#emotional support hostages

[lunacias]

(Silence. CARPENTER tries to rally HAYWARD's spirits. She's afraid she's going to lose him.)

"All three of us - we can all go on living, Hayward. Just like you said."

[inprogress-predicament]

Jason, storming into the Batcave: BRUCE! Get your demon.

Bruce, not looking up: Damain, let go of Jason. It's past your bed time.

Damian, clinging to Jason's torso: Not until he says it.

Bruce: Jason, say it.

Dick: What does he want you to say?

Damian: Todd is the only one who refuses to wish me a goodnight. I deserve to be Good Night'ed

[st4rking]

tfw you, as a mind reader, have to team up with a man who thinks too much

Slight spoilers in tags

[sanctiphera]

Why are they not protesting about Sunnis and Shia killing each other in Yemen? 377,000 dead so far.

[okitanoniisan]

i keep saying i need to make some zhaoryu shit but i'm back on my y5 kazusaeji bullshit again they are just so. m

[raayllum]

me being prepared to trade "the cube was given to help humans develop dark magic" theory in for CHET (aka that aaravos wants/needs the cube back) like

we'll always have 5x08 lil buddy

[wacky-nameless-inventor-24]

For your new AU, I’d love to hear what you have planned for the Fenton and Mads interactions bc it sounds really interesting! Always up for listening to your ideas :D

Kudos! Hope you can find the right name for the AU!

YAAAAAYY I GET TO TALK ABOUT THEMMMMMM

Okay so FIRST OFF one of my favorite things about this is how obsessed Mads is with the hero/villain dynamic between them. This guy absolutely upholds that to the best of their ability. It’s a game to them and it’s one they love. TO THE POINT WHERE I was thinking the opening scene to this story is Mads kidnapping Gyro SOLELY for the purpose of attracting Gizmoduck (and that this happens regularly sldlflgk). Like to the point where it’s obvious Mads couldn’t care less what happens to Gyro once he’s kidnapped, Gyro could escape and Mads wouldn’t even notice he’d be too busy fighting Gizmoduck sldlflglg They do have a very Megamind/Metroman thing going on

ANOTHER THING IS Fenton’s the first person to notice that Mads is slowly acting differently. Everyone else is stressing out like ‘oh how do we stop them!!!!’ and it’s Fenton who takes a minute to be like ‘okay but did you notice how much more subdued they are now? What’s up with that??’

Because of that Fenton’s the one that goes to them first about it, and pesters them enough about it to get them to open up. Idk if I want to spoil toooooo much but it gets to the point where despite still being their enemy, Fenton’s also Mads’ caretaker (and Mads does reject him at first because they’re trying so hard to keep that hero/villain standard). Which!!! Is why I’m having a hard time with this because some of this isn’t supposed to be noticeable at first so the story’s supposed to be from Gyro’s pov (because as much as Mads doesn’t care about him he cares about them even less, so he’s not going to be too closely following their emotions and personality), but again all of the good parts happen between Mads and Fenton 😔😔😔 I’d either have to break that and therefore the suspense/mystery or have a million retrospective moments from Fenton’s pov

[let-love-run-red]

Hubs: *comes home, drops his work stuff on the floor, doesn't even change out of his uniform before falling on me and shoving his face in my chest*

Me after catching my breath: how was work?

Hubs: *growls*

Me: that good?

Hubs: *muffled ranting*

Me: ok big guy

[tzufcallsmeshomps]

Just a moment of rest would be nice

[cinnamon-roll-whump]

cw threat of animal death

People seemed to like Melkor with an emotional support kitty so!

Edit: link to part 1

-

They could never take him, not on their own.

Melkor kneels before the elves, no chain keeping him in place. His gaze is fixed on the bundle in one elf's arms, the beautiful little piece of darkness that gazes back at him with glass-green eyes. She's too far to reach before the elf wrings her neck.

"Morgoth."

His attention snaps back to the elf before him. He doesn't remember the name. It's not important, he's not one of their rulers, just some guard who found the residence of the former Dark Lord.

"That is not my name." His voice is low and gravelly, grating in his throat. In the elf's arms, his cat mews in reply.

"You hurt our people," the elf says, stepping forward. Torchlight glints off his steel-toed boot.

Anna's crying mew comes from the elf's arms again, a needle stabbing into Melkor's heart.

"Have I not paid the price with my imprisonment already? Please, leave, let my cat go and leave."

"You think it's that easy?" The elf shakes his head. "You took my brother from me! For that, I would see you suffer." A sharp toe drives into his ribs, and Melkor gasps in pain.

The elf kicks him again, and two others close in.

Melkor isn't even chained, it would be so easy to fight them off, to crush them and burn them and let them die slowly. He should! He should tear them apart for this.

...But the last elf still holds his sweet Anna, long fingers wrapped loosely around her little neck. So Melkor remains still, letting the elves take their rage out on his body.

They have a lot of rage to work out.

[surskip]

my favourite kingdom hearts characters are the ones who appear in like. one unknown side game and have the most tragic stories. im talking about like.. replica riku (had his own memories replaced against his will and died fighting his 'true' self after learning that he was just a copy meant to carry out a plan. died with his last few few sentences being about how he's scared to die because he doesn't know what awaits replicas after death) and data sora and riku (also created solely to carry out a plan with little thought to the fact they are also sentient people, who essentially die at the end of the game). can i count xion and namine in this? well, i'm going to

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 8

<<< Part 6

Gulit is eating you alive upon realizing that you might have been the cause for Rhaenys death, but that didn't explain why you made sure to check on Aegon daily.

You weren't supposed to feel pity and sympathy towards a man who stole your mother's birthright.

But he reminded you of your grandsire, Viserys.

He reminded you of when Robb was murdered.

You were right there beside him when he opened his eyes, staring at him with your soft eyes.

Of course, you called the maesters not giving yourself the chance to hear him call out your name in his broken voice, trying to reach his hand out.

Aemond was burning inside with jealousy, but decides not to kill his older brother espically when Aegon claims that he 'doesn't' remember anything.

On the other hand with the Blacks, Corlys makes the decision to continue supporting Rhaenyra, especially after finding out you were taken hostage.

Your mother becomes paranoid to the point where she wished to ride Syrax and burn down Kingslanding.

All Rhaenyra could think of, is having you back in her embrace like she did when you were a baby, but her advisors are standing in her path.

"My sweet little girl, she must be scared, my poor girl"

Jacaerys destroyed everything in his bed chambers, all he could think about is what his monster of a uncle would do to you in his absence.

Not knowing that Aemond did nothing but speak softly to you, and lay his head on your lap every night, while sharing his deepest thoughts and emotions.

There is one person who you wouldn't mind staring at for the rest of your life.

Ser Gwayne Hightower, he reminded you of your father, Jaime Lannister.

But Gwayne thought you found him handsome, so he flirted with you.

He truly thought he could charm you into marrying him or something.

Yet you only smiled, before handing him a letter to give to his youngest nephew.

"Tell Daeron that I don't wish to keep in contact with him anymore nor will I send him anymore letters, Ser Gwayne"

[hedgehog-moss]

I received a BroomSlayer 3000 for Christmas!

Behind its jovial mien lies a cold-blooded killer. It's got merciless jaws to clamp onto the plant and a heavy pivoting handle to extract the roots.

I think Father Christmas saw the Christmas Broom held hostage in my living room, under which he was supposed to leave presents, and realised I had reached a breaking point. Last winter I removed all the invasive shrubs in the pasture. I cut everything! Down to the tiniest baby broomlets! And one year later the place looks like this

It's luxuriant. It's humiliating. It's a boundless undulating broom prairie. Clearly as far as they're concerned, I just gave them a nice trim which allowed them to grow back even healthier. So I needed to try something more violent. Get to the root of the problem. (Sorry.)

(I noticed that the spot of last year's broom bonfire is still completely broom-free, but I have not yet reached the point where I set fire to the entire pasture and hope for the best)

Now let me demonstr

—wait a minute.

Is Pampe eating broom??

Ah, no. She's eating pointless, flavourless, leafless brambles which she wouldn't look at twice if they weren't right next to the plants I'd like her to eat, thus emphasising how much she is not eating these.

For a second here I thought you were being helpful.

I saw Poldine eating brambles instead of broom as well. Bad Poldine!

Poldine recovered from this heartbreak after I let her sniff the snow boots I got for Christmas. Just like cats (her idols) she enjoys inspecting new things. (She also enjoys pulling on the laces delicately with her lips to untie them. This game never gets old, if you're a mischievous young llama.)

Anyway. The BroomSlayer 3000 works!! But it's hard work. I did not think it was going to be hard work, because the website made it look so easy.

I wanted to take a little video of me uprooting my enemies but then I thought an illustration would better convey my emotional state—there was a demo video on the gardening website which sells the BroomSlayer and it was the loveliest most bucolic scene, featuring a polite tree who basically picked up its skirts and scampered away with a contrite gasp the minute it realised its presence was unwanted. I really thought uprooting things was going to be a picnic, because I am not immune to propaganda.

To be fair to the gardening website, maybe it's just broom. With that said, it's incredibly satisfying to pull on the handle and hear the delightful sskkrrhh sound of roots being violently torn out of the ground. It's an exhausting whole-body workout but eventuaIly I will grow stronger than broom. I made a murderous Veni Vidi Vici playlist to put myself in the right mood and with this musical support and my new antibroom weapon I will prevail.

[matan4il]

Every once in a while, the magnitude of the Hamas massacre hits me all over again.

I'm not sure most people get it even now.

In absolute numbers, it is one of the three deadliest terrorist attacks in human history (second or third worst, depends on which estimates you trust for the Camp Speicher massacre), but if we take it in relation to the size of the population in the attacked country (which we should, because terrorism by its very nation seeks to victimizes through psychological trauma the entire target population, and not just those who were physically affected during the attack), then what Hamas did IS the single deadliest terrorist attack in the entirety of human history.

But it's even more than that.

Never, in any other attack, have the terrorists taken over as much land as Hamas did on Oct 7. ENTIRE TOWNS were under complete control of the terrorists, some for SEVERAL DAYS (I specifically remember watching a report on one town, where combat with the terrorists was still taking place on Oct 11, meaning on day 5 of this terrorist invasion into Israel). ENTIRE TOWNS WERE OCCUPIED. BY TERRORISTS. There's not a single Hollywood action movie dealing with such a scenario, because NOTHING OF THIS SCALE HAS EVER HAPPENED BEFORE. Imagine waking up and hearing in real time that the northern half of the American states Washington, Idaho and Montana has been taken by terrorists, who are driving through the streets freely, as they murder, pillage, rape, torture, maim, burn and kidnap people, and almost no one's there to stop them.

And then imagine the world expecting the US government to just... let the terrorists retreat to the other side of an international border in the north, after having murdered over 40,400 American, most of which are civilians, almost 183,000 more injured, and while taking with them across the border over 8,450 American hostages, to God knows what awful fate, for how long, or if they will even ever come back alive. Entire communities and regions would be devastated, without knowing if they'd be able to rebuild. The total would be more than 230,000 Americans directly impacted (I've adapted the real numbers from Oct 7 to the size of the American population... Remember the horrendous 9/11 attack, which saw 2,977 victims killed and a few thousands more injured, and think of what would be the emotional punch of over 230,000 direct victims).

Imagine expecting the US to let that go, and allow those terrorists to continue existing and ruling the land on its northern border. Imagine expecting the US to do so while this terrorist organization openly declares that it will repeat this large scale massacre whenever possible, until the entire country is destroyed.

And please don't come at me with "Fine, Israel can react, but not like this." Unless you have the military expertise to explain exactly how Israel can protect its people from this attack ever being repeated, and to free all our hostages, without civilian casualties (despite Hamas intentionally using them as human shields, and even directly causing Gazan deaths), unless you can translate the vague "not like this" into something practical, some actual guidelines on how this urban war could have been fought differently, even though there's no historical precedent to support that this is possible, "not like this" is just wishful thinking at the expense of the safety and right to live of Israelis.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[bits-and-babs]

i need breeding kink!konig before i cryy also w small reader eeee

𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃, 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃

pairing : könig x f!reader ('perle')

synopsis : könig snaps after a particularly hard mission, unable to hold back his desire much longer.

warnings : [ 1k words ] Emotional distress, unprotected pinv sex, utterly pathetic könig, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation, cum eating, reference to oral (f receiving). könig is a babbling mess.

notes: this is pure filth. barely any mention of small reader because i like to be inclusive <33

König’s combat boots drag across the floorboards of your shared apartment, depositing clumps of dried Spanish mud across the oak with each weary trudge of his feet. Your boyfriend carries his body over the house threshold like a wounded hound, his tail between his legs and eyelids still splotched with patchy grease paint. König is prideful, usually holding his gigantic frame with a regal posture to match his name– you’ve never seen him so crippled by what he’d promised would be a straightforward mission, in and out.

You open your mouth to ask, to say his name, to offer your support, noting the way König didn’t take his shoes off at the door like he always did. He doesn’t let you, his prodigious forearms encircling your waist with a vice-like grip.

“Just give me this, Perle. I need nothing else,” he promises you, his accent delicate to your ears when he whispers his plea into your hair. Clutching him tight, you liberate the breath you’d held hostage between the bars of your ribcage since König left. You’d been fearful, as always, that the oxygen in your lungs would serve a life sentence, but when your lungs expand again, aching at the edges, you smell his exertion, the earthiness of the mud that clung to his body, the gunpowder he’d expended while taking lives. He’s home.

“König,” you whisper to him, scared a louder decibel would rip apart the fragile foundations that kept the hefty Austrian upright. He shakes his head in response, his palms pawing at your hips, squeezing at the flesh he finds with overwrought neediness.

“Please, Perle,” he murmured, his voice cracking beneath the tide of his emotional turmoil, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass to pull your body closer, “I just need you. Need you close- need to be in you.”

It’s jarring, the distress you feel roiling inside the tense muscles of his back that you skirt your palm over not matching the dripping desire that coated his tongue. When you lean back in his grip, attempting to catch a glimpse of your lover’s eyes, he pulls you impossibly closer. The thread-worn material of his battle-tested uniform is soft against your skin, but the firmness of his cock against you is undeniable.

“Anything,” you whisper, and it’s as though you’ve let the hounds loose. König launches you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeals of shock, and hurries towards the bedroom with absurdly broad strides.

☆ ☆ ☆

He chokes out a string of unintelligible German curse words when he finally bottoms out inside of you. König’s hands, webbed with silver scars that spanned across his knuckles, grasp at your hips and angle them skyward, his thighs flexing as he attempts to keep still for a moment.

“Hahh-ah- Still, Schatzi, be still,” he urges you brokenly. You wail, winded by the sensation of his preposterously thick cock spearing your cunt. It lays deep inside you, nudging at your cervix when it twitches. “S-Still-“

Statuesque, you haven’t moved a nanometre. It’s König, his face buried deep into the crook of your neck, mindlessly pushing his hips deeper into you with shallow thrusts. They’re barely there, slight and feeble, as he dramatically gasps out each time the sensitive tip of his dick brushes your cervix.

“Aha-Haaa, please, please, Perle,” he keens, his rumbling voice strained by his frantic desire. His fingertip pushes into the swollen nub of your clit, and it draws dangerously lazy circles over the sparking nerves there. You sob his name weakly, almost missing his rambled plea. “So tight- your cunt is so tiny for me, Perle. Ughh-fuck- let me cum in it? L-Let me fill it up, watch it spill out of you-“

Your back arches from the mattress as he withdraws his hips slightly, only to plunge them deeper. It’s ludicrous, you think, the way your body gives way to his ridiculous intrusion, but your toes curl with delight, and König wails out another string of profanity.

“Hah-sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbles, his cock rocking in and out of you but never once entirely withdrawing from your heat, “I just need to fill this cunt, Perle. Need to see it leak– See you swollen with our child– fuck!”

König spits a broken moan when your hips arch to meet his thrusts. Your clit brushes his pubic bone with each joining of your hips, hurtling you towards orgasm and tightening your walls with bliss.

“So tight, so fu-huhhking tight, Perle– Fuck!” König gasps, his hips stuttering as he braces for your answer.

“Yes,” you whine, eyelids fluttering as your orgasm threatens to crash through you in a tidal wave, “Please, König, please fucking fil–“

König cuts off your appeal with a hoarse cry of your name, his whole body trembling with the force of his orgasm as his cock spurts thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of your cunt. The warmth of the blooming pressure inside you sparks a blissful throb, your nails sinking into König’s forearms as it detonates inside you. You hear him through the mind-blowing buzz, wailing and sobbing about how you’re milking him, how it’s dripping from your cunt and into the bedsheets.

It’s hazy when the overwhelming euphoria floats down, König still hunched over your body and thrusting inside of you helplessly. His jaw hangs loose, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of agonising pain and paradisical ecstasy as he fucks his cum deeper into you.

“Hahah-Ahhh fuck, c-creaming all o-ohhhver my cock-“he slurs, his removing his oversensitive cock with a pathetic sob. His fingers sink into your cunt almost instantly, ignoring the curl of your toes and the arch of your back to stuff the dribbling cum back inside of your fluttering pussy.

“Need it to take, Perle,” König garbles, his eyelids heavy as he sinks low to the mattress to swipe up the remaining excess with his tongue. He mumbles around your pussy as he laps up his cum from its glistening lips, “Jus’ lift your hips, Schatz. Sit them on my face; I want to taste us–“

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