#colossus hammer

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Colossus Hammer

"Relic retrieval is delayed. Mentioning it was forty feet tall might have helped us prepare." —Queen's Bay Company dispatch

Artist: Julian Kok Joon Wen TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[dailymtgflavortext]

"Relic retrieval is delayed. Mentioning it was forty feet tall might have helped us prepare." —Queen's Bay Company dispatch

-Colossus Hammer

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than multiple pillows

"Your honor, the prosecution would like to call the next witness to the stand."

"Mr Murder claims to have seen the entire crime personally."

"Your honor... With all due respect, that's a bird. You can't call a bird as a witness! Furthermore..."

"As as the previous witness revealed earlier, several black feathers were found on the victim's body. This makes Mr Murder look like far more than just a witness. The defense would like to accuse Mr Murder of being the true killer!"

"Mr Wright, the last time we had a bird at the witness stand, you were the one wanted to cross-examine it. And we're all well aware of the black feathers. Let's hear what Mr Murder has to say before throwing around accusations. Now then, Mr Murder, please state your name and occupation."

"You will die on the twelfth of April, 2038, 11:31 am."

In other news, an expansion on disturb cards!

And now that we've got a nice chain going, let's string them all together!

[imagine-darksiders]

Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

 “What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o  t o u c h e d  y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,��� you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

[darkshelbyfiction]

An Unusual Proposal

FOR: THOMAS SHELBY X FEM! READER

WARNING: DUBCON SMUT, NAME CALLING, ROUGH HANDELING

The sun was beginning to set when Thomas Shelby summoned you to his office. As you entered the room, you couldn't help but notice the sheer power radiating from every inch of the place. Your heart raced, as your gaze swept across the austere space bathed in harsh light. High ceilings adorned by intricately woven tapestries reflected the family's past glories, casting an air of authority around the room.

As you approached the large wooden desk, it felt like walking into a lion's den. The sharp gleam of Thomas Shelby's piercing blue eyes bore into your soul, chilling you to the core.

"Come here," he growled, beckoning you closer. You obeyed, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. Stepping nearer, you couldn't help but note the sheer size of Thomas, towering above you like a colossus.

The raw intensity of his presence seemed to envelop you, leaving no part of your body untouched. His strong hands grasped your hips, pulling you even closer, until you were just inches away from the massive wooden desk.

With a sinister grin, Thomas whispered into your ear, "Do you remember what I told you earlier?" His words sent shivers down your spine, as they reminded you of his promise – one that left you both thrilled and terrified.

Unable to control yourself, you began to tremble under his fierce gaze. With an authoritative tone, he commanded, "Bend over the desk."

You hesitated for a moment, your body refusing to comply with his orders at first. But then, something snapped inside you. You could feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, transforming into an explosive mixture of resentment and desire. As you lowered yourself onto the cold wood, you fought back tears, knowing full well that your submission would only fuel his appetite further.

He gripped your hips more firmly, guiding your body to the exact position he desired. Your legs were splayed wide apart, baring your most intimate parts to his hungry gaze. Thomas stood tall behind you, a predatory smile playing upon his lips.

"Fucking hell, Love. You will never learn, eh?" he growled. "Now spread those legs for me. You will take my cock, whether you like it or not," he said, his voice dark and commanding. Reluctantly, you obeyed, feeling your cheeks flush with shame. Your thighs trembled as you parted them, exposing your wetness to his view.

Thomas stepped closer and unbuckled his belt, followed by his zipper.

His hardened manhood jutted out, standing proudly before you.

As if toying with you, he teased your entrance with the tip of his penis, gently circling your rim before swiftly thrusting inside.

You cried in pain as he bottomed out against your cervix, making sure to push deep into your tender flesh. Each time he pulled out, it seemed like you were torn apart all over again. His relentless assault continued until you were drenched in sweat, your body begging for mercy.

Despite your pleas, Thomas' only response was to increase the tempo, hammering your tight walls with relentless determination. Every thrust echoed throughout the room, driving you towards the brink of ecstasy and agony simultaneously.

"Flirting with another man is fucking unacceptable, eh," Thomas muttered, gritting his teeth as he plunged deeper into your depths.

A mixture of pain and pleasure danced across your face, betraying your feelings to him. In spite of the intense discomfort, you found yourself craving his touch, the need for release taking hold of you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you reached your peak, the wave of sensation crashing over you. As you climaxed, Thomas' own release exploded inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

"That's it you fucking whore, take my cum," he growled, a mix of triumph and possessiveness in his voice.

You could feel the warmth of his seed pooling inside you, claiming your body as his.

The weight of his body pressed down on yours, crushing you beneath his might. You could taste the saltiness of his skin as he held you close, the scent of his musky arousal filling your nostrils.

For a moment, there was silence, punctuated only by the sound of your laboured breathing. Then, as you regained some semblance of composure, Thomas spoke once more.

"You know what? You are quite the piece of work, aren't you?" He let out a sigh, his breath caressing your neck as he moved away from you.

"Don't you ever think about how we could make this work?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness. "We have been friends for so long. We've been fucking for years and still, you go off and look at other men," he spat, his breath hot against your skin.

His words cut deep, bringing up memories of a time when you two had shared laughter and confidences.

"Then fucking marry me already, Thomas!" you blurted out, frustration getting the better of you. "Or at least stop treating me like this!"

Thomas paused, considering your suggestion. His eyes were hard, yet a spark of curiosity flickered within them.

"Alright Love, let's get married, eh?" Thomas responded coolly, his eyes gleaming with interest. "But let's do this properly, shall we? No more fucking around, only respectful love-making."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing at the thought of what such a marriage might entail. "What does proper mean to you, Thomas?"

"Proper means, no more fucking around in this dingy office after you have gotten on to my nerves simply to prove a fucking point." Thomas exclaimed, his eyes blazing with passionate fury. "From now on, you will give me complete loyalty and commitment, do you hear me?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning red with embarrassment. Deep down, you knew that this arrangement wouldn't last. However, the prospect of living together, married to a man like Thomas Shelby, was something you couldn't resist.

[skinnyazn]

I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/3 Notes: inspired by Hozier's Like Real People Do, Jag Backstory unlocked!!!

Part One | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST Why were you digging? / What did you bury Before those hands pulled me / From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither should you

___

You were in the kitchen getting water for the both of you when the message came in.

55.7249º N, 37.5541º E. Tuesday, 14:00. 

The +7 country code made a cold sweat break over your body. Russia. You didn’t know how the sender got your number, but if it was who you thought, they would have their ways. All you could do was stare at your phone as your heart hammered through your chest.

“Everything al’right?”

You hadn’t even noticed Simon come up behind you.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, passing him a glass of water as you set your phone screen-down on the counter. You lowered your head onto your arms, resting them on the surface to hide your face while you backed your nakedness against the colossus of a man. A raspy grunt was his response.

“Dangerous, Jag,” Simon warned, but closed the gap all the same. He kissed your shoulders and back, setting down the glass of water next to your phone. “Heart’s racin’,” he murmured against your skin as his hands smoothed down to your hips. “Can hear it from ‘ere.”

“You have that effect on me.” It wasn’t a lie—not usually. But at present, the contents of the text message were still etched into your brain. You felt like throwing up.

“Thought you needed a break, luv.”

“Changed my mind,” you tried your best to even your voice, but it still came out shaky.

Ghost’s hands stilled on your hips as he paused. “We don’t ‘ave to—” 

“Need you, Simon,” you interrupted, raising your head to look back at him while snaking his tattooed hand up and around your neck.

Dark eyes glinted in the low light, looking at the phone on the counter, then searching yours for a moment—for an out, a reason. But all they found was benediction. He tightened his grip around your throat and kissed you softly.

When your beautiful man was finally asleep, sound and unsuspecting, you hated yourself for exploiting his weaknesses. For knowing that he got sloppy around you in this domestic setting; that he slept deeper—you both did—after a few rounds. That he knew you’d get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or refill your water.

You slipped out of the warm bed, packing as quietly as you could—shoving your life with Simon “Ghost” Riley into your black duffel. Hating yourself more as you scribbled on the back of a receipt and set it down next to his mask.

Something I have to do. 

You looked at him one last time—perhaps for the final time. His blonde hair was exposed, his ultimate layer of trust in you; you watched his scared back softly rise and fall as he slept. Numbness ran through your body at stupidity of thinking you’d finally escaped your past. Cut all the ties. That you naively thought you had built something here, too. People in your line of work never get happy endings. Your throat tightened as you slipped through the front door, locking it behind you. Your cab was already gone by the time he woke.

______

Moscow was frigid and covered in a light dusting of snow when you landed. And all those memories of a life left behind seeped back up from their well of suppression on the cab ride to the coordinates. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was. There was a split in the road then, where you made a choice. One that lead you to San Francisco and to Kokshetau and to Leeds. One where you chose your life. 

Yet here you were, back in the cold and snow—despair growing in the pit of your stomach with each mile passed. You worried your jaguar pendant between gloved fingers.

The cab stilled in front of large bronze doors, now a dull green after centuries of oxidation.

Новодевичье кладбище: Novodevichy Cemetery.

You paid the fare and got out, duffel slung over your shoulder. There were tourists and locals alike visiting the historic cemetery. It made you even more on edge as you entered through the double doors. You were too vulnerable out here in the open. 

Checking your watch, you were thirty minutes early, giving you enough time to scope out the location. It calmed you some, passing by the beautiful tombstones and monuments of Russia’s most notable and respected citizens. Anton Chekhov, Vera Mukhina, Lyudmila Gurchenko. Pristine marble and greying stone and wet concrete. It was an odd location for a meeting but you hoped with all the people around you could let your guard down a little. You wandered through the maze of the deceased. But then you saw it: a mound of freshly laid earth and an ornate marble bust. You stopped completely. Felt your heart stuck in your throat and a flush of heat to your face. Your hands went numb as you just stared. 

Vladislava Ignatyev.

The thread that lead you to where you were now. In memory you heard the gentle clink of a tea cup and the soft rustling of a maid’s dress.

You’d make a fine spy one day, my beautiful Odette.

That your wish or mine?

Neither. It’s your nature, dear. The same way a fish takes to water or a swan flight. 

…

You can give me that look but you know I’m right. You were a caged, pretty little thing when I discovered you. And now you’ve grown majestically into your true nature. Just remember who gave you your wings when you are enjoying your freedom. My door will always be open for you…

The marble bust on the cold floor did the older woman no justice. It failed to capture her elegance and the magnitude of her character. You’d learned so much from her. Vladislava was a woman who silenced a room when she entered, through no other means than just being her. And now she was in the cold ground beneath you. Beauty and stature decaying. You wanted to cry but the tears would not come.

“It’s you…”

The gentle voice snapped you to the present again. Standing across from you was a handsome man, with blonde, wavy hair falling to frame his young face. His blue eyes took you in.

You inhaled deeply. “Dimitri.”

He smiled and you felt a tightness in your chest.

“I…I was not sure you would come.” Low chatter from the other visitors passing by filled the silence as you took each other in. His smile grew wider. “You look so different, and yet exactly how I remember you.”

“And you’ve grown,” you found yourself returning the smile slightly. Dimitri shifted on his feet, like he wanted to take your hand like he used to, but knowing that too much time had passed. You continued, “Surprised you even recognized me.”

He looked at you kindly and chuckled. “You weren’t always in ballet attire, my lisIchka. The short hair suits you though.”

You ran your gloved fingers through your choppy hair, recalling the muscle memory that had sleeked it into a taught bun countless times in the past—not a flyway in sight. Streamline. Efficient. Orderly. Your true nature. 

Dimitri stepped around the grave so that he was facing it too, the both of you staring at the bust on the floor.

“We were just kids, then, weren’t we?”

You hummed. “You more-so.” You sucked in a breath. “When did she pass?”

“Last week. A stroke. It was so sudden—she had been in perfectly good health," his voice wavered slightly. “I was the one who found her in her bed in the morning. She just looked like she was sleeping...”

The statue’s hollowed eyes stared into nothingness. You had to look away, so you looked up at Dimitri. “I owe your mother a lot. I… I’m sorry I never came back,” you paused, studying the side of his face. He must be twenty six now—a decade gone in the blink of an eye; all those memories of the two of you when you were younger filtered back. You steadied your breath. “But I had to experience the world for myself.”

The younger man turned to you. “I understand. Never could keep you caged. No one could.”

You smiled but it didn’t meet your eyes. Nostalgia was a deceiver.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “There is another reason I asked you here, though. Something I have for you. From Vladislava.”

He reached into his wool peacoat and procured a long velvet box. Hesitating, you reached for the it, staring at the plain box in your hands before opening it. 

It was the necklace that Vladislava had worn the night you first met: a massive canary diamond choker, surrounded by ornate gold and diamonds. You recalled the burning in your legs as you took your closing bow for the Vaganova Ballet Academy, peering into the crowd and seeing a glint of yellow among the blur of the audience. She’d come to you after, as you were removing all the feathers and makeup backstage. Introduced herself. You had no idea her influence at the time; you were only eighteen. But soon you were living with her. Wandering her massive estate with Dimitri. Being her eyes and ears at events with the most affluent; sometimes the most corrupt as well. Learning all you could from her as you started down a completely different path than when you first moved to Russia.

The significance of the necklace wasn’t lost on you as you stared down at the gorgeous piece. You closed the box quietly.

“I can’t take this, Dima,” you passed the box back to him, but he didn’t move. He just looked down at you, fondness in his eyes at the familiarity of his moniker. He wrapped his hands over yours.

“I'm afraid you don’t have a choice, lisIchka. It was in her will.” His hands stayed for a moment, then fell back to his side. 

You simply stared at the box. 

“You know,” he said softly, moving slightly closer to you, “there’s always a place for you here. In Moscow. At our home.”

And for a moment, the sun peaked through the grey day, alighting Dima’s golden hair. But when you looked at him, all you saw was Simon and his flat and the rain and his warmth. You gave a sad smile.

“Ah,” he said, understandingly.

You reached out and took his hand, running your gloved-thumb over his knuckles. “In another life, perhaps.”

He squeezed back. “I’ll look for you, then.”

You heart hurt at the whole situation. Vladislava was a force, now extinguished. And a childhood crush had clearly become something more. You held onto him for a while longer, then finally let go of his hand.

“Well, you must be exhausted from your travels,” Dima looked around. The oppressive sky was continuing to lighten. “To be honest I wasn’t sure you would even come, but I reserved a room for you at the Kempinski anyway. Stay as long as you need.”

You tucked the box into you jacket and looked at the younger man one last time, reaching up to touch his face. “Thank you for everything, Dima.” He leaned into your caress. “Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

You gave a final glance at the grave, then left, not looking back. ______

Dima bb we're so sorry T^T Thanks for the wait, one more chapter to go! if you'd like to be (un)tagged for updates let me know! @deadbranch @solidly-indulgent @aalxrose @dotcie

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Is there a gun in wh that can be described as "a gun that shoots hammers"

Literally shoots hammers? Not typically, though there are definitely some Ork lobbas that you could load hammers into, amongst many other things.

Shoots projectiles that would be kind of like firing a hammer at someone? Ork kannons and some of the larger slug weapons, kind of.

Has the effect of firing a hammer into someone's face? The Votann bolt shotgun is definitely up there. And if you wanted to hit a particularly big nail, a colossus bombard would definitely do the job.

Now, for the largest nails, like the REALLY big nails, like the nails in the cat-flap doors they make for titans, or the nails in wooden chairs that aren't hammered in properly and snag your clothing, I can only suggest the magna-torpedo. You WILL have to burgle Dark Angels for this, though, so be aware.

[conarcoin]

phallus dick prick member tool organ cock wang schlong peter knob chopper plonker dong winkle joystick weenie whang willy tockley pizzle stick manhood johnson sexcalibur boner pisser sword rod skinflute thang dingdong ding-a-ling dinky equipment love-muscle stiffy weapon cucumber dipstick rocket banana baseball bat bayonet beast doingus popsicle thermometer peepee peen ween torpedo babymaker arrow appendage anaconda antenna baguette baton banger bellend sausage bopper bouncer branch bulge bumper winky carrot cannoli chubby colossus corndog crankshaft dagger richard hammer groin handle hardware missile jimmy junk kebab kielbasa snake scepter kraken lance leviathan noodle lizard log lollipop moby mushroom package pencil pepperoni pipe piston pogostick private python ranger rascal shiv slug smacker soldier spear sprout stallion stinger stump submarine surfboard sweetmeat tallywacker telescope testosterbone cyclops driver tripod fuckstick flagpole pendulum poker salami shotgun wee-wee weasel wiener wiggler wingwang woody worm thingy tickler tiger timber tip titan toothpick torch tower treasure trinket trombone trumpet turtle turkey turnip twig twinkie twister unit unmentionable vuvuzela vessel vindicator violin volcano wally wand wangdang wanker warrior wenis whip whammer whopper wingman winston wishbone wizard-sleeve woodpecker wrecking ball yankee-doodle yardstick yo-yo yoda yogurt-slinger zapper zeus zipper-ripper zonker zucchini

oh my god

[californiannostalgia]

Vox Machina is the most extraordinary group that Exandrian historians of their age will record, but what's striking about them is that these extraordinary individuals' personal struggles were not extraordinary at all.

How do you deal with the pain of growing into a different path from your twin? How do you cope with the loss of your family? Do you run from those who profess to care for you? Do you think about the people who ran away from you, in the dark of night? How do you love knowing you will be alive to see them die? How do you process the unwanted legacy your parents have left in you?

How do you grow from this? How do you change? What do you choose as your heart, who do you choose for your love? How do you say goodbye knowing you will have to leave, knowing you will have to stay?

Really, the only extraordinary thing about them might've been how they answered the question: What do you do when an undefeatable enemy is razing your world?--and that the entire continent was there to witness their answer.

Fame is a strange thing. History, legacy--the mythology of you outgrows you. The details of your memory humanize you and your friends, but how long would that last, really?

One day you will be older than the sphinx who told you about your planet's apocalypse. Will history remember how your best friend had the dryest sense of humor? Will his clock tower still stand, with you memorialized on its face alongside others who are now gone? It would certainly be apt, seeing as how a part of you has passed into history with them and become lost to you now.

It is a strange thing, to be a legend. To have your name and actions hammered into the bedrock of cities that have stood unbroken for centuries. Your name is a certainty in the background of everyday life: The Divergence, the Calamity, the Dragons and Colossus and the heroes called Vox Machina. Schoolyard rhymes, lullabies, the effigies and murals that paint you beautifully.

You think you can fathom the loneliness of your lover's patron now.

[antiquatedsimmer]

In the months that followed, the Harrington household witnessed an unprecedented flurry of activity. The once-quiet farm was now a hive of industry, with workers toiling tirelessly. Most of these laborers were brought in through the Coombes family's connections, a fact that weighed heavily on Eddy's mind. While he contributed what he could, it became increasingly apparent that the scope of the project exceeded what he initially expected.

From dawn until dusk, workers hammered, sawed, and excavated, transforming Eddy's land. Barns were hoisted, relocated, and reconfigured.

A grand wooden arch was erected at the farm's entrance, rustic and imposing, crowned by the massive horns of a longhorn bull. Yet, even this striking arch seemed insignificant compared to the towering edifice that was taking shape on his property.

Eddy's beloved garden found a new home to the left of the house, near the well, while the outhouse was shifted to the right. Piece by piece, the familiar landmarks of his farm were shuffled aside to make room for the looming mansion.

The newly constructed farmhouse, coated in a vibrant shade of red, featured white-painted woodwork adorned with ornate arches.

Daniel and all his contractors insisted it was indeed a Farmhouse but Eddy has grown skeptical.

By mid-autumn, the towering mansion stood as a testament to the whirlwind of change that had swept over the land. In just a few short months, nearly everything had been altered. This new house was a colossus compared to the one Eddy had lovingly crafted with his own hands and everything he had built has been moved and pushed aside.

The reality of what exactly the term "little" meant in the context of his dealings with Daniel was dawning on him, Eddy knew Daniel loved Josephine despite the mistakes she had made and knew she was bound to get doted on with the new marriage. But this? This was beyond excessive.

[wyllzel]

The "Owlbear from the Top Rope" strat at the Grymforge. 😆 (See below for more detailed instructions!)

(Not shown) Send the forge's platform to the bottom by pulling the hammer's lever, then warping back to the Ancient Forge Waypoint. (You want your whole party to be outside of the combat zone before engaging the Grym.)

(Not shown) Ranger casts Longstrider on the party.

(Note shown) Circle of the Moon Druid uses Wild Shape: Owlbear.

Druid (Owlbear) drinks an Elixir of the Colossus.

Wizard casts Enlarge on the Druid (Owlbear).

Ranger casts Enhance Leap on the Druid (Owlbear).

Ranger casts Feather Fall (from Footwear: Mystra's Grace) on the party.

(Not shown) Ranger shoots the valve that releases the lava, which awakens the Grym.

The Grym then wanders around the bottom platform without activating turn-based combat with your party, who are beyond his view. Your Owlbear can now use Jump (not Crushing Flight) to absolutely demolish Grym. 😎

[witchcraftandgeekness]

Mikaelson siblings as Titan shifters

Result of me being obsessed with the TVDU's Mikaelson family and Attack on Titan at the same time.

Is there any context or backstory? None. Reasons to think about this weird crossover? Not a single one. Would the lack of logic ever stop me? I think the answer is obvious. Guess who must have been preparing for the finals. Prepare yourself for the oddest thing you've read today, I guess.

Finn as the Colossus Titan. A thing I noticed in Kol's and Finn's confrontation after both were ressurected as vampires is that he is more willing to avoid Kol's blows and was fighting back only when neccessary. So, naturally, I've seen this as a sign of his suitability for the Colossus Titan because of it's general passive and defensive position in most battles. (also his height lol)

Elijah as the Armoured Titan. In general, I have a feeling that Elijah's suits always act as some sort of emotional armour that helps him keep going. Obviously, I drew an allegory between this psychological armour of his with the corresponding Titan (also... here somewhere lies the connection between Elijah's Red Door that he used to hide the atrocities he commited in the name of family, shielding himself from the guilt and trauma, and Reiner's ambivalent personalities: an image of a hero who protects his friends risking his life that he created to disguise the guilt of being a warrior who is responsible for the deaths of thousands. But we are not unpacking their metaphors of armouring themselves from the pain and responsibilities right now). Besides, Elijah's general physique mostly matches one of the Armoured Titan's one, imo.

Rebekah as the Female Titan. Literally very little explanation for this one except for the obvious connections and the fact that no ther Titans seems to be a better fit. Well, the only thing I can add is that Female Titan is known for the adaptivity and Rebekah seems like the most adaptive among her siblings.

Freya as the War Hammer. Decision mostly influenced by the fact that the ability of this Titan to create weapons out of thin air and the ability to fight remotely (by encapsulating the possessor in the crystal which reminds me of the way Freya can inflict damage without directly contacting/fighting the oponent) most of all reminds of magic which Freya possesses and the mystery of this Titan being held till the last season like Freya was mostly absent and non-active in the history of her family, each due to being held away from the main action (Freya by Dhalia and the War Hammer by the Tybur family).

Klaus as the Beast Titan. As Beast Titan is the projection of Titans' connection to nature, it was shows to possess the appearance of diffent animal species, and Klaus is undeniebly connected with his wolf side. So, his Titan would exhibit wolf-ish traits. Plus, it's simply hilarious for me.

Kol as the Attack Titan. As much as I adore the idea of putting Kol in the role of the Jaw Titan so he would be this little gremlin, Kol reflects Attack Titan's traits such as need for freedom, moving forward and, well, frankly, predicting various future plot evemts (tho I believe he didn't have the ability to communicate with his past and future identities). The Attack Titan is said to fight for freedom throught the history and Kol is known for seeking his freedom from Klaus' affinity of daggering whoever doesn't agree with him, and being short-tempered.

So little is known of Henrik that I have no idea what he possibly can be fit for, so I guess it's either the Jaw Titan or the Cart Titan. Dunno. Anyway.

Those ideas are not directly connected to the anime's plot, just me overthinking and having fun, I guess.

If you went the whole way till the end, congrats, you are such an adorable weirdo for being interested.

[guardianangel12]

What if you’re wrong? (Fanficlet)

"I am Groot." Groot said, squirming in his chair.

"Tinkle in the cup. We're not looking. What's there to see?" Rocket told him without turning from his gazing out the window into space. "What's a twig? Everybody's seen a twig before"

"I am Groot!" Groot's voice was increasingly panicked.

"Tree, pour what's in the cup out into space and go in the cup again," Thor said, turning to the wriggling sapling.

"You speak Groot?" Rocket asked, turning around in his captain's chair.

"Yes, they taught it on Asgard. It was an elective."

"I didn't know the language existed outside of the flora colossus species." Tess said.

"Knowledge was a very valued thing in my childhood, something many civilizations have deemed a lesser need."

"I am Groot," Groot said, now bored that he was no longer panicked about needing to pee.

"You'll know when we're close.” Thor answered. “Nidavellir's force harnesses the blazing power of a neutron star." He stepped away from the window and sat down wearily on a step, his head hung low. "It's the birthplace of my hammer. It's truly awesome." Rocket spun back around, hearing the flatness of his voice and met eyes with Tess as she noticed the same.

She bit her lip and then walked over to Thor, Rocket watched for a few long moments before turning back around.

"Not once have I heard you debate this mission," she said softly, sitting down beside him. "Can I ask what's driving you?"

He looked up slowly to her. "I swore to Thanos he'd pay for what he's done, and I mean to fulfill that promise."

She was quiet, understanding what had happened. "Who was it? Who did he kill?"

"My best friend. And then... my brother."

Her legs quivered and it felt like something squeezed her heart into her throat. "When he retrieved the space stone?"

"Yes. My brother tried to fight him... a foolish attempt but, he did it for me."

"I'm so sorry." She placed her hand on his. "I don't blame you, for wanting revenge, if someone killed my brother I... I don't think I'd come back from that."

He nodded. "Well, he's been dead before, but this time I think it really might be true."

"What about your parents?"

"Both dead."

"Siblings..?"

"My sister took my eye, and my home, then died."

Tess stopped herself from exhaling. "You sure you're up for this?"

"Absolutely." He brushed off her concern with a breathy laugh she knew was fake. "Rage and vengeance, anger, loss, regret. They're all tremendous motivators, really clear the mind, so I'm good to go."

She watched him carefully. "I understand, the regret, the anger... but they don't really help in the long run. I went down that path, of vengeance. If it weren't for my brother I'd be dead right now."

"I have to do this."

"I know, but... my father told me that when you think too much, you go too much on what's right in front of you instead of look inside before you act, you get killed. He said you need to be focused, controlled, and let the rage be your fire underneath."

Thor thought for a moment and nodded slowly. "Your father sounds like a wise man, I should like to meet him."

She swallowed and looked down. "He was."

Thor’s intense blue eye watched her, then he asked softly, "What happened to him?"

Her voice was breathy, even after all these years of feeling like she was getting to be able to talk about it normally, and not break down when she had to remember that day. "He was killed saving my brother. By a celestial."

His eye flickered, then went back up to hers. "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "It was a long time ago, but it's still so fresh."

"I definitely understand all that. And your mother?"

"I don't know her. My father... he wasn't my blood father, he saved my life and raised me afterwards, but neither of my brothers were by blood either."

He nodded in understanding. "Family is more than blood."

As Tess studied him, she realized more and more how alike they were. Both had lost so much, both had been beaten and broken by the world and now as she sat with him, she didn't feel so alone.

"I've known Thanos' kind before," she said quietly. "But this is him, with almost every infinity stone. Are you sure you can do this?"

"I've fought many an enemy who would have defeated me, all failed. Thanos will be no different because fate wills it so."

"And if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong then... what more could I lose?"

She swallowed, looking down. She could lose people still, Rocket and Groot here with her, Peter, Gamora, Mantis and Drax. Kraglin. She could lose the world and handle it better than him.

She met eyes with Rocket across the pod, and knew in that moment he was thinking the same thing.

[namjaart]

I love Johnson. No matter how misters Mооntons try to make a million plot holes in his lore, he still remains for me one of the most sincere, kind and blissful characters.

It seems to me that in the history of many "new" rangers, that is, Bruno, Lolita, Chu, Layla, there was the very moment where John gave them a friendly kick of faith.

But with Lolita, it’s like father-daughter, brother-sister, whatever. But I fucking love this Micro-tank loli and huge John dynamic.

I forgot to post the text again. hih

When it comes to Lolita, I absolutely trust her with my life. We do not just work together, we have become true friends and inseparable comrades. Our relationship began from the time of our first meeting in the corridors of an erudite hospital. Lolita was still quite small and at first she was even afraid of me. (And who would not be afraid when such a colossus starts talking to you). As time went. And our friendship with Lola for me grew into something similar to the relationship of brother and sister, and sometimes even father and daughter. She trusted me with her secrets, asked me to help with the development of the hammer, told me about her family. It costs a lot. Over time, our team has become an invincible force in protecting the order and security of Eruditio. I realized that with Lolita by my side, I always have a reliable ally. We have developed excellent communication and trust in each other. She always takes care of my safety, protects me from enemies and helps me to carry out my tasks. Lolita has become for me not only an excellent partner, but also a close friend. In conclusion, I completely trust Lolita with my life, and our relationship is based on mutual respect, friendship and cooperation. Together we are a force that can overcome any difficulties on the way to victory.

[guysgetbigger]

Sympathy Santa (9 of 12)

Panic, cold and sharp, ripped through Derek. Ethan's guttural groan had barely left his lips when the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the house. "Honey, I'm home!" Sarah's voice called out cheerfully from downstairs, each word a hammer blow to Derek's already frantic mind.

He scrambled back, his tiny form disappearing into the folds of the blanket. No way could Sarah see him like this, exposed and vulnerable beneath Ethan's colossal form. Shame burned hot in his cheeks, mingling with the heat emanating from Ethan's throbbing mass.

Ethan, eyes squeezed shut and breath coming in ragged gasps, seemed oblivious to the approaching danger. But just as a floorboard creaked under Sarah's approaching steps, he let out a choked moan, the sound tinged with both pleasure and urgency.

Derek peeked out from his hiding place, heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his ribs. Sarah stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock as they landed on Ethan. Gone was the familiar figure of her husband, replaced by a colossus, muscles straining against his pajamas, his face flushed with exertion. And then, her gaze fell on the most shocking sight of all: Ethan's manhood, engorged to an impossible size, pulsed beneath the thin fabric.

"Ethan," Sarah's voice was barely a whisper, "what... what on earth is happening?"

Ethan, finally registering the danger, ripped himself from his haze of pleasure. He scrambled to pull himself together, the monumental erection shrinking slightly but still far from its usual size. "Uh, honey," he stammered, his voice thick with panic, "it's... it's a new workout routine I'm trying. Special stretches, you know?"

Sarah stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. The explanation was flimsy at best, but thankfully, her attention was momentarily diverted by the sight of a crumpled magazine lying on the floor. "Oh!" she exclaimed, bending down to pick it up. "Is this that new fitness magazine you ordered?"

Ethan seized the opportunity. "Exactly!" he boomed, forcing a smile. "Yeah, these stretches are supposed to, uh, increase flexibility and... well, other things." He winked suggestively, hoping to deflect suspicion.

Sarah, still bewildered but seemingly appeased, glanced back at him, her gaze lingering on his impossibly large form. "Well, it certainly seems to be working," she commented, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Though, maybe you should wear looser clothes next time?"

Ethan let out a relieved chuckle. "Yeah, good point. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea, right?"

As Sarah disappeared into the kitchen, humming a cheerful tune, Derek remained hidden, his heart still hammering in his chest. The close call had left him shaken, the fear mingling with a strange sense of relief. Sarah hadn't seen him, but the secret they now shared with Ethan added another layer of complexity to their already intricate relationship.

Ethan, seemingly recovered from his near slip-up, glanced down at Derek, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Looks like we got lucky, little elf," he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But remember, secrets have a way of getting out. And the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Derek swallowed, the weight of Ethan's words settling on his small shoulders. The adventure they had embarked on was thrilling, but the risks were undeniable. They were walking a tightrope, the potential for exposure hanging over them like a Damoclean sword. But as he met Ethan's gaze, a spark of defiance ignited within him. This was their secret, their forbidden dance, and they would face the consequences together, no matter how big or how small they may be.

The journey continued, fraught with danger and excitement, their bond growing stronger with each shared secret, each stolen glance, each forbidden touch. And as they navigated this new reality, one thing was certain: their lives would never be the same again. It was a path paved with uncertainty, but they were determined to walk it together, hand in hand, even if those hands were of vastly different sizes.

—

The morning light streamed through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the room as Ethan lumbered in, Sarah's cheerful chatter trailing behind him. He was still colossal, his muscles strained against his clothes, a constant reminder of their close call and the secret hidden beneath.

Reaching the table, Ethan awkwardly maneuvered two chairs together, creating a makeshift throne to support his enormous frame. As Sarah chattered excitedly about her night with the baby, Ethan struggled to maintain a facade of normalcy. Each sip of coffee felt gargantuan, his voice booming unnaturally in the small kitchen.

"And little Timmy was just the cutest thing," Sarah gushed, oblivious to her husband's discomfort. "He kept giggling and reaching for my face - you wouldn't believe how strong he's getting already!"

Ethan mumbled a noncommittal response, his mind racing. How long could he maintain this charade? How long before Sarah noticed the lingering traces of their earlier escapade, the unspoken tension that thrummed between them?

She paused, tilting her head and looking at him with wide eyes. "You know, honey," she said, her voice laced with curiosity, "these gym visits seem to be working wonders. You're practically... larger than life!"

Ethan choked on his coffee, sputtering as he tried to regain his composure. "Larger than life, huh?" he managed, his voice strained.

Sarah giggled, snuggling closer to his massive frame. "I mean it!" she exclaimed, her hand reaching down instinctively. "You feel... different."

His breath hitched as her hand brushed against the fabric of his pants, the outline of his still-impressive erection sending a jolt through him. He froze, fearing the telltale signs of arousal would betray him.

"Maybe," Sarah murmured, her fingers tracing the shape beneath the fabric. "Maybe I like you big."

Ethan's mind reeled. Was this an innocent observation, or did she suspect something more? He couldn't tell, her touch sending conflicting signals through his already overloaded system. Panic warred with a strange thrill at the thought of Sarah accepting, even embracing, his transformation.

Before he could respond, the doorbell rang, the sudden sound shattering the charged atmosphere. Sarah, startled, pulled away, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Oh, that must be the babysitter! I completely forgot..."

Relief washed over Ethan as Sarah rushed to the door. But even as the tension dissipated, a new seed of doubt had been planted. Sarah's innocent touch, her casual acceptance of his size, had opened a Pandora's box of possibilities. Was she truly oblivious, or was she waiting for him to confess, to share the secret world they now inhabited?

As the babysitter arrived and Sarah's attention shifted, Ethan remained at the table, his massive form dwarfed by the small chairs. He stared at his coffee, the steam swirling upwards like wisps of uncertainty. The road ahead seemed more perilous than ever, fraught with hidden desires and unspoken truths. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were nearing a crossroads, a point where their secret would either bind them closer or shatter their fragile normalcy. And as he contemplated the unknown, he knew one thing for sure: their lives had irrevocably changed, and there was no turning back. The size difference that had started as a playful curiosity had morphed into a life-altering reality, and they were both hurtling towards a future they could barely even imagine.

—

Sarah's hug fell short, her arms barely able to encircle Ethan's impossibly broad torso. He had become something beyond human, a force of nature contained within their small home. Their usual affectionate routines felt awkward, comical even, in the face of his colossal form.

She playfully ran her hands up his chest, marveling at the rippling muscles that felt more like boulders than flesh. "Wow, honey," she breathed, a mixture of awe and amusement in her voice. "These workouts are really paying off."

Ethan chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated through the floor. "Just trying to keep up with all your energy," he winked, though his heart thudded nervously. Sarah was getting too close, both physically and emotionally to their hidden secret.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Sarah's hand trailed down his arm, finally reaching the sensitive bulge beneath his clothes. His breath hitched. The touch was innocent, playful, yet it sent a jolt of forbidden desire through him.

"Remember when you could fit in the palm of my hand?" she mused, her voice a husky whisper. The memory, once tender, now felt laden with an undercurrent of something more.

Ethan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Those were… different times," he managed, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.

Sarah leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "Maybe it's time for new memories," she purred, her fingers tightening around his arousal. The heat emanating from him felt like a brand on her skin, both frightening and exciting.

Ethan felt torn. The intimacy Sarah offered was tempting, a forbidden fruit hanging just out of reach. But the risk of exposure, of their carefully constructed reality crumbling around them, was too great.

"Sarah," he began, his voice thick with unease, "maybe not now…"

His words were cut short by her lips meeting his, a kiss filled with pent-up desire and unspoken longing. His body, despite his reservations, reacted instinctively. His heart hammered against his ribs, his arousal straining against the fabric.

As Sarah's hand continued its exploration, venturing into forbidden territory, Ethan knew he was at a crossroads. He could surrender to the intoxicating pleasure, pushing their secret to the brink, or pull away, risking Sarah's hurt and suspicion.

The decision, however, wasn't entirely his. Sarah, fueled by newfound curiosity and a growing desire for her transformed husband, pushed him onto the bed with surprising strength. His size, once an obstacle, became a playground for her exploration.

But even as their breaths mingled, even as pleasure threatened to drown out his fear, Ethan couldn't shake the nagging feeling that their stolen intimacy was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Their secret, like a giant sleeping in their bed, might stir at any moment, shattering the illusion of normalcy and forcing them to confront the true consequences of their extraordinary situation.

Theirs was a dance on a tightrope, a passionate exploration fueled by stolen moments and unspoken truths. And as they navigated this new reality, one thing was certain: their lives would never be the same again. The size difference that had started as a playful curiosity had morphed into a life-altering reality, and they were both hurtling towards a future they could barely even imagine. But whether it would be a future of shared secrets and forbidden love, or of broken trust and shattered realities, remained to be seen.

—

The hot water pounded on Ethan's colossal form, a futile attempt to wash away the day's sweat and the lingering tension. His mind replayed the events of the morning, Sarah's touch sparking a mixture of fear and desire. He knew their secret couldn't be contained forever, but he dreaded the moment it slipped out, shattering their fragile normalcy.

As he stepped out of the shower, towel barely covering his imposing physique, Sarah walked in, her eyes widening in surprise. His enormity, even cloaked in the thin fabric, was impossible to ignore.

"Wow," she breathed, her voice tinged with both amusement and awe. "You're even bigger after a shower."

Ethan chuckled nervously, unsure how to react. Was Sarah suspicious, or simply accepting of his unusual transformation?

"I told you these workouts were working," he joked, hoping to deflect any possible questions.

Sarah approached him, hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm. The muscle beneath her fingers felt firm, powerful. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice surprisingly low. "I shouldn't have been dismissive before. This change… it's scary, yes, but also… fascinating."

Her honesty caught him off guard. Relief mixed with apprehension. Did she know more than she was letting on?

"Fascinating?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

She met his gaze, a determined glint in her eyes. "Yes. You're different, stronger, almost… larger than life. And honestly, I kind of like it."

The confession, laced with something more than mere curiosity, sent a thrill through Ethan. He had feared rejection, but Sarah's words sparked a forbidden desire, a yearning for her acceptance, her touch.

He wrapped his towel tighter, suddenly self-conscious of his enormous form. "Sarah," he began, unsure how to proceed.

Before he could voice his concerns, she cut him off. Her lips landed on his, the kiss hesitant at first, then quickly deepening as his towel slipped forgotten onto the floor. Her hands explored his body, tracing the new contours, marveling at the raw power beneath the skin.

Ethan, swept away by the tide of her desire, surrendered to the moment. He explored her with newfound confidence, his size no longer a hindrance but a potent tool of pleasure. Their movements were clumsy at first, fueled by novelty and nervous excitement, but they soon found a rhythm, a dance of dominance and submission that resonated deep within them.

As their passion reached its peak, Ethan couldn't help but think of the precariousness of their situation. This stolen intimacy, this exploration of his new size, felt both exhilarating and reckless. Each touch, each shared gasp, was a brush with exposure, a reminder of the secret they desperately tried to keep.

But for now, in the heat of the moment, such concerns faded away. They were lost in a world of their own, a world where size difference morphed into an unexpected intimacy, where fear and desire intertwined, creating a connection they never could have imagined.

As they lay entangled afterwards, the aftermath of their passionate encounter a warm glow on their skin, Ethan knew things had changed irrevocably. Sarah's acceptance, her willingness to explore this new reality with him, was a turning point. They were on a path uncharted, fraught with risks and uncertainties, but the journey, however perilous, had begun. And as he held her close, the immense weight of his form both a burden and a shield, he knew they would face whatever came next, together. Theirs was a bond forged in secrecy and desire, a bond that, like his own colossal form, defied definition and promised a future both thrilling and terrifying.

—

The steamy bathroom mirror reflected Ethan's colossal form, his towel barely containing the immensity of his transformation. Yet, it wasn't his size that caused the apprehension etched on his face, but the thought of Sarah. The intimacy they shared earlier had opened a Pandora's box of desire, but also fear. Could his manhood, now engorged beyond human proportions, truly satisfy her, or would it be too much, too big, too alien?

As Sarah entered the bathroom, her eyes widened at the sight of him. But unlike previous shock, it was quickly replaced by an amused glint. "Still admiring the view, huh?" she teased, her voice laced with a playful lilt.

Ethan managed a sheepish smile. "More like worrying about it," he confessed, gesturing towards his hidden erection. "It's… bigger than before. A lot bigger."

Sarah's smile widened, devoid of any fear. "That's the point, isn't it?" she winked, walking towards him, her hand trailing up his leg, the boldness sending a jolt through him. "Besides, when did size ever matter to me?"

Ethan swallowed hard. Her confidence was both arousing and terrifying. He yearned for her touch, yet the potential for pain, for her rejection, loomed large.

Seeing his hesitation, Sarah cupped his face in her hands, her gaze unwavering. "Trust me," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "I might be small, but I'm a lot tougher than you think."

Emboldened by her words, Ethan reached down and pulled her close. As their lips met, a sense of urgency mingled with excitement. Her hands explored his massive form, tracing the unfamiliar contours with a curiosity that sent shivers down his spine.

He guided her hand down, the heat emanating from him almost palpable. As her fingers brushed against the fabric, she gasped, but it was a gasp of anticipation, not fear.

Ethan was about to pull away, his fear threatening to overwhelm him, but Sarah stopped him. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, her eyes locked on his. "Let me explore it all."

Hesitantly, he loosened the towel, revealing the true immensity of his arousal. Sarah stared for a moment, then a slow smile spread across her face. It wasn't a smile of shock or disgust, but of fascination, of excitement.

"Wow," she breathed, her touch gentle yet firm as she traced the outline. "It's incredible."

Her touch ignited a fire within him, dispelling his fear and replacing it with a raw, primal desire. He watched, mesmerized, as she explored him, her small hands surprisingly adept at navigating his massive form.

Slowly, carefully, Sarah eased herself closer, her initial apprehension replaced by a determined glint in her eyes. The sensation was unlike anything Ethan had ever experienced, a blend of pleasure and pressure that stretched his limits and pushed him to new heights of pleasure.

As their exploration continued, their initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by a shared rhythm. Sarah, fueled by curiosity and an unexpected sense of empowerment, reveled in this new facet of their intimacy. Ethan, his fear replaced by a surge of possessiveness and pride, reveled in her acceptance, her pleasure fueling his own.

The experience wasn't just physical; it was emotional, a deeper connection forged through this unique exploration of their changed bodies. The size difference, once a source of anxiety, became a bridge, a shared secret that bound them closer than ever before.

As they lay together afterwards, exhaustion mingling with contentment, Ethan knew they had crossed a threshold. The fear of his size, of rejection, had faded, replaced by a powerful new connection, a bond built on trust, acceptance, and a shared journey into the unknown. It was a path fraught with uncertainties, but they were no longer walking it alone. They were in it together, hand in hand, exploring the uncharted territory of their extraordinary love, a love as vast and unexpected as his transformed form.

[murderless-crows]

Orym is always there for others, always being the protector, the support.

He is accustomed to being "the guy", just the little guy hanging in the back of the room where important things happen. And he isn't resentful of that, no.

He is happy being a regular person, an afterthought hidden behind colossus like Keyleth. I don't doubt for a moment that he doesn't mind being a normal bodyguard.

With the Bells Hells it's happening again. He sees Imogen, breaking heaven with her moon powers, and sees someone with the potential to become a giant like Keyleth if only someone supports her. He sees the rest of the Bells Hells, with their problems and doubts and unhinged antics, and sees people in need of an anchor.

He is the level headed one. The protector to their glass cannon magicians, a muscle to keep danger away from the healer, the support to the raging violence of the hammer, the one to keep in check the wolf. He is the calm in the midst of their chaos.

He knows this role. He has played it before.

And yet, he failed again.

He died.

Brought back to life instead of Laudna, who has already died twice in so very unfair circumstances.

(Leaving Will behind, again)

But he has a role in this group and he WILL do it better this time.

For him. For them.

.

.

.

I only want him to end this journey knowing that he also needs to do it for himself.

For the joy of soaring through the air doing acrobatics, the happiness of a warm meal in a cold day. For the beauty of spring and the satisfying feeling of doing a perfect sword exercise.

For the quiet days and nights that this little guy deserves.