back in Ireland, what made you smile, what made you angry, but most of all he wanted to know your secrets. You had told him that her father was Viking, which explained your fighting ability but Ivar wanted to know exactly what you were capable of, to see what kind of damage you could do on the battlefield, whether you were truly a Valkyrie.

He felt the weight of your body settle on his waist as you straddled him and he chuckled as sharp metal settled against his throat.

“Oh Valkyrie, if you wanted to play rough you need only ask.” He groaned as you took hold of the end of his braids and tugged sharply, further exposing his throat and pressed the blade in to his skin more firmly.

“You are going to release me and the girl and you will organise us safe passage back to Ireland.” Ivar's eyes narrowed playfully.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you don't want me to slit your throat and watch as your blood stains these expensive furs.” He grinned as you stared him down, your eyes dark with anger and lips pulled back to bare your teeth.

“And if you did my men would kill you, but not before having their fun with that girl whilst you are made to watch. How far do you think you would get before they would catch you, hm?”

Your mouth pulled into a frown, with no fear of death you had no leverage over him and he was right, you had seen the number of soldiers posted around the longhouse alone. Kattegat was a crowded place, even if you managed to find Alva amongst all of the buildings and other thralls you doubted that you would both be able to make it to the forest's edge before his men caught you. You bit your lip as you weighed your options.

“I want you to guarantee Alva's protection.” His eyes narrowed at that. You didn't plead for your freedom, or you own protection, only the girl's wellbeing. Who were you to each other? Ivar considered your demand before his eyes locked with yours.

“And what would I get in return for her protection?” You took a deep breath and looked away, shame weighed heavily in your heart.

“My compliance. I will do as you ask, so long as I have your word that she will be protected.”

“You would give all of yourself to me, mind, body and soul to ensure that the girl is safe? Why?” You nodded, your teeth clenched together tightly in anger, knuckles white from your grip on the knife. You couldn't stand the amusement in his eyes or the satisfied smirk on his lips, you were just itching to slice open his flesh and watch as he choked on his own blood.

“She is my family, and family protect each other.”

He hummed as his hand closed over yours on the blade, he pried it from your hand gently and threw it away blindly. His palms settled on your exposed thighs and caressed the skin slowly, testing the waters.

Your breath hitched as his fingers inched higher to your waist, they lifted the hem of your undershirt as they journeyed upwards and his jaw clenched as he took in the newly exposed skin.

"Raise your arms for me." You obeyed his order and straightened your arms, he sat up and removed the garment completely, then he tossed it onto the floor. You avoided his eyes as they roved over your face, he was so close that you could feel his warm breath on your face and your breasts brushed his chest with every inhale.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and suddenly you were on your back, Ivar's body between your legs, pressing you into the furs. His mouth descended on your neck, laying fervent kisses against your sensitive skin, he nipped sharply at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you yelped, you dug your nails meanly into his chest in retaliation but frowned when he groaned. He pulled back and you scowled as he grinned at you.

"There you are! Now, lay back. You are going to enjoy this."

You kept your eyes on the ceiling as his lips descended your body, he kissed across your breasts and he suckled at your nipple and you whimpered as his tongue flicked across the hardened bud. The action made your core throb and you felt the wetness forming between yours legs from his ministrations.

His mouth moved lower and you looked down in bewilderment as his head sank between your open legs, he grinned devilishly as he eyed your bare sex and lifted your calves over his shoulders. You raised yourself onto your elbows and growled at him.

"What in hel do you think you are doing?" His jaw clenched and he tightened his grip on your left thigh in warning, he tutted at you slowly as if you were a naughty child.

"What did I say Valkyrie?" You huffed loudly as you lay back, you hands clenched into fists, your nails dug into the skin of your palms but it kept you distracted from your tormenter's touch.

You felt his breath on your mound and then his mouth was on your womanhood, ravaging your delicate flesh with his lips and tongue. The feeling was indescribable as he devoured your cunt like a man starved, you moaned loudly as his tongue found your pearl and his traced around it and over it. You whimpered when he suckled it between his lips and gripped the bedsheets tightly, even more so when one of his thick fingers found your entrance and pushed in slowly.

The pressure was building rapidly, tendrils of pleasure creeping from your core to your toes. A second finger joined his first and crooked upwards, pressing against something delicious that made your cunt clench around the intruding digits.

Your hand gripped the back of his head tightly and he groaned against your bud, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. He worked his tongue faster and you rocked your hips with his movements, too far gone from the pleasure to care that he was touching you, you only cared that he didn't stop.

He was almost feral when you came, growling against your sex as he brought you to the peak and shoved you over it, you cried out as his mouth kept working you through the bliss and he only stopped when you tried to close your legs around his head, the oversensitivity was too much.

He grinned madly as he looked you over, cheeks flushed and chest heaving from exertion. your legs splayed wide and pretty cunt swollen and glistening from his attentions, he licked his lips slowly and savoured the taste of your pleasure. Your hatred for him was evident in your eyes and yet he had been able made you sing so beautifully for him, he had won over your body and now all he needed to do was gain your mind. He wanted to consume you.

"Such a beautiful sight and all for me. Do you see now, Valkyrie? The Nornir have weaved the threads of our fate and the gods have willed it. You are mine."

@wittysunflower​ @heavenly1927​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @that-virgo-witch​ @helleiaiwritting @the-king-of-kattegat-ivar @nukyster-blog @ietss

[min-jpg]

pretty boy

Characters: Sub!Childe, Sub!Xiao x Dom GN!reader (separately)

Genre: smut/NSFW, costume play, cussing, begging, spanking, thigh riding, choking, mirror play, degradation (TW: mean asf to Childe and blood included)

Note: writing smut is so different from reading HAHSHFKFE;; since I'm still inexperienced, I decided to experiment with 2 of my favorite boys first. Enjoy!

Now playing: TENDER - Erode

---

Childe dressed in a bunny girl suit.

The upper half of his body bent over, his chest heaving on the bed. Childe's arms were bound behind him, shackled together with a handcuff.

Sitting beside him, you sneered at the sight. "Sticking your ass up like a whore. Waiting for someone to fuck you senseless?" Without warning, you swung your arm in wide motion and connected with his ass to spank him. Childe's body jolted from the impact, erupting a heavy moan as well. His bottom half shivering, as if he was wagging his cute little bunny tail that was attached to the costume.

"You liked that? Looking like a bitch in a heat." Smacking him numerous times earned more lewd noises from him.

Childe's breathing labored as he glanced at you. He beseeched with his gaze, waiting in anticipation. He rubbed his thighs together in a hasty manner to augment friction between his pantyhose and erected manhood. "M-more."

You smirked at the bewitched state he got himself into just by your spanks. Feigning a dull expression, "More? Why don't you do something about it yourself?"

Childe gradually stood up, his desperation burgeoning every second. With an ungainly movement, he mounted himself on your thigh. As his length came in contact with your lap, Childe let out another cry.

"I didn't even touch you, slut." You chuckled as you observed him straddling on your thigh. Though, his advance was far from being graceful since he had his hands restrained. You still considered it adorable of him to take the initiative.

Like a rabbit in their heat cycle, Childe rubbed his dick against your skin. His hips bounced back and forth, each stroke bestowing surges of pleasure throughout his body. Mouth agape, Childe does not shy away when it comes to expressing his moans.

You felt chills traversing down your spine as you watch him fuck your lap, his thighs clamping onto yours as if clinging onto dear life. There was something so exhilarating about seeing Childe so fixated on one of your mere body parts. He was eagerly using your thigh as an object to appease his sexual urges.

As his limbs grew restless, Childe lost his balance with nothing to grab. To secure him in place, you rested your hands on the sides of his waist.

You pressed down, causing his cock to burrow further into your skin. Startled by the development in pleasure, his head flew back as he groaned, back arching. Childe maintained his pace as he vigorously grinds against your lap. You assaulted his bared neck with a relentless bite, welcoming every vibration palpitating through his throat coming from his lascivious moans.

Blood trickled down from where you nibbled him, tasting iron in your mouth. Your chest reverberated a dark chuckle when you pulled away to relish the mark you left on the body that tacitly belonged to you.

Tracing the mark with your thumb, Childe eventually lowered his head. Those lustful eyes met yours. You shot back a glare, "Did I ask you to look at me?" Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you forcefully tugged his head back, drawing an alarming yelp from him. "Keep that little head of yours concentrated on grinding, hmm?"

"Y-yes... I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Childe gasped out. You ignored his pleas and resumed to persistently gnawing his neck at various spots.

As you covered his pale neck with bruises, Childe's pitch grew higher. The urgency in his vehement thrusts motioned he was approaching orgasm, "Gonna come!"

Your fingers laced around his neck, "Who said you could?" Tightening your grip, Childe began to choke as his air passage was slowly shrinking.

As his eyes rolled back, Childe continuously beg in between his weeps, "Please let me come! I want to come, so badly! Please, I've been a good boy."

"You're such a dirty whore for me." You grasped a steady grip on his ass and fondled with it, "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

Childe humped harshly against your skin, "Thank you, thank you so much." Even you could feel the severe abrasion forming on your thigh from his efforts.

Achieving orgasm, a puddle formed in between his legs which finally caused him to slow down. His essence oozed under the costume. Childe collapsed forward, forehead resting on your shoulder as he panted, sweat dripping down. He carried on with perpetual murmuring words of gratitude, as if in a trance.

"You dirty, pretty thing."

Xiao dressed in a maid outfit.

His attractive slim neck was embellished with a jade green ribbon that coordinated with the highlight on his hair. Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Xiao shyly concealed his gaze by peering down. He kept his hands occupied by fiddling with the frills from the dress.

You stood beside Xiao as you admired how fitting he looked in that costume, "Lift the dress up." Your voice firm. It was an order, not a request.

Xiao quietly complied with your words, picking up the one side of the hem.

"Do it properly." Your tone grew stern, making Xiao whimper silently to himself and pulled up the dress completely to expose what lies under.

You hummed pleasantly, "So you even wore lace underwear? What a slut." Shuddering him to the core with your mild degradation, it manifested a tent beneath the white underwear.

A frigid breeze made its way through the aperture in his thighs that were exposed, causing Xiao to squeeze them shut. The weights on his legs that wore knee-high stockings shifted from one to another. You leisurely walked behind him, resting your chest on his back.

Your arms snaked around him, enough to make Xiao aroused as he felt sparks from your sensual touch. Burying your head in his shoulder, you immersed yourself in his scent. Your breath tickled his skin, inflicting lust in Xiao even further.

"You're so pretty, such a good boy for me." Muttering praises to make up for your mean bearings earlier, your hands explored his heated body in the process. Viewing the mirror, a damp spot surfaced on his underwear. It was a living exhibit of how turned on he was. Reaching the bottom where his member lies, you slipped your hand into the underwear, earning a yelp from Xiao.

Your fingers danced on his already wet tip, an attempt to provoke him further. Your touch was intentionally brief, never staying too long. His tip never failed to twitch cutely to seize your attention. Xiao desperately thrusts his hips forward, seeking to engage with your hand.

"Impatient? Then beg for it." You whispered into his ear, watching him succumb to your handlings. Raising his head by tilting his chin with your other hand, Xiao's shriveled pupils met your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. His flushed face was accompanied by eyes brimming with tears threatening to spill out.

"P-please... please make me feel good. Please, please, please!" Chant of pleas cascaded from Xiao's lips, his voice quivering. It was almost impossible to resist consuming him whole right on the spot.

"So cute..." You kissed his hair. Seeing how hard he tried, you ought to show some leniency. "Keep holding the dress up for me." Pulling down his underwear, you instantly switched the gear. You worked on stroking his length in a calculated rhythm. Xiao gasped as his knees buckled and his entire body convulsed. You felt his cock pulsating around your palm, signifying how much he craved and depended on your touch alone to send him to his climax.

Xiao mewled and leaned forward. His trembling legs could no longer support him. You took note of this and hoisted him up with a tight embrace around his waist, meanwhile hastening your pace around his stimulated cock. You made sure to also rub the head with your thumb once in awhile.

Succeeding sweet moans coming from Xiao saturated the room as he fits in your name in between, "I'm going, to.. c-come." He formed incoherent sentences in the nigh of his sexual gratification. Xiao instinctively grabbed your arm and let go of the hem. Distressed to hold onto something as pleasure throbbed throughout his body, his nails dug into your skin.

"Going to come for me like a good boy?" You kissed the nape of his neck. He nodded fervently, hips once again jerking forward as he shot strings of cum, permitting one final deep moan in the process. The white substance splattered against the mirror. His moan transitioned to series of pants as he drooled, body slumping, and eventually went numb.

"Look at how beautiful you are."

[queenshelby]

Making Babies

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,345

Warning: Smut, Breeding Kink

Requested: By Anon

It’s been two months since you stopped taking the pill and your cycle had finally started to regulate itself.

A welcoming side effect from coming off the pill was your increased libido. It was through the roof and your poor husband Cillian was exhausted from all this baby making action.

But, who was he to deny you your pleasure? He couldn’t, he never did and he probably never will and, just like this, when you were lying in bed together and he was, once again occupied between your legs, he ran his hands over your hips and pelvis, feeling your muscles rippling and contracting as your body writhed in pleasure once again.

Your body felt like it was being consumed though your sex and you pulled at the sheets in futile desperation as your body strained with the almost electrical shocks of pre-orgasmic energy that coursed through you while Cillian was licking and kissing your most intimate body part.

When he began focusing directly on your clit with what seemed like an evilly lustful intent, the slowly building pressure in your belly suddenly exploded within you, sending powerful waves of pleasure rolling through your body and crashing into your mind.

The breath you had been holding in your chest was expelled with the force of your orgasm, and you screamed out with the force of your release.

‘Yes Cillian, oh god yes’ you moaned and your body convulsed powerfully in Cillian’s grip. He pulled his mouth of off your pussy and laid his hand over your mound, applying gentle pressure until you finally stopped trembling.

You were once again blown away by the force of your orgasm. Your entire body felt like it was bathed in static electricity and your pussy purred in contentment. You lifted yourself onto your elbows and smiled at Cillian.

‘Fuck, you are so damn good at this’ you giggled, looking at him, your eyes full of pleasure.

‘I can keep going if you want’ Cillian grinned just before he moved down and gave your clit another gentle lick, causing you to jump violently in his grasp.

‘No! I want you to put a baby in me now Cill’ you said, biting your lips suggestively.

Despite, you couldn’t really handle any more of his wicked tongue. Your clit was throbbing so hard that you was sure if he touched it again you would fly right off of the bed.

‘Let’s make a baby then’ Cillian chuckled and crawled up over your, rolling you onto your back again and kissing you hard on the mouth. You succumbed to his probing tongue, sucking it into your mouth and savoring the taste of your residue on his lips.

You had always loved having him on top of your like this and trailed your hands down his sides until you found his hips. You never ceased to be turned on by him and your body relaxed beneath him as he settled himself into the comfort of your thighs.

You touched his chest with your fingertips, slowly drawing invisible circles on his skin while looking into his beautiful blue eyes. Cillian could feel how much you loved him, and his heart swelled in his chest, straining to go out to you. He touched your face and gently caressed your cheek.

‘I love you babe’ he said gently before pressing his lips onto yours gently.

‘I love you too’ you said just before you began cradling his cock in your hand.

With his cock in your hand, you guided him towards the moist center of your sex. Taking a moment to rub his head up and down your pussy, you coated him with your juices until he was moving easily through your labia. Once you were satisfied that he was well lubricated, you drew the glistening head downwards and gasped as he suddenly parted you and began pressing forward, dipping into your velvet passage.

‘Oh god yes Cillian, I want you inside me so bad’ you moaned. The words had an unnatural taste to you at first, but when Cillian responded by suddenly plunged into you, you began to understand the value of urging him on which was something he loved.

Before long, Cillian was stroking into you hard, with steady, regular thrusts that made you huff every time his cock sank into you. Your pussy was still throbbing in post orgasmic spasms and clenched tightly at his ridged shaft, rippling with sensation each time he pulled back, only to be forced open again by another hard thrust, until your channel finally conformed to his shape.

The warm sensation of fullness spread quickly into your belly, and like a moth to a flame, you tilted your pelvis upwards until his long shaft was easily slicing into you.  Your body began to quake and tremble as you found your rhythm, and your hands clawed at the bed sheets in vain desperation as he drove his cock into you with fevered abandon.

Your quiet huffs and moans grew in volume as your body was relentlessly plundered, and Cillian grinned lustfully at your eagerness to be taken. The louder you became, the more you summoned the most base of his animal passions.

His hands moved under you and gripped your ass tightly, causing you to cry out as he lifted your hips high above the bed. Rising to his knees with you, he held your body against him and slammed into you with all his strength, rocking you hard with ferocity of his intimate assault.

You had desperately wanted him to be as excited as you was about your baby making sex, and the reality of finding yourself at the center of his unbridled passion connected with you on a level far deeper than you ever thought possible. Even as he used you so roughly, you felt a wave of ecstatic joy crest and wash over you, setting off a cascade of sensations pouring over. Every nerve in your body suddenly fired, merging together in a torrential rain of pleasure that flooded your mind. This connection flashed in your mind like lightning and you embraced it totally, knowing that your coming orgasm was caused more by your love for the man than by the pleasure he was giving you.

In a single, thunderous burst, your body exploded in orgasm and brightly lit colours of light danced in front of your eyes as if the entire room was being consumed by fireworks. The pressure gripped and rolled in your belly and you cried out in the pure elation of your release.

Cillian was already close when you came and the incredibly erotic sight of seeing you so consumed by the throes of your orgasm tore away what little control he had left. He lifted your legs to his shoulders and added his own voice to the music you had made as he buried his cock one last time and erupted into you, filling you with his warm cum.

‘Oh god yes Cillian’ you whimpered, turned on by the thought of him filling you with his cum now that you weren’t on birth control.

When he finally slid out of you, you succumbed to the urge to close your legs tightly, trapping his seed where he had left it. As he lay down next to you and pulled the covers over you, you melted into his arms, feeling an indescribable contentment creep over you.

‘You are beautiful, you know that?’ Cillian said quietly, his fingers running through your hair.

‘If you say so’ you giggled and, despite the fatigue of your body, your mind was racing as you thought about what could potentially be transpiring in your womb. You smiled secretly, and your eyes sparkled in the darkness as you thought about it and the warm glow you had been feeling continued to pulsate through you.

‘I know so and I think that you will make a fantastic mother’ Cillian said before kissing you gently.

    Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03  @mcntsee​@cloudofdisney​ @missymurphy1985​​ @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @otterly-fey janelongxox  @uchihacumdump

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @margoo0 @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby   @chocolatehalo

[ship-ovnik]

Throne acquiring system

New translation is coming! The story is in progress.

I am so sorry for the text orientation, tumblr editing is still beyond me.

Prologue

Callisto was running up the stairs quickly. It was probably the first time in his life that he had run from an enemy. He did not allow himself to do this, even when he was an inexperienced youngster who found himself on the battlefield for the first time. The emperor must be perfect, especially the future emperor, whose throne is encroached upon by his half-brother and stepmother. However, hardly anyone would condemn a man running away from a dragon.

Callisto was aware that the situation was a dire one, but only the dragon had what he needed. His last chance, he put everything on the line — his throne, his life, the lives of people loyal to him. He didn't regret it. It would have been all or nothing anyway, but this was a chance to fix everything.

And now Callisto was standing in the middle of the throne room, out of breath, surrounded by the bodies of his father, stepbrother, stepmother and the young duchess, who was to blame for everything. Callisto thought he couldn't hate anyone more than he hated his father, but this thing changed his mind.

He had slaughtered them all with the sword he now held in his trembling hand. His hand was shaking not from fear, but from fatigue and the weight of the lives he had taken when he began storming the palace this morning. Callisto tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Despite the fact that he and his people did not have time to really rest after the suppression of the uprising in the north, and the fact that he replaced the holiday in their honour with a bloody massacre this time in the capital of the empire itself, despite the fact that he himself has not yet recovered after Penelope's death, he will win. He must. Penelope's fate depends on him, his fate depends on this, she is his fate, this is what he is ready to fight for.

Callisto watches as the floor around the secret passage to the dungeon collapses, watches as a walking corpse rises from it.

«Come on, you bastard», Callisto growls, «I'll show you the real hell».

Because after the death of the "fake princess" he lives in it.

✵✵✵

Callisto doesn't know whether he wishes he'd never come to the princess' coming-of-age ceremony or not. When he wakes up at night in a cold sweat because he dreamed of a beautiful young woman choking on her own blood, dying right in his arms, he thinks that he would never want to see this. By morning, he thinks he would like to spend as much time with her as possible.

Most likely, he regrets that he left then to suppress the uprising in the north, and did not stay by the bed of the unconscious Penelope until her last breath.

He generally regrets only the actions associated with her. He regrets that he put a sword to her throat back then, instead of reciprocating her confession, that he constantly teased her, and most of all about what he said to her in the greenhouse. That he hadn't persuade her to become his bride and hadn't taken her to his palace before she drank poison on her own birthday.

He does not know if he really did not believe in love then, as he declared to the princess, but now he is sure that he loved… Loves. Imbecile.

When, after another clash with the Delman rebels, he returns to his tent and sees a pale Cedric, he thinks that the emperor has decided to somehow triple his work here, when he has almost finished everything. Barely suppressing his anger, Callisto sharply commands his assistant to speak. When he hears that the woman he swore to marry has died, he seems to feel absolutely nothing for a whole minute.

Then he leans convulsively on a table littered with maps and reports, while the whole world around him is rolling to hell.

No one dared to approach him until the very morning.

The Crown Prince reached the capital in a hurry on the very day of the funeral. Later he would regret that she would be buried in the Eckart crypt, and not as his bride, in the imperial one, where he could be buried next to her. Because of him, she will forever have to rest next to the people who made her life hell. He did not fulfill her only requirement to the groom even after her death.

Callisto, even against the background of the pale, weeping Duke, detached Derrick, Winter, whose face expressed all the sorrow of the world, and absent, lost to the alcohol Reynold, looked the most heartbroken.

The funeral was disgusting. In every sense. Besides them, there were only servants and Cedric accompanying him, because Penelope had no friends at all. And of the servants, only a young girl was genuinely grieving, whom Callisto identified as Penelope's personal maid, who was on duty with him at the princess's bedside in the first days after the coming-of-age ceremony.

The poor maid was sobbing violently, the butler tried to calm her down, but he was torn between her and the duke himself. The rest of the servants didn't even bother to pretend that they were sad. They looked more confused than saddened, and looked more at the crying duke than at the coffin, whispering among themselves.

Cedric at first looked somewhat surprised and lost, it seems he had just realized how bad everything was, and he spent the rest of the funeral with a sad and sullen expression on his face.

Since the duke was simply unable to, the funeral was done by Derrick, who gave a speech so dry and emotionless that Callisto thought he was fucking kidding. Callisto grinned bitterly, thinking that if Penelope had seen her funeral and found out that Derrick was hosting it, she probably would have drunk the poison again.

He wasn't going to speak out himself. What happened between them was their personal affair, not for the ears of those responsible for her death and such a terrible life.

Callisto was the last to say goodbye to Penelope. Her body looked even worse than he remembered. She had been starving since the moment the duke's blood daughter crossed the threshold of the estate, and all the days that he spent holding her hand at her bedside, she vomited blood. She was terribly thin, pale, with dark circles under her eyes… Many times scarier than the time he smeared her makeup in the garden, when she pretended to be sick in front of him.

Penelope was beautiful, incredibly beautiful. Callisto thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even though he never told her that. But that's what her soul made her, that sparkle in her emerald eyes, now that they are closed and the soul has left her body, they are left with what they did to her.

Callisto just stood there for a few minutes, still getting used to the idea that she was no more, that she would never again resent his comic insults, would not surprise him with her talents, would not make his life bearable… He clung to the side of the coffin, trying to stop shaking.

«I’m sorry», were his last words to her, after which he kissed her for the last time, and his first tear in the last 20 years fell on her cheek.

Only 4 kisses for the entire time they have known each other, it was too little for what Callisto felt, and he was sure the princess felt for him.

After watching the coffin being buried, Callisto abruptly turned around and headed away with the firm intention of following his first and last love tonight. Since the promised reward for suppressing the uprising—the approval of the engagement with Penelope — is now meaningless, Callisto planned to ask at an audience with the emperor to rebury Penelope somewhere far away from the Eckhartes and where there will be a place for him. Maybe he'll even find the place where Penelope's real family was buried, if not, he'll be glad to be buried between her and his mom.… For some reason, the best women in his life meet their end very early....

Callisto bumped into someone, lost in his thoughts.

«Ah, I-I'm sorry. I greet the rising sun of the empire.»

A young girl with light pink hair in a delicate blue dress bowed her head in a curtsy.

In a blue dress, at a funeral. If Callisto hadn't been so upset, he would have gotten angry and stabbed her.

The girl, taking the absence of threats from his side as encouragement, raised her head and smiled radiantly, groping in the secret pockets of her dress for a fragment of a mirror.

✵✵✵

For a while Callisto couldn't make out why he kept delaying his death. He seemed to forget about it periodically, and about Penelope herself, too. He could spend the day as usual, and then jump up at night after his imagination briefly shows emerald eyes instead of blue in a dream. Callisto couldn't figure out what was going on.

And then at the ball, Penelope's pathetic replacement asked him for the honor of the first dance, and he agreed for some fucking reason, and then, he doesn't remember how, they ended up on the balcony, and Yvonne touched him with her lips. At that moment, Callisto, as if drunkenly was dipped into a fountain, it was so disgusting and insanely wrong. He pushed her so hard that she almost fell off the balcony. Hell, from the very balcony where he'd asked Penelope to be his pair.

«Get out of here and pray I never see you again», he also doesn't remember when he started going out anywhere without a sword, so this scum is very lucky. Penelope is no longer around, and he doesn't need to hold back.

The new princess looks at him in surprise, even somehow unbelievingly, but still quickly retreats.

Callisto frantically wipes his lips with his gloves.

«What the fuck?»

Now the very thought of Yvonne is starting to annoy Callisto. And then he remembers that it was her who sat next to Penelope at her birthday party. That’s it, that's why he actually stayed.

Callisto does not skimp on funds and forces in his investigation. And when he realised why she needed him, and then his brother, and found out what the relic Leia was running after was capable of, he had already decided how he would use it.

✵✵✵

The dragon's head falls right on the marble floor, splitting the massive slabs. Callisto pierces his skull even deeper to be sure.

His cape and part of his left arm are burned, there is blood flowing from punctures on one shoulder, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. Callisto inhales convulsively and laughs. For the first time since Penelope was alive.

Still shaking, he takes the sword out of the dragon and walks around it to stick it in its chest this time. Callisto begins to gut what remains of the real deity, the founder of the empire, his ancestor. The floor of the throne room is not visible, Callisto is standing in a lake of animal blood and is concentrating on wielding a sword until he feels something hard in his chest with it. The Crown Prince pulls out his sword with a sharp movement and throws it on the floor. The sword falls with a clang and a splash, splashes of dragon's blood fly on the trousers of the now sole heir to the throne, but he is already covered in blood and now with his bare hands climbs into the chest of the enemy he killed.

Callisto takes out a golden claw, which stands out especially vividly against the his hands, completely covered with dark blood.

Callisto clutches one of the symbols of imperial power in his hands and says in a tired, hoarse voice:

«Give her back to me… Please. Give me back the woman I love. I want to start over with her.»

Bright golden light engulfs first the throne room, then the entire palace, the entire capital and everything else.

.

.

.

Siyeon clearly remembers her last moments in the game, how she drinks poison with an ironic toast, which was not intended for her, but against her, how painful it is to cough up blood, and what efforts it cost her to reach the button to reject the hidden ending.

Siyeon is sorry that she could do so little for Penelope, despite all her efforts, she never grasped a good ending for her. Only épater the high society with her death. Siyeon wants poor Penelope to be reunited with her mother, she herself would not want to be buried next to her father and her bastard brothers.

It's unusual now for Siyeon to see her body, her straight dark hair instead of curly pink, standing in jeans instead of a bulky dress. However, in this regard, the hunting competition was her pyjamas day so to speak. Thoughts smoothly jump to Callisto. Korean forces herself not to think about her first ever crush and looks at the game window.

—<SYSTEM>—————

Exit is underway

Wait for disconnection

6.97%

———————————————

Siyeon doesn't know how long she's been waiting, but she thinks everything is going very slowly. She sits down in this incomprehensible void, where there is only her and this window, and tries to tune in before her return to Korea. Siyeon is unsettled by the fact that she does not remember what her last university lessons were about, and what they were at all.

The window starts flashing and suddenly disappears. The girl thinks that the process is completed, and is preparing to return to her native world. When a new window appears, she frowns.

—<SYSTEM>—————

Error! Mistake!

Intrusion into the system!

———————————————

«What? Who?»

—<SYSTEM CONSOLE>—————

D̸̩̝̂:̶̟̟̭͑̔͝\̴̺̓s̸̠̱͆̊y̶̢̯̓s̶̛̟̗̋ť̵̫̭͂̀ë̷͉m̶̝̄́͆ ̵͚̳̰̑c̶̦̤̲͝h̴̨̳̖͋̔̆a̵̛̗͆͐n̸͙͇͓͆g̷̖̦̬̈͌e̷̺̹̲̒ ̸̖̠̳̅͗͗r̵̦͓̱͊i̵̮͕̕͝g̸͚͖̔͗̌h̷͎͍͊t̷̬̞̬͒s̴̭͆̍ ̷̩̍D̶̪̏-̷̰̣͑͘2̴͇̐ͅ

̶̨̙̟͐͊̆ ̴̞͖͙̀̅̚s̷͉͇͋͛ẙ̶̧̦̣̏̚s̷̯̩͉̃͋͝t̴̪̭͐̑͝e̶̛̜͍m̵̬̀̃@̶̼̟̫̍̉D̸͇͆̈̓-̷̭̖̩̈́̍2̸̥͖̐:̷͚̒̿̇~̷̳̤̅$̸̹̺͖̓̃ ̶̞͔̌̎ͅś̶̛̯̘̞h̷̼̮̊͂̓ͅu̴̗̒̏͆ṱ̸̢̾͛d̵̹͊͝o̵̻̫͑͋ͅw̴͎͛ṋ̶̺́̓̒ ̵̘̞͘/̵̭̯̪̉̀̋r̶̥͓͆̊̉ ̶̘̜͘/̸̗̌ơ̵̮̞͑ͅ ̴̝͗͌ͅ/̵̤̉t̶̠̠̝̽͋ ̷̢͛0̸̺͘

———————————————————

The girl covers her eyes with her hand from the blinding light and squints.

This time she opens her eyes in the already familiar bedroom.

Penelope doesn't believe it for a couple of seconds, then pinches her hand, which is again covered with bruises from needles, and panic rolls over her. Penelope is shaking. Penelope is stuck in this terrible world and she needs to start all over again.

Emily enters the room with the other maids.

«Lady, it's time to get ready».

«What for?»

«What do you mean, what for? It’s the banquet on the occasion of the second Prince's birthday, of course! You're going with the young master, remember?»

[muddshadow]

find the word tag

*slams pans together* another volley of words!! this time from @spacetimewraithwrites and @sentfromwolves !! my counterstrike is aimed for @pinespittinink , @awritingcaitlin , @kashacreates , @lunarmoment , @akindofmagictoo​ , @yejiwritesthings​ !!! Defend with these words!! // burn , belong , brush , bright  , believe .

 / all excerpts from TO FORGET A PRINCE /

SIGH //

“I didn’t do anything,” Yulei said finally, but might have been lying.

“You jacked up the altar!” Haithe shouted. She tossed her arms when she spoke, disheveled uniform crumpled at her elbows, sleeves without rank or sigil and still glaring with the passion of a blood feud. “And then everything just rearranged into something else, even if it smells like the same piss—”

“We’re only deeper inside the canyon,” Diorre insisted.

“We’re far from the canyon.”

“No,” he told Monik, relentlessly calm, “this wall must hide the way back.” Diorre gave the cave a tentative push, then a few well-meaning shoves, and one hard press with the full strain of his shoulders. He scoffed at the audacity. “Then there must be another way to the temple.”

“Maybe this is the temple,” Kon said.

Ahead of them, the torch-guided passage sighed in anticipation. It sang like an invitation.

SHAKE //

For a slice of a moment, the stone chilled in her palm. Yulei dropped it as her breath caught, and the stone landed in the grass with a thud much heavier than it felt.

“What’s wrong?”

Yulei swallowed. “It just surprised me...”

But the sudden crisp CRACK surprised her more. The stone split down the middle, spewing flakes. Both Yulei and Kon scrambled to stand, momentarily breathless, but before either managed an inhale—a terrible whine drowned her.

Yulei doubled over, gasping, gagging, a shock splitting her thoughts like a shriek of lightning and convulsive thunder. She felt Kon grab her shoulder and shake—the hurricane worsened, nausea crawled up her throat—and with a starved breath, Yulei forced her eyes open.

And found it was utterly silent. And the grasslands were gone.

SHIVER //

A shiver seized him. The hallway was terribly cold. It showed along the walls in swirling patterns of frost and frosted the breath along his lips, although the Further left Nara so feverish he was slow to notice.

Still crouched beside him, the woman released a long exhale. “I don’t know where we are. Or where anyone else is.” She glimpsed at him, then turned again. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“If the Further didn’t kill them, the others won’t be far,” Nara said. “That emblem was mostly bluster.”

“Whatever you say.” She tapped her nose.

Lifting a hand to his, Nara pulled away with blood on his fingers.

STICK //

Twelve years ago, Nara visited the Graveyard for his very first meeting with an outlaw client, and his teacher gave him the lead. Nara was charmingly certain he had everything under control. That was the first time he was stabbed. “Wish it pierced your kidneys instead, boy. You deserve worse for not holding your tongue.” But the shiv hurt plenty sticking from the muscles in his back, and so Nara learned to keep his tongue silver and meticulous.

SMILE //

She crooked an elbow over her nose and ignored the mutterings behind her. She wove through the debris without touching any of the frayed support beams. Sand stung her eyes and dulled her progress, but the pulse in her heart sharpened as the distance closed. An old friend and an old wound, Yulei trusted the song of arcane even inside the Khyvenek.  

A flat, purposely carved wall waited at the dead end. And there was the anticipated door, grounded inside the stone on four golden beams. The final torch sizzled beside it.

Yulei allowed herself a broad, haughty smile. With minimal condescension, she eventually persuaded the Steelguard to look for themselves. They entered the shambled passage with ample complaint.

Kon arrived at her side first, brow rumpled at the sight. “I… missed this. Somehow.”

SINCE //

The furtherblood academy was constructed roughly eight centuries ago and most of the place looked a century worse. Lichen and purple-leafed vines shrouded every surface. The streets were built narrow and crooked, leading Yulei through bursts of garden and under root-twisted archways. Hulking gnarls of birch patched the most timeworn of the original white stonework, and ever since the inferno ninety-four years ago that claimed four class halls and most of the north stables, smoke lingered behind every scent. Plenty of the place was a safety hazard, but nobody argued much for rebuilding. Academy scholars insisted the buildings were historic, and the guilds with any heft in their pocket scoffed at funding such a project; they dreaded the annual donation quite enough.

MIND //

“It’s not a lie, the further calls to… wait.” Yulei halted, eye catching on one of the paintings. “This one isn’t a portrait.”

It was a landscape: brush strokes heavy and illustrating a cavern in vibrant oils, the cave walls serrated by belts of gleaming crystal. It had a simple frame and hung just above her shoulders. When Yulei moved to inspect the painting, her neck bristled. Her skin itched. Like something watching.

Breath leaping at the unfamiliar brush of further, she swiveled around – but nothing paid her mind.

Except for the hundreds of oil portraits, each with glowering eyes.

Except for Kon, now staring at her. “You think it means something?”

OPEN //

The morning began pleasantly enough – Nara woke with the usual degree of aching bones and bedhead, and early enough to brew tea and savor the sunrise from the temple’s porch. But a messenger arrived around his sixth sip; throwing open the garden gate with an expression warped by bad news.

“Disaster, Nara, tragedy and disaster! You must come quick!”

Grudgingly, Nara lowered his mug.

CRUEL //

“Sounds like a wise man.”

“Sometimes.” Yulei scratched at her wrists again. “Arie was mostly arrogant. Called me his hopeless case. He was really hard to impress.”

In the wake of the words, Yulei’s expression shuttered. She teased her lips to a grin that didn’t carry substance, and the warm memory faded from her eyes when she looked at Nara again.

Deflective, she said, “Bet you had a wise teacher, too.”

“I did.”

Yulei waited.

Everything Nara could say about Kesiro boiled in his mouth. Nara managed only, “He preferred the further’s cruelty.”

SMIRK //

Hovering between skeptical and contemplative, Yulei studied Kon; his sides bare of weapons, the casual clothing and small fungi lantern, and her gaze settled on the steadfast shine in his eyes. “You’re really here for a friendly conversation?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think I want to talk?”

“You’re always talking.”

“You’ve only got ten minutes, then the guard returns for a head count.”

When Kon glanced cautiously down the hall, Yulei laughed.

“Well, well, maybe you are here in secret.” A smirk tugged one corner of her mouth. “I wonder how Patri would feel if he found out.”

[seijorhi]

If you have the time and feel like it, I'd love to read anything from you about Shigaraki/Reader. (Or maybe Shinsou??)The first thing that came to my mind was something involving chikan but anything that you can come up with is totally good with me as well!!!! Love your writing!!!

This is like months late I am so sorry, bby!! But I hope it’s okay? 🥺

Shigaraki Tomura x Female Reader

TW chikan, non-con, nsfw

Dirty

Staring isn’t a crime. 

It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as more and more passengers slowly filed in. There is nothing wrong. You’re being paranoid.

Staring isn’t a crime, but you’d feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable if the pair of red eyes boring into you from across the train carriage weren’t accompanied by a creepy, wide grin.

You tell yourself that you’re imagining things, that you’ve read one too many shoujo mangas, because the silvery haired stranger in his ratty oversized hoodie just happens to be facing your general direction, so of course it feels like he’s staring. It doesn’t stop you from trying to tug down the hem of your skirt.

Except when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you decide to bite the bullet and scamper across to the other side of the carriage under the guise of getting off, the stranger follows. 

He’s only staring. You’ve heard about men who like to scare girls on public transport, how they… get off on it. But the stranger seems content just to watch. There’s a Nintendo switch sticking out of his hoodie pocket, but in the fifteen minutes you’ve been riding together, he hasn’t made a move to touch it - while everybody else on the carriage is either sleeping, reading or absorbed in their phones, the stranger’s attention is fixed entirely on you.

He’s enjoying it, you think - your discomfort. The way you shift and try to subtly curl in on yourself, hiding behind other passengers, how your eyes keep darting up to see if he’s still watching (he is) before shifting your attention back to the phone in your hands. Should you text somebody? Your best friend, maybe? And say what exactly, ‘help, there’s a creepy looking guy staring at me on the train, please come get me?’

There were at least twenty other people on the carriage with you, and not one of them has noticed the silver haired man staring at you - or if they have, they’ve promptly dismissed it as nothing to concern themselves with. You’re working yourself up over nothing - he’s only doing it trying to get a reaction out of you.  

You don’t want to cause a fuss over nothing.

Breathing deeply, you decide to simply not give him the satisfaction, turning your back on him to face out the window by the doors instead. You still have another twenty minutes left of the ride until you reach your stop, with any luck he’ll lose interest soon enough.

At the next station, the doors slide open and a swarm of commuters flood into the carriage. You’re bumped and brushed past, jostled about as more and more passengers try to fit onboard - it’s uncomfortable, but for once you find yourself grateful for the teeming crowds. With enough people squished between you and the pale, hoodie-clad stranger, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that he’s probably lost sight of you (or at least the parts of you he’s interested in leering at) and allow yourself to breathe and just relax-

Until a sudden jolt of the carriage sends you reeling into the chest of the commuter behind you. 

On instinct you turn your head to glance over your shoulder, apologies ready on the tip of your tongue,  only for them to turn to ash in your mouth as you meet bloodshot vermillion eyes and a wide, unsettling grin.

“Whoops,” he chuckles, the sound dry and rasping, like nails raking down a chalkboard. “Better be careful, now. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

Your breath catches and you still, but there’s no room for you to move as pale, spindly fingers creep across your waist, sliding down the pleated fabric of your skirt. A tiny whimper, lost almost immediately to the droning hum of the carriage as it jolts along the tracks, escapes as rough fingertips graze the top of your thigh, dragging your skirt upwards in search of another prize. You feel the chest pressed against your back rumble with another laugh, dry, chapped, lips dragging possessively against the curve of your neck, and a deep, shuddering inhale.

(Is he sniffing your hair?!)

“You might wanna hold onto something, princess,” the stranger jeers. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, a deep, unsettling pit growing in your stomach. This isn’t staring - this isn’t harmless anymore.

He’s got you caged between his body and the doors, one arm shot out over your shoulder to brace himself, the other creeping up towards your panties with agonising slowness. There’s nowhere to go, but for the life of you, you don’t know why you can’t seem to make a sound. Your legs are quaking, heart thumping unsteadily as long digits probe at your panty covered sex, dragging teasingly against the outline of your slit. All it would take is a shout, a yell, and somebody would intervene - packed train or not - but despite the icy fear seeping into your veins, the rising panic as your pretty lace panties are yanked to the side, your cries are caught in your throat.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation as long digits roughly slither between your plush pussy lips. You’re not wet - how could you be? - but that doesn’t seem to bother the man violating you, not as those same fingers greedily tease at your hole for a split second before they plunge inside of you, his thumb rubbing at your crude circles around your clit like it’s a joystick. You wonder if anyone has noticed the hitch in your breath, the soft, whimpering whine that you can’t quite hold back as he fucks you on his fingers, stretching you out. Facing out the window, there’s nobody to see the tears that spill down your cheeks, the way your features contorts in pain - and something else - as his fingertips press and drag along your warm, tight cunny walls.

There’s no rhythm or technique as he roughly mashes his palm against your sex, but suddenly it’s not so much an effort to speak out as it is to smother your own noises - the thought of somebody catching you like this, seeing him finger fuck you in on a crowded, public train in the middle of the day making you want to curl up and disappear entirely.

His fingers are stuffed deep inside of your pussy, fucking you in earnest, it doesn’t matter if you were willing or not, you let him get this far without so much as a peep. Who’s going to believe that you didn’t want this, weren’t silently begging for it - that with every flick of his wrist this stranger is raping you in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded train?

You bite down on your bottom lip, hands clenching into pathetic fists at your side as the man behind you moans and grunts in your ear. There’s something hard and warm pressed against your ass - it takes you a moment to realise that it’s his cock, and his hips are rutting eagerly against your backside. 

His panting breath tickles at your neck, “Gettin’ all nice ‘n wet, such a good little slut. You -hah- you enjoying this, princess?”

Revulsion rises like a wave, crashing through you, but you can’t deny the building slick you feel easing his passage - your cunt is all but drooling around his fingers. You can’t bear to look around to see if any of the other passengers have noticed, if they can hear the lewd sounds of him fingering you like a man possessed.

Your forehead falls against the cool, glass window, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears fall. It doesn’t make a difference, you can’t disappear into your mind and pretend that this isn’t happening, he’s making sure of it. His hips are grinding faster against the swell of your ass, his fingers picking up their pace in response. It’s like he wants you to cum with him, and when a third finger slips inside of you, crooks and slams against that sweet spot that has you gasping, you know that it’s not far off. 

“Tomura,” he pants desperately into your ear as he ruts up against you like a beast in heat, “Fuck! My n-name is Tomura.”

You don’t know why he’s telling you. Does he think you’ll cry it out as his thumb swipes messily at your clit and your tight cunny walls unwittingly squeeze down on his fingers? Or does he just want you to know the name of the stranger about to make you cum in a train full of strangers.

You don’t have time to ponder the question, not as his teeth sink into the tender skin of your neck to muffle his growls and his fingers speed up, that tight coil of heat in your core pulling taut and snapping as unwanted pleasure explodes like fireworks, overwhelming your system as you convulse and shudder around him. 

Your vision goes white, a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan leaves your lips.

Tomura snarls, riding out his own orgasm, warm cum spurting into his jeans as he all but collapses against you. For a moment, you two stay like that, his sweaty, larger frame draped over yours, his chest heaving, hand still caught up beneath your skirt.

In the wake of your climax, shame and humiliation rear their ugly heads. You came, you enjoyed it, your own violation. No amount of reassurance that it’s just your body's natural reaction to stimuli can stop the rising disgust that surges through you so violently it threatens to choke you. You feel dirty - filthy and used - especially with Tomura’s face nuzzled in your neck, his tongue laving at your flushed skin, the blood welling from his overzealous bite.

His hand slides out of your underwear, using your skirt to wipe off the syrupy wetness that clings to his digits. You stomach churns in response as the train pulls up alongside the station platform, passengers once again jostling as they prepare to disembark. Even now you can’t force yourself to move, can’t shove him away like you so desperately want to.

You’re pathetic. 

He sighs contentedly, chapped lips curling into a smirk as the voice over the p.a announces the incoming stop. If Tomura notices the tears that wet your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, he doesn't pass comment, choosing instead to press a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple as the train slows down to a halt.

“That was real fun, Y/N,” he coos gleefully. “We should do it again some time.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of exiting passengers, and your trembling legs finally give out.

[whimperwoods]

Not sure if this is a new series or just a thing I had to get out of my head? Pretty sure there will be at least 2 parts though. Fantasy/D&D setting. Orc caretaker. Half-elf whumpee. Human whumpers, but not for long.

tw: slavery/captivity, tw: fantasy racism (implied), tw: manhandling, tw: muzzles, tw: past abuse, tw: past rape implied (vaguely)

Chief Gozukk’s orc tribe doesn’t like humans gallivanting through their land, but one group offers a deal he can’t turn down . . . once she looks him in the eye.

*****

Chief Gozukk narrowed his eyes at the jostling, sunburned humans in the caravan whose leader was walking up to him, all too-wide smile and white teeth under a dusty wide-brimmed hat. Once he was about 6 feet away, the man whipped the hat off and bowed, sweaty hair falling in his face so that he had to flip it out of the way when he straightened up again, before he could replace his hat.

“Speak,” Gozukk ordered in Common, trying to keep his voice rough and authoritative. He hated dealing with humans. They were unpredictable, too useful sometimes to avoid outright the rest of the time. It was best to look stern and in charge.

“I apologize, Chief. We got some bad intel, said nobody was here. I’m sure you understand. We just want passage through your lands, and we’re happy to give you a cut of our profits on the way back through for the pleasure. We’re expecting a good trip. How’s 5% sound for a road tax?”

He heard Azzor breathe out through his nose from his position behind Gozukk’s chair, not loud enough for the human to hear, but loud enough to communicate his skepticism perfectly well. Gozukk twitched his hand toward the javelin leaning against the intricately-carved arm of his chair, watching the human’s face as the human watched his hand.

The smile widened instead of faltering. “Alright, I hear you! Promises of future profits are unpredictable! I understand that. We’re a little light on gold right now, but I’m sure we can come to some kind of an agreement. 6% and some gifts, and we promise to leave our campsites better than we found them.” The man winked, as though he meant to be charming.

Gozukk kept his face still and pounded a fist against the arm of his chair. “Azzor,” he ordered, still in common, turning to look over his shoulder at his oldest friend and current general, “Order the scouts to keep records of any traces these invaders have already left. I wish a full report ready should these men return.”

He turned back to the man, keeping his face stern and unmoved. “We will not accept our own land as your bargaining chip. Make a better offer.”

He could hear Azzor shifting behind him. Good. He was backing the play, choosing a more intimidating stance.

This time, the man’s smile faded. He turned to whistle to the man closest behind him. “Bring me the small chest. The one with the gems. You know which one. And whatever else you think’s tradeable. And be quick with it.”

The man nodded, wide eyed, but then tugged at his leader’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. The leader grunted, but then nodded. “One less mouth’s better. Bring her.”

The leader’s smile was wide again when he turned back to Gozukk, wide and false, and Gozukk’s hand itched to reach for his javelin, for all that he knew he shouldn’t start fights that didn’t need starting. He wasn’t a young fighter anymore, on his own. He couldn’t stand up and punch the smile, just for being smug.

Instead, he waited. The small chest came first, opened dramatically in front of him to reveal low-value gemstones of no great quality, the agates and onyx polished brightly but of no great worth, in particular. He shifted in his seat as he listened to the man’s patter, acknowledging them for what they were but spinning them as a down payment on what would surely be better coming back through the other way.

He didn’t like this man. He didn’t like his caravan, or his patter, or his smile, or the way he seemed so sure he could hoodwink a camp of orcs into letting him past. There had to be a way to refuse him passage without sparking a fight, didn’t there? Perhaps if he sent him along another specific route, or offered scouts to help the caravan navigate its way out of his territory.

But then - motion at the back of one of the middle wagons drew his eye. The man who had been sent back to the caravan had pulled a humanoid figure out of the wagon and was pulling it forward by a rope that bound its wrists and extended out into a lead.

As they drew nearer, it became clear that the figure was a woman, thin and dirty, clothed in a ragged dress and with no shoes to protect her feet from the hot sand. She hurried to keep up with the man leading her, but he seemed not to care that she was cooperating, pulling harshly at the rope in sharp tugs that almost pulled her off balance multiple times.

When they got close, the man pulled even more sharply on the rope, tugging her toward him and gripping her by the upper arm. He dragged her forward that way, until they both stood beside the leader. She had bruises around her eyes, new and dark on the left and old and yellowing on the right, and the bottom half of her face was covered with what looked like a leather muzzle.

She kept her eyes down on the ground, even as the man holding her arm nearly lifted her off her feet by it.

“Now I know she doesn’t look much better than the gems,” the leader said smoothly, “But she’s obedient, aren’t you sweetheart?” He gripped her chin and squeezed it, and the girl looked briefly up at Gozukk, her wide, terrified eyes meeting his for just a moment before they lowered back to the sand in front of her. She nodded frantically the moment the man let go of her face, and he laughed and patted her cheek. “And she’s part elf, so she’ll live a good long time. Servant for life sort of thing. Show him the ears.”

The man holding the woman’s arm lifted his other hand to pull her greasy hair back away from a pointed ear.

Gozukk stifled a growl and shifted slightly in his seat, his stomach muscles tensing as he fought to keep his composure. “Let me see her,” he said, “Closer.”

The leader gave a curt nod and the woman was dragged forward and then shoved, half thrown so that she landed hard at his feet, barely catching herself on her bound hands.

She moved quickly, pushing herself up to kneel at his feet instead, her eyes carefully trained on the rug beneath her. Gozukk could see spots of dried blood speckling the back of her thin dress, and patches of scalp where her hair had been pulled roughly. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly, frightened little panting breaths coming from her flared nostrils, too shallow to fill her belly like they should.

Azzor shifted again behind him, moving his feet just barely in the sand, getting into a fighting stance in case Gozukk called him to it.

Ten years ago, he thought, he would already have done it. But there were more than warriors here to worry about, and he had to keep his head.

“When you return the other direction, you will send a message to us,” he told the leader of the humans, “We will send a message bird with you. Once you have sent it to us, you will camp at the edge of our territory and wait for the scouting party to collect your 6% and accompany you through our land. You would be unwise to be caught here again without our permission.”

“It’s a deal,” the human leader said jovially, evidently content. His face slid into a smirk. “Enjoy her. I know we have.”

Gozukk’s stomach muscles tightened again. He could not fight this man here. Not right now. Later, away from the main camp, perhaps, if he could find a reason. But not right now. He breathed through his nose, more slowly than the woman at his feet, keeping himself calm.

The human holding the chest of gems (and, he suspected, a handful of polished rocks) set it carefully on the edge of the rug in front of Gozukk’s seat, treating it with more care than it deserved.

Then the leader whistled again, turning to his men and waving a hand in the air in a circle. “Pack it up, boys. We’re losing daylight.”

Gozukk turned and nodded to Azzor, who nodded back. Azzor barked orders in orcish, telling the scouts to prepare to accompany the humans out of their territory and the sentries to stay on guard until the scouts returned, and the watching warriors hurried into motion, too.

Gozukk needed to hold his position until the humans were gone, across the sand. He needed to stay here, looking regal, in case any of them turned back to look.

The girl at his feet was shaking visibly, still kneeling, still averting her eyes, still breathing too fast and too shallow, and he worried she might breathe so quickly she passed out.

Finally, the carts and wagons were far enough away, and he allowed himself to relax, sighing deeply and letting his head fall backward, his eyes closing as he let the sun light up his eyelids.

Then he lifted his head again and slid forward out of the chair, kneeling beside the prisoner.

She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes wide and terrified, and her nostrils flared again as she forced her head back down, her neck bending farther as if under a great weight.

“It’s alright,” he said in common, speaking softly this time, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “You’re safe now. Just raise your head so I can take that off.”

Azzor was still behind him. “Goz-” he started, his voice also relaxing now that there were no humans around to require a show of force.

Gozukk laughed. “Right. Can you do magic?”

The girl shook her head frantically.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

She nodded, her eyes still wide.

“Good enough for you, Az?” he asked, looking up at his friend, advisor, and general.

Azzor rolled his eyes, which was answer enough.

Gozukk reached slowly toward the woman, who trembled harder as his claws got closer. Then he unclasped the muzzle from behind her head and eased it away from her face.

She took in great, gulping breaths as soon as her mouth was freed, her body almost convulsing around them, and as her body heaved with fear, the breaths turned to sobs.

He rubbed gently at the back of her neck, ignoring the sobs, for now, as if they were still just breaths, after all.

“There,” he said, voice still gentle, “That’s better. Just breathe. You’re alright.”

She wasn’t, and he knew it.

“You’re going to be alright.”

He turned to look around at the tribe members still watching the caravan disappear into the far distance. He’d made worse deals before, but at least this time, he was confident his people would understand.

The half-elf woman sagged forward, pressing her forehead to the rug, her back still heaving with hard, frightened breaths and desperate, scattered sobs. He kept rubbing gently at the back of her neck and glanced up at the horizon, trying to decide what grounds he could look for to turn on the caravan when they returned, if they didn’t try to cheat his people on their own and make it easy for him.

[siegelst]

Anonymous asked [

Curiosity - Passage of time [ Day 13 - Anger ]  by Anonymous

Rated Explicit Mature 18+

clothes kink, major size kink, voice kink, karl has part lycan in him, scent-marking, touch-starv karl.

Day 13 - Anger

Was sweeping the floor when I noticed the walls creaking and the metal in the room shaking. Was there’s a earthquake?  I peeked out of the room to see more metal swirling around. Wtf is going on? Elevator raising to see Heisenberg looking pis$ed.  Metal vibrating around me. Me being the coward, I hid under the nearest desk.

"F*ck that b!tch!" He roared.  The room came alive with metal objects flying across the room. A hurricane was tearing through the room. Something hit me as I look down at my arm to see something sticking out of it. I noticed blood was dripping down my arm. Didn't noticed the metals collapse, silence, table being thrown off. I was too busy staring trying to figure what the f*ck is in my arm and looking at my bloody hand.

"Sh*t sh*t! Buttercup look at me."

I feel a glove hand cup my face, moving me to see Heisenberg looking rough around the edges, couching down to me, pulling one glove off with his teeth hurriedly, to cup my face with his bare hand. Why he looks guilty?

I felt a current zap through me. I blackout. Could still hear him muttering curses as it sounded like he was running feel his arms carrying me oddly. His necklaces chimed as he moved. I came back to see him strapping my arm down. 

"Don't look, or I'll strap you in on the table." He said his voice rough.  He look upset.

"Wow very kinky." He didn't laugh.  I noticed I was on the table at least as he worked on my arm. Huge hand grip my hair as he made me turn my head. 

"Ok ok-" I cut off - felt something sharp pinch me in the neck. My vision bleeding together as sounds distorted like radio in out of tune, clipping sounds, as I feel like I was falling. Now I get why Kirk get pi$s off at Bones for doing that. Trying to grab onto something, feeling cloth material, warm arms hands guiding me down onto something, someone faintly saying "Sorry buttercup."

Heisenberg pov.

Sh*t I hit lass with one of the rods. Rod went in clean through her arm, blood dripping down, she crouching hiding under the desk. She looked dazed not registering the pain yet, as I zap her out then rushing to medical bay.

She up again. I turned her head away to plunge a needle in her neck. She convulsed before falling to the sedation.  Ghost of her hand gripping my shirt ingrained in mind, like a hot iron to the skin, branding it. She lost blood and loose more when removing the rod out her left arm. I got down to work.

 X Female pov

I woke up in a warm cocoon of a single blanket with a groan. Head still heavy with drugs. Seems my left arm is back, wrapped in bandage. I settled back in the blanket.  Warm hands brushed against my face.  Making me open my eyes slightly.

Seeing blurry tower looming figure of Heisenberg. I feel him pulled off the bandages on my left arm, and pick up green stuff in a bottle, pouring it over my huge wound,  causing me to yell in pain.  And pour a purple bottle on my wound cause me to feel pain and odd sensation of my torn muscles repairing. 

I looked at my arm and wish I didn't.  A hole the size 1 inch diameter.  It looked like the process of repairing itself. Some muscles look new? I must have made a noise caused he seem to noticed I'm awake. He explains the liquids he pouring on me would help repair my muscles,  bones, skin.  How??? Where is this stuff in our hospitals? I guess the regrow bones is in orange liquid as he pour it in my arm. It hurt. My bones feel like it is stretching. "Quit whining, you almost there."

 "Quit whining? You not the one that got impaled by a rod." I tried to say.  His way of talking rubbing off on me.  

 "Sorry sorry."  He said as if it was him that controlled the rod. I watched as my injury was being repaired. "You been out for some time. 3 hrs"

It's only been 3 hours? My arm looks like it's recovering for 6 months already. How??

 "Why? You’re not the one that hit me with the rod." I asked.  He looked disgruntled.

"I can move metals." he muttered. What? 

"So. . . The chair? The stuff flying? The walls rattling?" I asked. He nodded. Ohhh. That makes sense now. The pliers appearing, the chair moving, and when a tool appeared in his hand when he let me watch him work on soldat. He wasn’t a wizard. He’s . . .magneto 2.0. I patted his hand in comfort, since he seems stressed out about what he did.  The rest of the day was uneventful.

[soulwillower]

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)  

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking. 

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was. 

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail. 

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work. 

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm. 

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him? 

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.  

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this -  he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain. 

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded. 

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne. 

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself. 

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder. 

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats. 

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did. 

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks. 

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted. 

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily. 

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls. 

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever. 

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin. 

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

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