hi :)
i’m rook, or rookie, im 20, studying graphic design, and my pronouns are they/he.
i’m into a variety of things, including (but not limited to!) somno, hypno, experiment, ovi, heiro, medical, pet play, biting, scratching, breeding, praise, piss, and free use
minors/ageless blogs will be blocked. please don’t talk to me about scat, vomit, gore, or feederism )):
likes are from my main blog. just… don’t be weird about it.
spam likes/reblogs appreciated and encouraged <333
tags: the gallery - rb art, photo gallery - rb photos
5 notes
·
View notes
Looks like I CAN walk around with it in, it just feels really awkward bc it feels like it's on the verge of slipping out (or maybe that's just me idk)
But uhhh mmmm nervous (and excited??) 😵💫😖
I've never cockwarmed a toy in (semi) public before!
Awh <3 have fun love
Lmk how it goes hehee behave now
Good luck keeping it in by itselff
1 note
·
View note
mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.
he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.
you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.
in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.
"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."
standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.
"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.
and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.
with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."
silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.
"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"
had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.
his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.
(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.
you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seems from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.
you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)
264 notes
·
View notes
Thinkin of @radiance1's Prompt & the Threads that @hdgnj joined in on. And got inspired by them alongside *insert a drumroll please*
Merfolk.
It is Mermay after all lol. But anyway!
Danny? Can't remember why he reincarnated, or quite how old he was when he died a second... third... fourth... however many times. He thinks he was an adult- or adult adjacent? But now he's not.
In fact? He's tiny, with pudgy little hands that press against glass and it's weird how he's somehow breathing in the liquid which is freezing. Which is what honestly drives him to hit it- and it shatters.
Which brings him to realize? He has no legs. None. Nadda. He's like, like some sort of seal-person, if they had stripes and spines and a too-long tail. And some medical equipment still attached that he practically rips away with a jolt of terror, even if he isn't sure why.
He's in a hall or room, with lots of other tubes, some empty but most... not. Most have things in them, things that look sort of like him but also not... He tears his gaze away from them, already knowing they're dead even before reading the terminated in front of them.
Oh. He has... information? Information in his head, downloaded into it almost like burning a CD. He's a clone. No, not a clone, it's something more like... a test tube baby? Three donors, though he isn't aware of what their names mean.
If it is names and not like, codenames or code words.
His movement is so very slow, it's obvious that while he's able to go on land he's very much not designed to do so. But eventually he makes it somewhere, not an exit but something he's so very happy to have not missed.
There's another alive person, labeled 1 instead of 9 and bigger than him but missing the spines he has. A sibling. A brother. And he's going to get the both of them out of here- there's water tunnels, he knows that, it's part of the information in his head.
.... Okay it's not fair that he has a scruff he can be grabbed by. Like that's so not fair. Look, they have to go that way if you want out, c'mon.
Extra Info?
-Technically the merfolk of the world are more akin to selkies, able to take on a human form via shedding their skin
-Danny & Match aren't aware of this, hence why they don't just start walking
-Around 2/3 of the entire world is merpeople or other similar fantasy creatures
-Yes, this is after the not-sidekicks break Superboy (#13) out & before the episode where he learns about Match
170 notes
·
View notes