#the angel that cries ink

[rookfeatherrambles]

Angel Jon possessed me tonight and made me draw him.

Drew him kinda but also not really but also angel and also jon just not the body type in the fic because GOOD LORD I CAN'T DRAW TITS AS APPARENT. Anyway! have this.

[kkolg]

The dudes bein’ dudes

(take this as you will I could care less, goat man is gay, and I need sleep)

[lich-daddy]

I don't know who these Absolute Units are but together we achieved a five consecutive win* on Rank A Splat Zone.

*skad vanished unexpectedly after the fourth win but they will live on in my heart as the most metal of metal Inkbrush users.

[dcartcorner]

Commission for @rookfeatherrambles for their upcoming fic "The Angel that Cries Ink," featuring Angel of Fear Jon and Archivist Martin. Feel free to send any questions their way! And thank you for the support!

[andersonfilms]

author!abby who writes a fictional novel based on you, but the two of you hadn’t spoken in years, she really didn’t think she’d be on your radar at all. yeah, sure — you did like to read. but you hadn’t even known about it when you were together. how would you even find out about it? abby sure wouldn’t be the one to tell you.

author!abby starts to worry about you finding out about her book when it starts selling well. she was happy, over the moon actually, but the fear loomed over like a dark rainy cloud, following her every where she went. confessions of love and words never spoken all laid out prettily in ink, and god did abby feel exposed.

author!abby who cries when she gets the news her novel is a new york times best seller. she’s stupidly happy about it and she’s feels proud of herself. almost as if you’re here right along with her, but you’re not. just this idea of you, placed inside this world she created — one where there is a happy ending for the two of you but then the doom of reality sets in.

author!abby nearly passes out when she runs into you. friday night, the moonlight hitting you so well, it truly wasn’t even fair. some other girl on your arm, and she only pulled you closer with abby’s presence.

author!abby still thinks you’re the most beautiful person, inside and out, and it pains her still to see you with someone else who isn’t her. of course she had been with other people, just like you, but there wasn’t anyone who fit perfect like you did.

author!abby wonders what she would say to you if your companion wasn’t trying to size her up. she was a femme which already made abby feel insecure. abby was your only history of dating a masc, which had always been a sore spot. she’s beautiful and the way she holds you, god it makes abby want to hurl.

author!abby thinks it’s silly she can’t just move on. you’re just a girl. granted, a girl who inspired her to write an entire novel. even then, she should be able to get over you. you’re stupidly perfect lips, those stunning eyes that maker her fall to her knees every time. it isn’t fair how much she still loves you after all this time. fuck.

author!abby also finds herself dreaming of you when she's lonely. it's harmless mostly, until she wakes up and you're not on the other side of the bed. then it hits her cruelly, you're not here and you've never even set foot in the apartment she moved into when the two of you broke up. she's living her worst nightmare.

author!abby really believes she's sick when you're untangling yourself from the girl you're with and you collide into her arms. you smell of cedar and vanilla and it intoxicates abby as she feels your arms around her waist. she feels light, the heavy weight of her solemn loneliness bites the dust in your presence.

"Missed my sweet, Abs. Fuck, it's really you and all that muscle, huh?" You kiss her cheek sweetly, so quick she's doubts if it even happens.

author!abby tries not to laugh at your date omitting an aggravated grunt at the interaction, but she decides ignoring it and having you in her arms is far more important. if it's only for this short time, so be it. abby knows she's blushing and hopes it believable the cold is to blame.

author!abby tries not to think of it for the next couple weeks. your kindness spreading to her like angel dust on skin, healing a heart abby had practically broken herself. abby wondered how serious it was with you and the other girl. the only thing she did know, was abby had made her jealous. the way she kissed you and grabbed your ass could only be the effect of bright, green envy.

author!abby starts outlining a new story and she knows as well as her publisher why and now she regrets telling him, but your pure presence had her writing again. the timing nothing other than comical. it shouldn't have, but it did.

author!abby is wearing nothing but black sweat pants and a white beater when there is a knock on her door. it's aggressive and harsh, and it surprises her when it's you. how did she even find out where you live? fuck, manny. it had to be.

author!abby takes in your appearance and it's clear you were dressed for a date, more than likely with the girl you were with earlier. evidently, you were dating her and god you were dressed to the nines in front of her. a cocktail gown with pretty black heels. she tries not to take note of your cleavage and your perfect tits, or the way the material was snug around your hips, accentuating them perfectly.

author!abby knows you're angry, and she isn't sure why. it's not like the two of you had talked since your run in. maybe abby had stalked your socials a bit, yeah. obviously. but she wasn't bold enough to actually reach out to you.

author!abby didn't have to think about it much longer when you threw the book at abby's chest forcing her to catch it. with a look of horror in her eyes, she knew you had found out about it and read it. eyes filled with tears, abby had caused you heartbreak once again. even if it was unintentional, she was the source of your pain and she hated herself for it.

author!abby hates the way you're looking at her, tears cascading down your plump cheeks, but your anger was still prevalent. you had every right to be upset and abby tried to think of it from your perspective. if you had refused to tell her you love her, but then wrote it all in a book and didn't tell her about it, there isn't a sliver of doubt she would be upset.

"I guess I should have listened to Manny and told you about the book." Absent mindedly chewing on her bottom lip. Abby avoids looking you in the eye. She can't even stomach your presence. It makes her feels sick, and happy, and awfully optimistic. It's disgusting.

author!abby knew a light-hearted joke wasn't the best choice she could make, but it was the only one she had. there wasn't much else she could do except wait for whatever blow she knew was coming. this was her own mess, there was no one but to blame but herself.

You ignore her comment. It makes you want to punch her and kiss her. "How could you look me in the eye tell me you don't love me and will never love me and then proceed to write an entire romance novel based on our relationship?" You were practically screaming at her, but your volume was reduced as chocked sobs fell from your lips.

author!abby wishes she could give you an answer that would help, but there isn't one. her reasons are selfish and nothing she says help you - not in the way you need. anything she could offer would provide little to no comfort.

"I'm happy now. I have a girlfriend whose good to me and it took me a long time to get there. To be happy without you and your cruel, vile words hanging over me and infecting my day to fucking day life." You regretted saying it the moment your eyes caught blue ones, guilt pouring out from within. “I’ve finally moved on.” "Then be happy. Just forget about what I wrote. It's stupid anyways, okay? Just a dream I got carried away with." It's a lame attempt and not enough effort is made to sway you to walk away from her front door. Abby pushed because it's the only thing she knows how to successfully do.

author!abby wishes you would go away because if you stand in front of her for any longer, she'll be inviting you in and lord knows she doesn't need this to happen. it's the last thing she wants and the absolute one thing she needs.

"It's not stupid, if it's your dream." You said, trying to reassure her. "You cared enough to write about it. I-, uh, please can you just tell me the truth? Please just tell me?" You pleaded wanting to hear what you thought of endlessly. "I wrote this for the girl I fell in love with, for the girl I still love and will always love and she's standing in front of me with the power to crush my heart in her hands if she wants."

[pupsmailbox]

GOTH ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. cain. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caspian. celeste. celestia. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiropteranne. choir. christian. cofette. coffin. coffine. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. grey. gwen. gypsy. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. mortis. mourge. mourgette. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctre. nocturne. noir. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. raven. ravenie. raveniette. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. vervain. vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS ⌇　abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. × . ♠️ . ♣️ . ⚰️ . ⛓️ . 🌑 . 💀 . 🕯 . 🕷 . 🕸 . 🖤 . 🥀 . 🦇 .

[immediatebreakfast]

The theological implications of this novel are terrifying, truly terrifying.

God is absolutely real, not if nor buts, it is as real as it is because its presence is known through acts of holy violence. It's known because there are inmortal creatures who feed on humans surviving without being cloaked in its light. These creatures are repelled by holy symbols as a way to signal how neither their unliving bodies, nor theirs souls will be welcome in heaven, nor granted eternal peace.

Then, a warning is burnt into Mina's forehead. A god fearing woman in all of the weight of those words is not spared. Mina who cried for god to give her mercy, to save her, to answer her why she deserved this punishment, this torture if she has always walked in its light, if she has followed everything in fear of your rage, god why do you let evil happen to your followers. God why did you abandoned this pitiful woman in her suffering, and at the hands of a demonic creature who exists to opose you. Have mercy god! ANSWER HER PLEADS, DO NOT LEAVE HER IN THIS DESESPERATION! HAVE MERCY FOR HER SOUL BEFORE SHE CHOOSES THE PATH OF SELF DESTRUCTION.

And the only answer is the burning of the host in her forehead, a burn that is seen as the mark of a trial. No angels, no heralds, no voices, nor holy light. Just a physical warning that reminds Mina that the clock is ticking, and it will always move forwards.

Then, there is Jonathan who saw all of this, and still chose to renounce It. He saw the proof that this all powerful being was there with him this whole time, observing him in every attack, every night, every ink drop in his journal, every nightmare, every drop of blood. And he still rejected it, because if Mina isn't deserving of that holy light anymore, then he will grab her hand and walk in Hell forever as long as Mina knows she won't be alone. His soul be damned because Mina is who is the holiest of them all.

With her tears, her sorrow, and her pain, Mina is who Jonathan pleads his soul to. Because that allows Mina to suffer is not a god at all.

[jackiepackiee]

hi hi , saw that your requests were open, can I request hcs of how Chuuya with a GN!Reader would react to them getting tattos that's similar to his corruption scars?

𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝒯𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓃𝑜𝓅𝑒

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

Got carried away with this

Cried.

How could see something so terrible as beautiful?

He hates corruption.

He hates the pain, the destruction

He’s hates how he could hurt you because he had no control

but you make it better

He also thought you hated it, and that it terrified you

Contrary to his belief, you found it breathtaking

How much power one person could have

How he floated in the air as if he was above it all

A god. But not Arahabaki. A god, Chuuya Nakahara

So when you tell him you have a surprise, he expects a bottle of wine?

Maybe even a cute little kiss, an adorable thing you did sometimes

But no, a sleeve tattoo of the “worst” part of him

And God… you looked like an angel

Ink painted your skin, twining the scars covering his body

The one you adored

Not for his muscle or for any twisted reason

But for the reason you could see just how much he had been through and lived through

And how human he was

How every scar made him more worthy of that title that any man you knew

Your cute smile, expectant eyes, and shy body language made his heart explode

He kissed you

Not a hug and smile like when you gave him your usual presents of a watch or wine

Not a soft kiss like before bed or a quick one before he had to leave for work

One full of every emotion he held for you

Every emotion that made him human

He then kissed down your arm to each tattoo

Every ink spotted section of skin

“My pretty baby…”

Tears fell softly, but he didn’t pay mind

Eyes bore into yours when he held your face

“You like it?” “I love you.”

He couldn’t stop saying that, I love you

He had never felt so much at once

Like an overdose of serotonin

If he wasn’t human, or if he was

It didn’t matter

Because you’d be with him through it all

[rookfeatherrambles]

This fic I'm writing is less "I can fix him," and more "I can show him that he deserves to be fixed; to receive kindness and to be treated well is an unassailable human right and just because he has wings doesn't make me love him any less"

I'm still going a little feral about this, can you tell?

[thefallennightmare]

Faded Memories- Chapter One Teaser

a/n: so with this series, it will be very small. I think 6 chapters. Updates for it will be sporadic, so if you haven't already filled out my tag list document, feel free to post here or the master list post for this series if you want to be tagged!

I plan on hopefully getting the first chapter posted sometime this week(and then I will jump back into JP!)

Heads up, Matty will be a dick in this series. We love mean!matty. But its kind of justified once you find out why.

LITTLE LONGER THAN NORMAL TEASER BELOW THE CUT!

"Elvi," Matt grunted, his warm breath fanning over the back of my neck.

I pushed my ass farther back against him, desperately needing him to go faster; deeper.

"Matt," I whined. "Please. I need more of you."

A tender kiss to the middle of my spine was all I felt before his pace became erratic, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the small hotel room. The room had filled with the musty scent of our shared arousal and with the sounds of the lies of our true feelings. Both of us knew this wasn't meant to happen, the outcome of this being catastrophic for our friendship but we couldn't deny the chemistry between us; the way our bodies practically craved one another.

Rough, calloused hands smacked my ass, causing me to bellow out in pleasure. Matt's other hand snaked around my neck, hoisting my jaw up towards the ceiling.

"You're so fucking pretty when you scream for me, Elvi," his teeth grazed over the shell of my ear. "I'm not letting you go after tonight. You're mine."

Blinking away the memory, I stood in the middle of the large parking lot while letting out a deep breath. That specific memory from four years ago continued to inhabit my mind. I could still feel the way his cock felt inside of me. I could still smell his scent as it lingered deep into my skin for weeks. I could still remember the way my heart dropped to the depths when I heard him on the phone minutes after we came down from our shared high.

But worst of all, I could still remember the way I cried for what could have been as I slipped out of that hotel room, never looking back.

Touring with Bloodline was never supposed to end like it did. I wasn't supposed to lose my best friend from a night of sexual tension that boiled over like a forgotten pot of water on a stove; yet, like the pot, everything between us evaporated into thin air.

Shaking away the distant feeling of regret, I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and trekked over to the large tour bus as my future awaited me. I gave small waves to everyone, already meeting them days ago, and as Folio showed me up the steps of the bus, rambling on about how excited he was that I was his drum tech for this world tour, I did my best to match his excitement even though I was nervous as hell.

"There's one bunk left, it's right across from our tour manager and front of house guy. He's great though, you'll love him!" Folio smiled as we came to a stop in the middle of the bus.

"Speak of the devil," he chuckled before motioning towards a man who sat on the long couch of the tour bus, hat hung low over those eyes.

Folio's words fell away against the numbness of my body as I stared at the man sitting in front of me; those fading memories slowly resurfacing. Four years later, and he still looked the same.

The only difference was the sheer heartbreak on what used to be the soft features of his face. Those already dark eyes inked with sheer black when they took in the sight of me, remembrance clear as the Los Angeles sky.

"Matt, this is my new drum tech. The one I was telling you about. Her name is-."

Matt stood tall, interrupting Folio's introduction, and he peered down at me. I swallowed thickly, that all too familiar scent encompassing me, rendering me useless.

"Elvi," Matt sneered before roughly pushing past me to stomp his way toward the back area of the bus.

[gomu-fer]

Pajarito Colibrí

Reader comforts Law drabble

Inspired by Natalia Lafourcade’s song Pajarito Colibrí, this song reminds me a lot to Law so I had to. Depictions of a breakdown but nothing crazy I believe, angst turn comfort? Happy ending

Masterlist

Law’s chest begins to fall quicker each breath he took, suddenly he es very aware of the heavy pain on his chest and his loud breathing hitting his ears. He looks down at his hands, inked with the word death, a reminder that he only brings misery to those around him, deaths touch. Everything spirals as he falls on his haunting memories, afraid of the future as he tries to hide form his past, happiness deemed impossible, an unrealistic dream he’s sure he’ll never fulfill. He covers his watering eyes, everything going black but, how could he hide from himself? He whimpers like a wounded dog and he’s certain there’s no way to get rid this pain that hangs heavy on his heart

“LAW!” your voice rings trough the walls of his office and he jolts up, meeting your worried eyes comforting him immeasurably and your hands positioned on either side of him

You had knocked 3 times on the door and called his title like 3 more, hearing no response only being met by a heavy uncontrollable breathing, opening the door to see your Captain trembling and completely lost.

You had never seen Law like this, he always seemed to project himself like this brave, confident, respectable Captain, having everything under control a plan for every situation; but as the dark night fell upon the moving waters of the sea, he becomes doubtful, afraid and at lost of breath.

You bring him back and he can’t believe it, his hands rest on your arms, making sure you’re real, that you’re here. Your eyes go over his tortured expression and it breaks your heart in a million peaces, you pray for the universe to set him free for whatever comes and haunts him in his solitude. You wish you had keep vigil for when he cried without comfort and sleep seemed to be a far away promise, to glue his broken parts together

Your hands caress his anguished face “Everything’s going to be ok” you assure the poor pirate as you hold him close a little doubtful but with the outmost care; caresses still rhythmic on his raven hairs, his arms heavy with grief holding onto you like a scared child holds onto his favorite plushie after a nightmare under the covers

You stay intertwined, your sweet voice whispering words Law wishes anyone would’ve had the tact to sing to him, he’s sure you were sent by an angel to keep him safe and sound, to ground him

“Don’t be scared” like magic he feels the heavy pain fall from his chest, his head falling onto the crook of your neck wetting it with his sour tears and broken sniffs. His heartbeat decelerates and syncs to yours, your breath like a calming melody threading with your voice that spills like honey forming a comforting blanket over his form, relaxing his rambling thoughts melting completely

Pulling back, his eyes that had shut open meeting your features once again “Law, don’t be afraid to live, I’ll be here to help you trough everything, please understand you’re here to be happy” he can feel himself breaking again, for the love your words carry, he can just nod and a smile tugs at your sweet lips that washes his worries away like the ocean waves, becoming foam, disappearing, never here

“Let’s get you to bed”

[hopefullygettingtaller]

When The Amazing Devil wrote "You will scream, 'I won't forget you' but I'll cover my cold ears, It cannot be a lie if no one hears. 'Cause although you say good day to me, I know I don't belong. And although you hold my hand and say I love you, you are wrong. 'Cause love does not exist in this garden, there's no feeling. And you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning. And when the flowers are rotten and all cannons shot, I'll scream but you won't hear, 'forget me not'" and when they said "Pray for me, oh children, pray for what I've done, I'll haunt the very wrinkles of your skin" and when they yelled "God made all man in his image, Honey I'm no man, I'm what's left when children go to war" and when they cried "The cracks you made, I filled with mortar, a broken pot can still hold water" and when they whispered "These hands are growing old, they're running out of things to hold" and when we all weeped with them "If I'm good will you come back, If I'm good will you come back to us" and when they scribbled "Let foul men band and heed your hum for that ancient hymn you heard me strumming's nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love run. It's nought that rum won't solve though some would harm you, none, not one, no one would raise to you a hand nor thumb, not while by you, I stand and hum" and expected people to just go on about their days, and when they said "If I have to be who I was (You're not) Do I have to be who I am" and then they said "'Cause I will suffer silence for the strings you tune. And I'll withstand what's written for the writer in you. Write me well, my love, write me weird, write me willing, write me well." And when we all sang "Shoulder the sky (I can't wait to show you how much) Open those eyes (I know you can be, just let the rain come) There's a kind (Let the rain come down, darling) (Can't you hear it howling) Of calling" and when they made me freeze right where I stood with "Back then, I wasn't hopeful. But now my ink's blood red, not black. And I'll blink like ripping envelopes in the hopes that you'll write back" and BACK TO BACK they wrote "Cause I'm between that just-one-more and drank-too-much again" "And I promise you I'll write I love you with my fingers on your sleeping hand" "And when I think I'm fine you'll visit, and then you'll happen to me, happen to me all over again" and then had the audacity to say "And I'll sing silence, and ask my glass of wine for guidance. I might not make it tonight" and then "They'd paint your eyes with sunsets (my saints, my sigs, my upsets)" and ON TOP OF THAT "You're not a coward 'cause you cower. You're brave because they broke you, yet broken, still you breathe." AND SOMEHOW WROTE "'Cause I'm not trapped with you, you see. you're the one who's trapped with me." IN THE SAME FUCKING SONG ALONGSIDE "Sometimes I fall to pieces just to see what bits of me don't fit" then decided to break some hearts with "We didn't talk, we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands. You said I love you less than when it all began, and I said fewer cause I make jokes to show how broken I really am" and then they were both the man their fathers never were and more than what their mums told them to be. And then there was the utter heartbreak of "If I don't make it back from where I've gone, just know I've loved you all along" being repeated for an entire outro. AND THEN THERE WAS "Remember me I ask, remember me I sing. Give me back my heart, you wingless thing." with "Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring, I promised you, they'll sing of every time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child. Witness me old man I'm the wild." "How bold I was, could be, would be, still am. By God still am" AND THEN THE SHEER FORCE OF THE LINES "Welcome to the storm, I'm thunder. Welcome to my table bring your hunger"

AND EVERY TIME THEY COMPARED THEMSELVES TO THE SAINT OF THE PAINT THAT WAS LEFT IN THE POT, YOUR ANGEL ELLIPSIS, YOUR DEVIL OF DOTS, THE HEARTBREAK THAT ACHES FAR TOO MUCH TO BE SHUNNED, ALL THOSE LETTERS UNSENT, AND THAT GARDEN UNGROWN, THE CAPTAIN OF COURAGE THAT YOU'VE ETERNALLY LACKED AND THE JESUS OF WISHING TO CHRIST YOU'LL COME BACK AND SO. MUCH. MORE.

"This here is not make up, It's a porcelain tomb. And this here is not singing I'm just screaming in tune" ARE YOU KIDDING ME "You try so loud to love me, I cannot seem to hear" and "'Cause If we join our hands in prayer enough, to God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause" IN THE SAME ALBUM WITH "And these plates they smash like waves (place your hand in mine) And on the wind, it howls (how long can this last?)" AND "'Cause these plates, they smash like waves (Place your smile in mine) And the wine stains, hide the tears (Why stay? Hide the-) But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it with sighs. Don't you realize, they're just battle cries, my dear?" And then, when they said "And you, you follow philosophies, but me, I laugh, I choke. 'Well hello my hollow Holofernes' I wink but you don't get the joke" and while we were all busy processing, they reminded us "Your eyes aren't rivers there to weep, but a place for crows to rest their feet" AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON "I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked" In this essay I will-

[runninriot]

written for @subeddieweek

complete fic posted on ao3

Sweet Thing

rated: E | tags: Client Eddie Munson, Pro Dom Steve Harrington, restraints, sensation play (nipple clamps, pinwheel), 18+ content | snippet, complete fic and tag list on ao3

He shouldn’t have favourites. Shouldn’t feel drawn more to one than to others. They’re all equal, all deserve the best (worst) treatment. It’s a job, a very unusual one but a job nonetheless. He’s here to serve, to execute what he’s being paid for – to make secret fantasies come true and not to succumb to his own.

But ever since the curly haired angel stepped foot into his dungeon some months ago, Steve found it hard to keep it strictly professional.

There is something about that man, Eddie, that messes with Steve’s head in a way he can’t really explain.

He’s good-looking, with dark ink scattered all over his pale skin. Slender but with defined muscles in his shoulders and arms. Has strong thighs, an ass that looks much too biteable, and he has these big, round puppy dog eyes that are especially pretty when they’re red-rimmed and teary.

Eddie is really something to look at and maybe that is why Steve is so hung up on him.

Thankfully, he’s good at pretending.

Can hide the fact that – although not in a physical sense – each session with him is as fulfilling for Steve as it is for the beautiful man currently splayed out on top of the latex sheets.

It’s a real treat to watch him writhe and shiver, his muscles tense from the enormous effort it takes for Eddie to try to hold still.

He fails miserably, can’t keep his arms and legs from instinctively tugging at the restraints keeping him bound to the bed.

Steve leans in close to Eddie’s ear, lips purposely grazing the shell to let the vibration of his voice tickle his skin.

   “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

   “Y-yes. ‘M sorry.”

Eddie strains his neck, obviously trying to bring some distance between himself and Steve’s mouth but he can’t get far.

   “Y-yes,” Steve mocks him as he repeats Eddie’s stuttering response. “Yes what? Think you forgot something there, sweet thing. Do I have to remind you of the rules?”

Steve grabs him by his throat, the press of his fingers tight enough to force a desperate gasp out of him.

With his other hand, he tightens the clamp on Eddie’s left nipple, turns the screw once, twice until a pathetic little whimper leaves Eddie’s shiny, parted lips.

   “Yes, Sir! I’m sorry, Sir. I- please, it hurts.”

    Good, Steve laughs to himself, satisfied with the way Eddie already has this trembling in his voice like he’s close to crying. And isn’t that a beautiful thought. Eddie is always so pretty when he cries.

   “You gonna behave now and stay still?”

Steve takes a moment to marvel at the view he’s presented with.

Eddie’s eyes are wet, a sheer layer of unshed tears glistening in the dim light of the candles shining down on them from the sideboard to their left.

He is tied down, arms and legs forming an x-shape where he’s spread out like a human sacrifice at the altar. His whole body is a gorgeous work of art. Not only because of the tattoos adorning his skin that is beautifully flushed from his face down to his chest.

His pinched nipples are bright pink from the clamps biting harshly into the sensitive buds.

The picture is perfected by the sight of Eddie’s hard cock straining against his stomach, so desperate to be touched.

Not yet, though. Eddie is Steve’s to play with for a little while longer, is his to be used. And he will drag this out for as long as he can, won’t give Eddie the satisfaction of relief until he is satisfied with his own work.

Steve reaches over to the sideboard, grabs the Wartenberg wheel that’s been waiting there patiently to come into action.

Eddie is a sucker for sensation play. He is so sensitive, reacts so wonderfully to any prickling, stinging, thudding feeling afflicted on his body. Whether it’s with the light, tickling touch of a feather or the quick, sharp burn of hot wax drizzling over his body; he’s so easy to please.

Steve starts on his left, presses the pinwheel against his skin, and lets it roll from his shackled ankle up over his calf. Eddie squirms and whines furiously when the prickling sensation reaches the back of his knee and not for the first time, Steve is glad not to be on the receiving end of things. Eddie’s trembling and twisting gets worse, the further Steve rolls the wheel up the inside of his thigh, playing with the degree of pressure he uses to prick Eddie’s sensitive skin.

He repeats the procedure on Eddie’s right, watches his skin break out in goose bumps while his cock twitches hard at the overwhelming sensation that’s crossing the line between slight discomfort and actual pain - just what Eddie wants.

Eddie gives up on trying to get away, finally accepting that he’s going nowhere. He’s entirely at Steve’s mercy, who keeps going, ruthlessly dragging the pinwheel across the underside of his arms and down his sides, spurred on by Eddie’s pathetic moans.

   “Please, Sir! ‘S too much!” He begs as if that could convince Steve to end his teasing torture.

Eddie knows what to do if he wants him to stop. And Steve knows what Eddie can take.

He always gets so whiny when Steve treats him right. He’s a dream to play with. So easily breakable, so willing to give up control and let Steve take him apart in whichever way he pleases.

So beautiful when he slowly loses his mind, pushed closer and closer to the edge until he’s free falling.

The only problem is that Steve has a hard time not to lose himself.

[sculptorofcrimson]

Snowfields

Synopsis: A cold walk atop the mountain with Valdor.

Relations: Valdor x female Emperor shard

Warnings: Suicide attempt

This is relatively tame for what I write, and I wrote it in one sitting when I had roughly 20 minutes to spare. Ty for your time!

“Do you remember Ararat, my liege?”

No. No, she didn’t remember Ararat. She has never heard the name before. But she will. By the gods, she will. 

The air was cold. It rattled through her lungs when she tried to breathe. The white seemed to stretch forever, like malignant bones, the wind laid bare and rattling its screams. It would rise like a frosty howl around the two of them, wailing like a soldier who had lost a limb, weeping its cries for eternity. The cold bit at her, tore at her, the snow would have frozen mortal blood solid in mortal veins. Thunder grumbles in the distance. A crack of lightning splits the sky in half, purplish white against the ghoulish grey. 

His cloak was warm when he wrapped it around her. But his touch, without doubt, without even question, was unfathomably cold. Without even thinking of it, she had shrunk away.

Valdor’s grip had only tightened then. He fastened the clasp of the too-large cloak, the stench of incense and parchment wafting from the silk. A small smile, the emotionless movement perfected by a mind that could not actually smile, flashed briefly across his visage as he took her wrist, trapped it so effortlessly between his fingers and kissed the soft skin there.

“There was a Primarch once. A magnificent man. One that even I respected, in some regards.” Valdor led her, slowly and patiently, holding her up when she stumbled through the knee-high snow. The mountaintop seemed to rage against her. Well, too damn bad. She hated mountains, and she hated snow, and she was about to teach him a lesson out of spite. It was pure pettiness, but it was hers, it was one last plan she held to herself, one last wish she was certain was hers and not his, and if she was going to die, drowned limb by limb into the unseeing gold, she wished to at least pain him with it. 

How had it gone so wrong? How had angels of such glorious aurite turned into nightmares wrapped in gold and crimson? 

She yanked her arm away. Valdor let her go without struggle, simply rising back with a singular, elegant motion, as if he were a dancer performing a long-awaited waltz. When she stumbles over another snow-covered rock mere moments later, he was there, as if he had never left, one arm gently wrapped around her waist as he hauls her upright. This time, when she tries to pull away, his grip only tightens, as if he was defying the very storm itself.

“The snow reminds me of him. The Cataegis Primarch of the IVth legion. You watched us duel atop a mountain not so unlike this one, my liege, when the storm ended. It felt like the top of the world. We were in a deadlock when you appeared, your attention straying just for a moment to our fight. I snapped his wrist with a twisting motion, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to snap part of his spine. Your attention had departed by then, but it was enough. You still remember the frost, do you not?”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Valdor’s hand, so gentle, so damnably gentle, placed itself under her chin. It stroked her hair, his gauntlets’ touch heavy yet tender, the jewels flashing dully through strands of hair that were quickly becoming darker, swallowed first by brown and then by black. He had not forbidden her to cut it. Out of spite, she had ordered him to cut it for her. 

It didn’t matter.

The strands had grown back, with an unrelenting zeal, glossy and luxurious and flowing like ink over water. She was innocent once, she was mortal, she lived among men and walked amongst mortals, and she will never be again. She will never live again, and that truth was simply so jagged, so broken, so horrifyingly caught between her chest and her throat that it was as if something broke a little further every time she took a breath. Valdor had only quietly polished, brushed and glossed over her hair, his movements methodical and calculated, even when silent tears rolled their way down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the salt and the water but just visible enough to see the flakes of gold swirling in her pupils. Still clear enough to see herself die.

She had felt Valdor’s fingers through her hair then, braiding it carefully in an intricate style she had never seen before, but one that tugged at familiar roots she had never felt before. 

Her hair. Some mewling, broken part of her(was it her dream or His? Was there a difference anymore?) instinctively felt like it should be darker. Longer. Wreathed with gold, and weighed down by a crown. But it was her hair. It was her hair, once upon a time, and she had lost it strand by strand, inch by inch, as the gold swam up through her vision and blocked out her eyes.

A rock clattered over the side of the mountain, followed by dull, distant thunder. It jolted her back to her mind, to her body, to the world that she did not rule over and should have never ruled. 

Numbly, she felt herself shake her head. Valdor only raised an eyebrow, and adjusted the clasp.

“I remember the rock, my master.” Valdor was saying. His voice rose and fell like a litany, carefully retracing steps the Emperor had once guided him through, when He was a king and gods walked the earth. She felt so small against him, so tired, so far from the invincible god-warrior he had once served, but that was alright, He had returned to him, and he would shepherd Him, guide Him, protect Him, through this life and through this death till the last. “Even the rocks felt cold. It was black, and it glistened like oil whenever the sun shone. There were storms every day of that campaign, as if the heavens themselves were against us, as if the gods had conspired to strike you down, but yet you gave us the order to march. And the wind. You told me that you heard it screaming. Malcador jokingly asked that if you should live again, you would choose to enact Ararat during the summer instead, if only out of sheer annoyance from the wind.” Valdor’s smile was nothing more than a reflex. There was no humor in it, nor human emotion. “Do you remember it then, my master?”

The wind. Had it screamed then, as it screams now? Had it screamed, beneath the weight of the betrayal, wailing with the sheer horror of what it had taken? Did it scream, singing a threnody with the thunder, as the skies growl and hail shudders from overcast clouds ahead? She shivers underneath her layers. The finest climate suits had been prepared, coupled with the Custodian cloak over her shoulders, but she felt cold, so unspeakably cold that it was nearly painful. 

Oh Throne. She was cold, so cold. 

“Constantin?” she rasps. Her voice was not her own. It was rusty from disuse, and cracked, and weak, but yet some part of it resonated, it echoed like the tongue of a god, speaking through the plaintive shell of a mortal, just enough to hiss like a shadowy undertone. It should have been more sonorous, it should have been softer, it should have been the voice of a conqueror, it should have been the voice of a girl snatched away from her home by an angel and transformed into a god. It should have been hers, but it was His instead. She licks her lips and tries again. “Constantin.”

“Yes, my lord?” he was at her side(was he always so close?), the memory jarringly left unfinished. The hand once gently guiding her and became more insistent as he knelt down until they were eye to eye. 

“I don’t remember the mountain.” she replied flatly. Her voice was weaker than a whisper. She didn’t care. She knew he’d hear it anyway. And if he didn’t, she no longer cared enough to ensure he did. She no longer believed she had the strength to stomach that voice any longer. 

The cliff looked dizzyingly as she peered over the edge. She wondered if even a Custodian could survive a fall at such a height. 

“I don’t remember the snow, Constantin.”

“That is alright, my liege.” He was so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, so unerringly gentle. It made her want to claw at him, to crack him, to see what could finally burrow under that invincible flesh and make him howl. It made her wonder how the Emperor broke him to make him the man he had become, how deeply He must have laid His tongs in the forge of flesh and fire. 

She wondered what his screams would sound like, if he could scream at all.

“Do not trouble yourself, my liege. Your form is still young.” Of course, he could afford to wait. He had waited for ten thousand years, and he would gladly wait for ten thousand more. In that broken, delusional mind of his, it was only just, after all. He’d speak litanies of loyalty, roaring them over the screams of her brethren, he’d speak praises so numerous that they’d drown out the sobs of her family. “Your memories will return, when given due time. I can tell you about them. The preliminaries, the campaigns, the plans you undertook.”

Of course. They’d have to return. They must return. They will return, and He will live again, born out of this mortal shell under Valdor’s guidance. Valdor simply could not be, must not be, could not accept, could not live in a world where his liege has fallen forever. 

The snow was no longer biting her. It seemed to have been cowed, laid low beneath the vengeful eye of its rightful master. Even the storm seems to have settled, briefly, at least for now. For the eye of the King, the Emperor, the god-sorceror. 

It was so cruel, the revelation, the realization that welled up in her when she gazed dully back at him with listless eyes. The revelation that came for her, and not for him, for he would be nothing if not for his delusion. How quickly she understood the truth beneath why she had called him here, why she had suddenly finally accepted his offer to visit the mountain, when she had been delaying it, dreading it, putting it off for weeks upon months. 

The edge. 

The end. (And not the death).

She wondered if even a Custodes could survive a fall from this height. She wondered if it mattered anymore. 

The plan had been formulating itself for weeks now, brewing like boiled flesh in a cyst, nursing itself, grieving its wounds, growing stronger, gaining weight. First she had refused to eat, then to bathe, then to move at all, all the dreary, listless days crushed into the same monotony as brass as she had sat still upon a throne she did not want and stared off into oblivion, as he occasionally knelt by her and asked for her commands while she numbly stared off in the distance, her eyes a thousand yards away. Her gaze had been lost in a time beyond time, beyond memory itself, and not even dreams could steal her away. 

First it had only been how she stopped even trying to hide from him. She simply let him follow her, on her aimless, little walks aboard the massive ship that had become her only location. Then it had been how her tongue had stalled and she no longer even greeted the serfs that occasionally came by to deliver her food she did not eat, water she did not want, utensils she did not use, how she simply stared ahead, as reactive as a corpse, about as conscious to the world as the dead. Valdor had cared after her then, when even her memory had failed her, when she lay still and sullen like ash, the weight of the world upon broken shoulders, silent, painful tears trickling a cheerless trail from her eyes to her duvet. How he had lifted her up and cradled her to him, asking which stories she wished to hear, which glories she wished him to recount. Which memories that were not hers but soon will be, tales he regaled her of His conquests, of His victories and His lessons, His mantras drilled into her bones as they have been drilled into his.

She had left the world, bit by bit, husk by husk, until she felt as if she weighed no more than one of His eagles’ feathers did, frailly clinging onto the world with a whisper and a dream. It was as if she was sinking into some calm, clear, colorless water and feeling the waves close in above her, but there was no sensation of drowning, no voiceless cry in the deep. Simply the noiseless struggle in her own dreams, as she prepared herself for the final breath before oblivion. 

(Did she have the strength? Did it matter any longer, when he could overpower her no matter the answer?)

It was so beautiful, up here, at the edge of the sky. She could hear the storm breathing in the clouds. It was close enough that she could close her eyes, and dream of Ararat, listening to Valdor’s words. An end. An end, just like the Thunder Warriors He(and she?) slaughtered so long ago. The final unraveling. She didn’t want to die, but was she truly living? An immortality without life, without passion, without even joy itself, was that truly living when she was little more than a corpse, kept alive through obsession?

If the Emperor had loved them, He would have never created them at all. What merciful god would create such grotesque angels? 

If the Four were merciful, they would have sought Valdor, as they sought the Primarchs. They would have whisked him away, upon winds of change, tainted him with their mark, made sure He would never accept him as a servant again. They would have saved him, corrupted him, broken him, taught him what it felt like to dream, before the golden light shone again, and His dream took over his. 

But he was a servant, not a master. He was not a leader. He knelt, instead of ruling, and the Emperor had sunk in His claws so deep even the Four could not pry it out. And so he was His, forevermore.

He died ten thousand years ago. And somewhere, inside that twisted, broken Palace that was a mind, His dog was still waiting loyally at the door, waiting for Him to return. 

He was kneeling beside her now. She had never even heard him move. With infinite reverence, he cups her features, admiring the black strands falling over his gauntlets, the golden eyes - so broken, so gorgeous, so His - staring back at him.

“It was the end of the Unification Wars, my liege. And the start of your rule. The Imperium was born that day, your coronation happened atop that bloodstained snowfield, when Malcador held up that laurel, and crowned you King. How could you forget how I, the first of your Custodes, knelt first and rose last, when the ceremony ended?” 

So careful. So gentle as not to hurt her.

“Tell me about them.” a small, cruel smile had found its way onto her face. She was no longer looking at him, instead smiling serenely, blankly staring out upon the sky. The mountain truly was beautiful. It was such a shame this was where she would die. She should have felt something then. A sense of guilt, perhaps. A moment of horror for what she had become, for taking advantage of something so deeply broken into him that it was written into his very bones. Obedience was carved into his blood, seared into his marrow. He would know no other way but to obey. 

“The Unification Wars?” Valdor asks, the question poised so effortlessly, head tilted like a loyal dog, perfectly prepared to obey his master’s every word. 

It would be almost easier, she thought, if he had been a crueller man. Easier to break him, easier to hate him, easier to gaze upon that perfect, immaculate features and wonder what if he had lost those duels. If he had been taught to be mortal, what his screams would’ve sounded like, what sounds of pain he might wheeze out when his perfect, immaculate dancer’s grace falters and he learns, he learns the price for immortality. 

He was never meant to love. 

Not for the first time, she wonders if he can feel pain. If she’ll even care, if it’ll even matter. For a creature who loved no one but his master, would it even be a sin?A sin, to teach him what it meant to fear? To taste the copper tang of terror, to twist the knife in him as he had twisted the knife in her. And to die, exalted, knowing she would have hurt him, knowing she brought down a demigod. 

You can’t reason with a mad dog. You can’t plead with someone who knows they’re right. You can’t gaze into the eyes of Constantin Valdor and expect to see reason back, when his master was right in front of him and alive, so sickeningly alive he would rather kill than forget Him again.

Would he even mourn this time? Did he even know what mourning felt like? She had an inkling that he did, however twisted it may be. Because, for him, the tale isn't over yet, the tale must not be over. His Emperor is not dead, it cannot be, he cannot be, in a world without the Emperor, it simply is not possible. Without Valdor, the Emperor could not lead His Custodes, but without Him, the Custodes could not live. 

“No.” she replies. “The mountain. Tell me of them.” The smile that stretched across her face felt nothing like her. It did not belong to this life. It was too old, too heavy, too sad and too cruel for a face that was once joyous and wide with mischief. She had an inkling of the words Valdor was about to say, the bitter, treacherous words she would weep to hear, and regret ever having forced him to speak. 

“The Thunder Warriors.” she murmured. She had closed her eyes again by then. The plan was formulating, inking itself together with the same mindlessness of crawling, squirming things beneath the earth. And she didn’t want to see what the ground would look like when she fell. She didn’t want to see what it felt like to die a second time. This was only a distraction, a charade, a pitiful illusion built by a mind almost broken. There was no one here but a madman, a broken girl, and the ghosts of the storm calling out its mournful rage overhead. 

“Tell me what became of them. Of that Primarch you spoke so highly of. And no lies.” she sighs, and the voice that whistles out of her is too old, too broken. She brushes his hand away. This time, he doesn’t even insist on remaining. “Tell me what happened on Ararat. I want to hear the truth from your lips.” 

If there had been anything left of her heart, she might have mourned for him. For what he had become, living not for himself but for another. Living His life for Him. And when He died, what could become of him? What could become of him except to endure? When he had slaughtered brothers, lovers, children upon the snowfields, betrayed loyalists and watched life fade from their eyes, all in the name of Him, what could be left of him if not to serve?

He served, and loyalty was its own reward. Loyalty, unyielding, unbreaking, even in death his duty would not end.

Valdor tilts his head like a confused dog. “What good will it do now?” 

She utters a dry, raspy laugh. It had no inflection within it, no actual human emotion. 

“I command you, Valdor.” she spoke. There was nothing behind it, nothing even when the command hurt him. It stirred nothing but a deep, dull ache and the brief knife of guilt, which was quickly surpassed by the lasting numbness that did not seem to leave her bones. “I command you to speak of them. On Ararat. What happened on Ararat?”

She turns from him, walking slowly, and without care. She needed to be on a ledge. Distantly, thunder shrieks, and the storm crashes down. Lightning briefly illuminates her features, skin half-tanned, black hair flowing and golden eyes peering through the brume, and in that radiant flare of lightning she looked positively divine, a half-god caught on earth, if not for the weary, haunted gaze of a hunted animal. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements withered, as if her bones could no longer support her weight. She walked without a singular care in the world, and Valdor trailed immediately afterwards. She knew to jump was no longer an option. Even the stormclouds seemed to mock her. It was foolish, so foolish, she knew. He could not let her die. He would move faster than she could even think, he could catch her, snatch her around her waist and carry her to a safe distance before she could even advance an inch towards the edge. 

She could not die here. He would not allow her to die.

And they both knew that.

Voicelessly, soundlessly, she gazes up upon the stormladen sky. Its grey dances across her golden irises, the stormwind playing with her hair. Thunder crashes, and she feels herself scream back, wordlessly, soundlessly, without even conscious thought. Dully, she knew she was raging, screaming, that her mind was seizing at the clouds and tearing at them, begging them to save her, but physically she made not even a single move. Her body was frozen, the snow pelting her shoulders, Valdor’s cloak swirling from the wind. She felt frozen, too. Her mind was no longer wreathed with such self-pity it once had, it was churning, clawing, raging like a caught rabbit in a trap, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow it whole, not as a kind of freedom, but as a final form of spite to the hunter.

Thunder crashes around the two of them. Neither of them move. The edge was close, so dizzyingly close that she could feel the wind gusting around her. Valdor was watching her closely, the same way a starved wolf may watch a weakened deer.

When Valdor finally speaks, unable to resist the bluntness of her command, his eyes were still distantly focused on the memories of Ararat. And his voice was passionlessly dull, carefully kept neutral and utterly without pity. 

“I slit his throat.” he confesses dully, flatly, without even a hint of inflection. “The Primarch. I slit his throat on Ararat, from ear to ear, then from ear to clavicle. I only stopped when I felt bone scraping against the edge of my knife.”

Surprisingly she laughed, and the sound was garbled, as grim and as dry as bones. “I suppose you killed him then?” she asked. One more step. One more step and she would be at the edge. He would not let her. He would move faster than the earth could drag her down anyways. But it did not matter. Slowly, incredulously, she could feel herself smiling. It was going to be alright. She could feel it in her bones, the static, the storm. Even the snow seemed to be on her side. For a moment, she felt like a god, standing at the top of the world, the conquered earth groveling beneath Him, knowing that even the elements would fall beneath His gaze. 

She could taste the ichor then, sweet and lifeless and pouring from the sky along with the snow, the charge in the sky and the thunder. The vengeance it held. The sheer rage, an echo of her own. She would rule them. She did not want to rule. She would rule, for one singular moment in her wretched life, she would rule, and she would hurt him, as he had hurt her. For the serfs he terrorized, for the Sisters he slaughtered, for the martyrs he first betrayed and then hung out to die. All in her name. All for her wishes. She no longer wished to wish. She no longer wished to reign. 

Let her abdicate the throne of skulls. Just once. Just once, she prayed. 

“No.” Valdor shook his head. He was already moving, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her back before she could approach the edge. “It would have been a kinder fate if he had died then. It would have been a kinder fate if-”

“-if you had granted him an honorable death.” she finished for him. She spoke softly, plaintively, as if this was a comfort. She had turned her face a little, just enough to see him, just enough to see his elegant features illuminated by the storm. To gaze upon him, one last time. The way he held himself, like a dancer, his lean features accentuated by the lightning as the thunderbolt carved the sky open and struck the ledge beside her. The way his auramite had shuddered from the lightning as he had, for the first time in her memory, stumbled, his gait not utterly perfect before the divine rage. The first word she had heard him say that was not perfectly calculated.

The lightning snaps the ledge like bone.

The surprised intake of breath she had uttered, a squeal that was nearly a gasp as the rock beneath her feet had caved in, and then crumbled as she had desperately hoped, the weathered stone no longer capable of supporting its own weight bending and breaking and shattering as the lightning arced through it, the smite separating the ledge like the same way Valdor had carved through that serf. That poor, poor serf who had slipped her a kiss upon her request. It was little more than a peck, that poor thing. And he hadn’t even been able to scream when Valdor separated his bones like paper. 

In a silent vow to him, in a wordless vow to them all, the corpses he laid so she could climb atop her throne, she promised she wouldn’t scream as she fell.

Grimly, lips drawn in a tight line, she only felt the distant thunder as she descended like a one-winged eagle, her face utterly expressionless, lightning briefly dancing sparks against her hair as if in reverence. 

Valdor’s cloak, still wrapped around her, its silk as crimson as spilled blood, unfurled around her as she fell.

Distantly, from somewhere beyond the mountaintop, thunder roared. 

~~~~

It was warm, when she finally awoke. She muttered something, tried to turn, and decided to burrow deeper against the warmth instead. There was a rumble, a purr-like sound, and the slow, drifting scent of incense as one titanic hand came up to rest against her hair. 

With careful reverence, it adjusted the master’s laurel. 

“Welcome back, by lord.” the voice purred. “You expressed quite the interest in the Cataegis Primarch.”

She groaned. Golden irises flickered back and forth, as if in distress, beneath her lids. Valdor’s other hand reached up to stroke through her hair, careful not to upset the laurel.  

“I had thought you would have recognized him, my lord. It was, after all, his grave that I showed you that night upon the mountain.”

He makes a long, slow chuckle, almost like amusement, if he had been capable of it. “I had expected you’ve greeted him already, my master. You were standing atop his bones.” 

Somewhere, distantly, thunder growled. And without even being conscious of it, she shivered, and tried to burrow closer to his warmth.  

Pinglist(checks notes, holy fuck!): @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames

[sorrowsofsilence]

Faster II • Karlsson

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: Smut (18+, unprotected PnV pls wrap it b4 u tap it), choking.

Prompt: you know what they say, guitarists finger faster.

PART ONE HERE

Author note: come here for a smooch my love @gretaswhore28 <3 This is just a small part 2 of the jolly oneshot ! (sorry its short I just wanted to get something out quickly today before work!) <3

THIS IS A FANFIC USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THAT THIS PERSON WOULD DO THIS IRL OR ACT LIKE THIS! ITS FICTION!

Tags: (just keeping the same tags as on part 1 in case anyone else is interested <3) @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @th4t-em0-k1d  @lans-angels @dsireland86 @whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking

With hasty hands, Jolly unlocked the door to his townhouse, immediately attaching his lips to yours as his hands roamed across your torso again.

His inked fingers danced up your body towards your neck, gripping the skin as he held you, pinned against the wall within the entryway, rutting his hips against your own.

You moaned as his fingers squeezed, Jolly’s mouth breathing into your own, before a loud cough sounded from behind the two of you.

Jolly pulled away, whipping around to glare daggers at the man whose eyes smiled behind the coffee cup placed against his lips.

“Ahem,” Noah coughed, taking a sip before placing the cup down on the living room table, “It’s about goddamn time.”

Your face warmed as he watched with curious eyes before you rested your forehead on Jolly’s shoulder in embarrassment, laughing into his leather jacket.

“Leave,” Jolly muttered as he gripped your wrist, pulling you behind him as he led you up the stairs.

You smiled at Noah briefly and he flashed you a double thumbs up, before grabbing his keys.

“Yeah I’m on it, I don’t want to hear this,” He laughed, slipping on his shoes.

Jolly tugged you along, and as soon as the front door closed you were shoved into his room, his door slamming.

“Clothes off,” He mumbled against you, tugging at your skirt, as you lifted your shirt over your head, throwing it carelessly as your hands pulled against his face. You were left in your underwear.

“On the bed, ass up,” He pulled away, nodding toward the sheets. You obeyed, crawling all fours onto the fabric before bowing down, leaving your body shivering. Goosebumps ran across your skin in anticipation.

You watched as Jolly swiftly removed his jacket, tossing it to the floor in a form of desperation you’ve never seen. He was already showing against his jeans, the idea of pounding into you leaving him almost frothing from the mouth in desire.

Jolly needed you.

And finally, he got the chance to fuck you senselessly, exploring your body in all the ways he’s dreamed of.

His eyes bore into you as he watched you exposed on his bed in devotion to him, licking his lips in hunger. With his jeans still on Jolly approached you from behind, his hands worshiping your skin as they ran across your bare body, fingers hovering over your need.

He slapped the sensitive skin firmly and a gentle yelp left your throat as your stomach clenched in excitement.

“You’re so wet already,” Jolly chuckled lowly, his fingers gliding between your folds before he pushed them into you.

You relished in the feeling of his fingers, but your body craved his, needing to be full.

“Jolly,” You moaned, “Please just fuck me. I need you.”

You heard him groan at your words, your confession pushing him over the edge as he unbuckled his belt, freeing himself from the hem of his jeans. Jolly leaned over, spitting on your body before running himself along your anticipation.

Your breath quickened as you closed your eyes, absorbing his touch as he teased you, satisfied as he pushed against you, before pulling away.

“I want this to last forever,” Jolly shivered, “I have waited so fucking long that I want to remember everything.”

“Please Jolly,” You cried, pushing back into him as your knees ached.

He pushed your ass up with his free hand, the other positioning himself before sliding inside. Jolly immediately exhaled deeply, sighing in complete lust as he thrust into you slowly, both hands gripping your hips.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” It took everything in him to resist throwing his head back; he wanted to watch himself slide into you, your slick coating him completely.

You pushed into him, meeting his ruts as you craved him to go faster. Jolly’s pace picked up, fingers digging into the dip of your waist.

Jolly’s breath quickened as he began to fold over you, hands sliding down your back towards your head. He gripped your hair, pulling you up onto your arms as well, complete euphoria taking over as he watched the scene ahead of him.

"Faster," You pleaded.

Your lips fell open in ecstasy as inhumane sounds transpired from your tongue, the feeling of Jolly fucking you hastily leaving you speechless.

“On your back,” He commanded, and you flipped as he positioned you into missionary. You pulled your thighs to your chest, opening yourself fully towards him. Jolly’s fingers gripped your throat again, pushing you into the mattress as his hips pulled in and out, eyes dark with infatuation.

You closed your eyes but Jolly’s other hand gripped your chin, your gaze snapping open, “Eyes on me.”

Your brows furrowed as you obliged, succumbing to his need, and refusing to break eye contact.

Jolly fucked you in this position for a moment longer before flipping you back over, desperate to watch himself fuck you once again.

He leaned over your back, biting kisses along your skin, hips pounding you from behind.

You cried in pleasure as Jolly’s hands gripped both your wrists as he pulled them behind you, using his fingers as makeshift cuffs, refusing to let you go.

“Fuck,” You moaned, your orgasm climbing as your abdomen clenched in excitement.

“I need you to come around me,” He begged you, wanting anything you could offer.

The room was filled with a string of curses and erotic moans, the two of you completely indulging in one another. Your body could only handle a few more pumps of Jolly’s senseless fucking before you collapsed around him.

“Come inside me Jolly,” you pleaded as his hands pushed the side of your face into the mattress, his animalistic movements leaving you hungry and yearning.

“Fuck,” Jolly spoke through gritted teeth as you watched him absorbed in your body, his fingers gripping your wrists in a painful bind as his nails attacked your skin.

Within seconds Jolly’s body twitched within yours and you squeezed against him. Jolly’s head flew back in yearning, his body overcame with lust as he released into you, the guttural moan heaving from his chest causing your stomach to stir in admiration.

“Shit,” Jolly breathed quickly as he pulled out, satisfied as your mixed creation dripped from your desire, the smile on Jolly’s face prideful.

You sighed in contentment as you sat up, watching the man in front of you hover over your body as he attached his lips to your own, kissing you deeply.

Your lips moved entwined, completely fulfilled yet still hungry for one another.

“I just want to fuck you all day,” Jolly whined, pulling your body into his as you lay next to each other, engulfed by the moment.

“You can fuck me anytime you want,” you smiled, kissing him desperately again as his hands gripped your skin, ready to devour you again.

[babygirl-riley]

Daylight

Simon thinks about Reader and how his feelings are conflicted between wanting to hate her or to care for her.

Warnings: angst, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst list

Simon sat in his flat thinking about the last mission he was sent on. It was a tough one, was suppose to be an easy tag and grab but instead, a rat in the mix made sure the enemy knew. Ghost, Soap, and you were to retrieve the person and go, however once the truck pulled right up to the extraction point. That’s when it turned the gun fire, ducking, running, and of course failing.

It was Simon’s fault, at least he promoted himself that it was. Once shit hit the fan he made sure you were okay. Made sure you were shielded somewhere, in his sights, and gave orders to where you wouldn’t get too much in harms way. He knew you could take care of yourself but bloody fucking hell…ever since you came along into his life he made it his duty to make sure you’ll live.

Your beautiful eyes when they first came through the doors. You are confident, held yourself together, hell, fucking followed orders. You seemed perfect in his eyes. Too perfect for him. You were drawn to him, god only knows why. He knows you can’t be near him, it would blacken your soul like his is. So why did he want you so bad?

You would laugh at his horrible army jokes or dad jokes. You would stare right back at him when you both talked. You made sure that both you and him would be next to each other during debriefings, going to destinations, or hell even in the mess hall. You and him were inseparable to the point Johnny made a sly comment.

“Ya know she digs ya?” Soap said watching as you waltz over to them.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Buzz off.” Ghost couldn’t shake that feeling, the butterflies, the drop of excitement running through him. Her liking him? How? Good.

Simon held his glass of bourbon in his hand before sipping it. He can’t care for her, it’s starting to get to him. He would do anything for you, drop anything, jump when you say jump. Anything. At the same time he wants to stay completely away from you like you were a new plague.

Simon tried that, right after both of you fucked. When you fell asleep he left, ignored you, made sure you knew he didn’t want anything to do with you. Then you cornered him. Yelled at him for being such a coward. That made him fall harder, you weren’t afraid to put a man in place. Well it did piss him right the fuck off but after thoughts it made him hard. So he went to your quarters and did some sort of make up sex.

He still remembers your whimpers, cries, moans for him. What Simon loved the most was when you bit down hard enough to leave a mark for a couple of days. Simon even considered to get it tatted on. Never after having sex with someone if they left marks on him he wanted it there forever. It scared him.

Keeping the wall called Ghost up for no one to see Simon, was getting more and more difficult when you were around. Simon is a weakness that is what he would think. A broken man. A man that no one could or should love. That is where Ghost comes in, making sure he is the biggest bastard. Scary. Not to fuck with.

It’s like when you came around he was more kind, soft. You are too pure to be around him. Too kind. Too pure. It would be like putting black ink on a white paper, smearing it so it becomes dark. He couldn’t do that. Not to an angel like you.

“Lt,” His heart stopped as he heard the angelic voice. “I need a reminder on where I am suppose to be.”

He knew that she was shocked that her and him were going on a duo mission together. Simon AVOIDED her like the plague for about 5 months, since she started. You didn’t mind no, you weren’t scared of him but it made you irritated that the man doesn’t know you and avoids you. Soooo why not avoid him?

“With me Sargent.” He blankly said looking down at your doe eyes.

“Good,” You said with a smirk. God that that smirk did in his stomach. He glared out of curiosity. You did this all the time, the moment he gave you attention you would make a remark. A glance. A smile. Even when he barely wanted you around. That’s what drew him in. “I will pack my things and we can head out.”

He watched you walk away, the way you hips swayed. How her hair swayed. God he fucking hated you (he didn’t really hated the feelings he felt). He wished that he didn’t have to sit here smoking all his cigarettes, chewing his nails, and adjust his pants when he would think of you. Especially adjusting his pants, made him feel like a bloody child, a creep.

His mind would be plagued each night thinking about how you would look underneath him. Or even in a night breeze walking with you hand and hand. Ghost hated it but Simon. Simon is the one who would drop anything for you. It killed him. He wanted to but he has no one that he would drop his walls for. Hell even Price knows small details.

“Fuck.” He whispered lighting a cigarette. He brought it to his mouth inhaling the cancerous paper.

You laughed actually laughed, he told the most common dad military joke. Ghost was confused when you laughed hard, you shook your head. “Jesus Ghost never would have thought that you would be a comedian.”

Ghost huffed. “You think am just an all killin’ machine?”

You stopped walking making him stop as well. “No that’s not what I meant,” You said little panicking before he could stop you, you continued. “I think you are more than just a killing machine.”

Ghost just looked down at you didn’t know what to say. You just placed your hand on his cheek and smiled. “Y/n,” He grabbed your hand and holding it. “We have a team meeting to be at.”

Simon sighed, her face froze, it was engraved into his mind. Her half “fake” smile she gives when rookies ask dumb questions but she answers them. Because she is an angel. A light. Simon didn’t want his past to come back and darken her light. Of all the things he has and been doing. Simon sighed inhaling on his cigarette.

“LT,” Her voice rang through his ears. He turns to her she is smiling handing her a bloody knife. “Believe this is yours?”

He grunted taking it nicely from you, even in the middle of battle you looked beautiful. Ghost would of course concentrate at the task of hand but when the mission would be “dull,” he would look over at you. Make sure you were safe and not injured. Then notice how your hair would fall loose from a ponytail/braid. How when you killed a man it would be graceful.

After missions you would have a cigarette with him. Sit there talking about some family stories or banter back and forth. He wanted you so bad, watching how your lips would wrap the cigarette. Your laugh. Your voice. Ghost could listen to you all day and night.

Simon stood up grabbing the phone that ran throughout his flat. “Ghost we need ya.” The familiar gruff voice that belongs to his Captain.

“On my way.” He replied huffing the last bit of cigarette, hanging up.

Simon sighed looking down on his phone. He inhaled deeply thinking about seeing you again. Watching your moves. And not being able to have that light full out the darkness he so craves.