#unspecified tw

[proudproship]

I love when antis get upset over OCs in problematic pairings

"this ship is illegal!!"

No it isn't, the world my OCs live in has absolutely no law whatsoever and the guy with the most authority likes to run kids over with his magic train, therefore these cannibal brothers aren't breaking the law by kissing

And then the anti automagically loses the argument 💪😎

[genderqueerpond]

i don't think i'm fixable

[threepandas]

Bad End: For Us

My sister is the only one who actually knows me. Who looks at me and... and actually SEES me, for who I am. It's because she suffers too, I think. Is beautiful. In that way that drives men too distraction. Poets too the page, artists too a medium. They look at her like she is art, magnificence and beauty given form.

Not a person.

Living, breathing, with thoughts and feelings of her own.

She is... is just BEAUTY to them. Delicate features and graceful limbs. Refined and splendid. A lovely voice reducing all her brilliant thoughts to mere sound. Who cares? How clever and educated, how wise or dignified, she may be? She is decoration. A pretty thing to look at. A prize to be held and won.

And... and I am a cute little pet.

Eternally the toddler, to be pampered and dressed in bows. Girlish things, no matter how old I grow. Handled instead of spoken too. Because somehow I am a child. Fuckable, yet... a child. Cute, innocent, naive. Not because I AM, but because they SAY so. Because it matches their fantasy of me.

I fear what will happen if I dare break that fantasy, with how much they control my life.

My Sister, alone, is the one who SEES me.

And people try to convince me she is... what? Jealous? Bitter? Because I am somehow "stealing" the lecherous eyes of her unfaithful man? I don't want them. I don't want ANY of them. Reborn, somehow, as a Protagonist in some game amongst countless, I can predict the plot points as they come. Read the troupes.

Bah. I am no spunky little bright eyed thing.

As I lay, draped over my sister's splendid skirts, in her private writing room, she quietly sips her tea and writes return missives. Strokes my hair as I hide, curled up like a child against her legs. If the ridiculous outfit I was shoved in would allow it? I would cram myself under her desk. Hide there instead.

As it is? I sit like some sulking maiden, an exhausted pet, seeking comfort in the only refuge I HAVE.

They will not leave me ALONE.

The Knight. Some brash, meat headed, "I'll take care of you" type, crashing into every quiet moment I try to have. Loud and presumptuous. Disdainful of my academic interests.

The Playboy. All too forward "romantic" gestures and ignoring obvious discomfort. More wrapped up in HIS feelings then considering, for even a moment, my own. Selfish and dramatic.

The Duke. Cliché and terrible. "Kind" to no one but me. Endless expensive gifts, pressuring grand displays, and eyes that linger possessively. Violence at the drop of a hat.

But oh, let us not forget the ASSASSIN! Yes, the LEADER of the ASSASSIN'S Guild! That somehow, someway, decided I was a prize worth possessing. A cutesy little "interesting" doll. That? Gods only knows, what will happen when he grows bored.

Lingering and haunting me. Crawling through windows. Standing too close, to touch my hair and drop cryptic bits of information that always hint at terrible things. Having to watch my words so SO carefully. Lest someone end up DEAD.

And let's not forget the WORST offender! The most clingy of them ALL!

My sister's FIANCÉ.

The Crown PRINCE! Yes, not some average noble, but a ROYAL!! And the man can't CONTROL himself! But does anyone else care? Noooooo! It's ROMANTIC. True loooove~! Aren't we CUTE together? Surely my Sister, his FIANCÉE, is just JEALOUS. How VILE. Disgusting, they scoff!

I should start throwing chairs.

This house is a nightmare.

I curl closer to my sister. Releasing her skirts to slip an arm around her waist. Hugging her, pressing my face close. She puts her cup down with a soft clink. A second hand joining the first to stroke my head. Cup my cheeks.

"My Dearest, you can not hide against my skirts indefinitely. As much as I would love to let you." She says, voice soft and cool like swirling mist, tilting my face up so she can look me in the eyes. "You DO need to eat eventually, as do I. Unfortunately, I can not keep you here forever. Come, help me plan the wedding. We can look at cake styles."

I'd rather be planning a funeral.

"Not until I get a son out of him, I'm afraid."

Wut.

I blink, not sure I heard that right. Look up at my softly smile sister. No. No, I probably didn't. Wishful thinking maybe? Or I've just been around Stabby too much. I scramble to my feet. Fighting my own girlish abomination of a skirt. I hate it. It's cutesy to the point of mocking. I'm in my TWENTIES for God's sake! Not EARLY twenties either!

Why do I have a BOW ON MY ASS?!

Because I am the Protagonist. Baby faced and Pwecious~☆. Fucking INFANTALIZED. I could BITE.

I sigh, take the arm my sister offers me, and tuck myself into her side. Rest my head upon her shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable, with all the jewelry she must wear. But damn it! I want my cuddles!

I bask, as we walk, in the comfort it brings.

She's strong and graceful. Smells like a delicate spring morning, all rare flowers and new growth. A hint of expensive spice. I LOVE being the little sibling. When it's HER that's treating me so. Because she makes it precious. Comfortable. Like we could spend our lives, together like this. The best of friends.

Happy.

If only people would... you know... stop trying to FUCK me. I prefer my hobbies. For God's sake, I'm RICH and a second child. I HAVE basicly no responsibilities except "don't embarrass the family". Or that WOULD be the case? If our parents weren't so intent on... "pushy dating advice".

"Would you like some lovely news, Dearest?" Whispers my sister, as she sweeps us past some upset looking maids, towards the tea room. I nod. "I've made some wonderful headway with some... ambitious gentlemen, about your little cockroach problem. They are quite efficient. I'm likely to recommend them."

I stiffle a snort. Oh my god. My sister sent thugs after a few of the suitors? Holy shit! That's amazing! Is THAT why I haven't seen them around lately? They got scared?

We settle in our seats. Tea and snacks. The maid looks... nervous. Weird. My sister smiles kindly, somehow startling the poor thing, making her flinch. Oh dear. I try to smile reassuringly. No harm no foul, right? Yet the poor girl reacts like I've cast myself into a lion pit for her. Flees.

....I'm beginning to suspect someone is abusing our waitstaff.

It's probably that bastard lech of a fiance.

We need to keep him away from the maids. And me. Women in general honesty. If I had my say, he wouldn't be allowed near my SISTER either. But she insists, and- Oooh! This one's CUTE! Sis, Sis! LOOK at the little details on this one!

"Hmm? Oh that IS lovely! Do you like it? If so, we shall sample it at once. I want the day to be perfect for us, Dearest. You're my world after all. There's NOTHING I wouldn't give you. A shame though, that our parent's will likely be too sick to see me wed."

It really was. I had my differences with them, but... it was their DAUGHTER'S WEDDING you know? Whatever they had caught, during their endless string of parties, was ravaging their health. It seemed agonizing. Slow. Yet even in the midst of planning her WEDDING, all the gossip and backstabbing, my sister dutifully visited them. Brought them tea and kept them company.

I didn't know how she could bear it.

She was a better person then I, I guess.

[edible-emerald]

"Ok but you know you're still *technically* a huma-" shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

I am *not* a human.

I am not a human. I never have been, I never will be. I am above humanity as a concept and I will never identify as or with them.

I am not a human.

I am could kill you in an instant if i wanted to. Do. Not. Say. That. I. Am. Human.

Even if I wasn't alterhuman, I would still not be human. In that scenario, I suppose I'd be nothing, at all. But I am something, at least sometimes, but I am not human. DO. NOT. CALL. ME. HUMAN.

I will never be a human. Don't lie to me.

[slytherinboysappreciation]

Bullied - Prof. T. R. x platonic gn!Reader

A/N: this was originally written for this request, but I realized it was too angsty so I made it its own thing. Please read the warnings carefully! They’re there for a reason! This fic is completely unedited with no use of Y/N. Please be nice, I’m an inexperienced writer 💛 Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

CW: Bullying!!; descriptions of bullying; crying; shame; graphic descriptions of violence/injury!!; anxiety; mentions of the quills Umbridge used; detention; mentions of eating; Prof. Riddle becomes a safe space for reader; swearing; derogatory language towards reader; graphic descriptions of violence against reader!!!!; nausea; head wounds; vague mentions of blood; Dumbledore bashing; hurt/comfort, I guess; slightly fluffy ending?

I think that’s everything. Please please let me know if I’ve missed anything! If you don’t like it, don’t read it!!

2019 words

You were hiding in a corner of the library, silently crying. The library was your safe space; the only place in the whole school aside from your dorm where you didn’t have to worry about getting bullied.

And it had been invaded. Your bullies had come in today, destroying your peace with the very sight of them. Even worse, they’d ripped your books and blamed it on you.

Madame Pince had been thankfully skeptical, but the three of you still got detention. You were terrified of being in the same room alone for hours with those two.

As you sniffle and wipe your eyes, the sound of footsteps approaches your spot. You huddle up into a ball, hastily wiping your face in an attempt to hide that you were crying.

“You should be in bed.”

You look up, startled. It’s Professor Riddle, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

“I— I was—“ You falter, unsure what to say. Telling the truth hadn’t worked with your head of house. There’s no way you’d expose your deepest shame to someone as imposing as Professor Riddle.

“Yes, sir,” you say meekly, slowly picking yourself up.

He watches you, hands tucked into his pockets. “Everything all right?”

Your eyes start to itch from crying so much. You rub at them before catching yourself. “Yes, sir. Just…”

He holds up a hand and pulls something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. “Next time, come to me.”

You take the handkerchief slowly. Next time… Was he saying… You couldn’t risk it.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, starting to back away. He stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“I mean it. Bullying has no place here at Hogwarts.”

You stare down at the floor, frail hope fluttering in your chest. You squash it with both hands.

“Thanks, Professor,” you say quietly. “But I’ve heard that before.”

With that, you shrug off his hand and walk away, clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline.

Your detention comes late the next night. You’re fully prepared for the usual horrors. Being forced to clean suits of armor by yourself until your fingers crack and bleed from the chemicals. Scrubbing floors till your knees are bruised and you can’t feel your arms.

Being a guinea pig for whatever malicious spell the two bullies of yours have cooked up.

Instead, you receive a different set of instructions. Your two bullies will be cleaning floors and suits of armor.

You will be writing lines with Professor Riddle.

You stare blankly at your head of house, baffled by the news. Writing lines? That’s a first year punishment, the easiest detention ever.

You show up outside Riddle’s office at exactly the time you’re supposed to. Without punishment or curses from your bullies, it’s easy to be on time.

You knock on the door, nervousness drumming through you. Why had he taken your detention? What was his plan with this? Was it some sort of worse punishment?

You’d heard about the cutting quills from Professor Umbridge’s reign of terror. Would this be something similar?

The door swings open, startling you so badly you jump. Professor Riddle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on your action.

“Come in. I have everything set up.”

You slowly follow him in, your nerves building with every step. He’s supposed to be the strictest teacher. The hardest on his students and the one urging them the most to reach their ambitions.

You sit at the desk he’s provided you, looking over the paper and quill in front of you. They look… just like a normal quill and paper.

“They’re perfectly safe. I’ve used that quill before.” Riddle watches you from his desk, that same inscrutable expression on his face:

You startle. Then flush with embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. I’ve just had… bad experiences before.”

He nods. “Here.”

You watch in disbelief as he picks up his own quill and ink pot and brings them over to you. Then he takes yours and moves them over to his desk.

“Is that better?”

You just stare at him for a moment. Then your sense comes back to you and you nod. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“Please start with your lines. I’ve written the first one out for you. You will fill the front and back of the page.”

“Yes, sir.”

You lower your head and pick up the quill he’d given you. You don’t know what you did to receive such light detention, but you’re not complaining. It’s infinitely better than what you’d be doing otherwise.

You grimace at the thought and lower the tip of the quill to the page. With a deep breath, you start writing.

Over the next week, you start to warm to Professor Riddle. It takes two whole days to stop being so jumpy around him, and two more days before you slowly start to believe his words.

Mainly because he will not stop asking you about your bullies. About who they are. What they do. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so gratifying that someone finally seems to care.

You don’t really answer him, of course. You have enough self-preservation to know that much, but you do start to reveal smaller details.

Like how you’re always late to class because of them. Or how they bother you when you try to study. Or even how you’re afraid to eat meals outside of your dorm because of them.

Which is the reason you’re currently outside his office door again. You knock hesitantly, balancing your plate of food with one hand.

He opens the door and you walk in, sitting at the now familiar desk. You set down your plate and get comfortable.

“Thank you, sir,” you say quietly, picking up your fork.

“Of course.” Riddle nods and sits at his desk to eat his own lunch.

It’s strange; eating in peace for once. You don’t have to worry about slaps to the head or food being spilled on you or some new embarrassing secret being shared. You just eat your food.

It’s hard to admit, but Professor Riddle is starting to grow on you. He doesn’t make you talk; doesn’t force you to do things you don’t like. He just sits with that unreadable expression of his and lets you do the same.

You take your time eating your food, allowing yourself to savor the flavors. It’s a nice change of pace. One you could find yourself getting used to.

Once you’re done eating, you get up. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course,” Professor Riddle says, glancing up from his own plate. “Enjoy the rest of your classes.”

“I will.” You give him a slight smile and leave his office.

Maybe things will actually be better after this.

You’re slammed against the wall. Hands grind your face against the stone, pinning you in place.

“You fucker!” It’s your bullies, clearly enraged. “You think you can tell on us and get away with it?!”

You panic, fear shooting through you.

“We almost got expelled because of you, you piece of shit!”

Your head is pulled back so you can see their angry faces.

“I didn’t say anything!“ you beg, starting to shake with panic and terror.

“Shut up! I swear to god, you dumb little—“

Your head is bashed against the wall. Your hearing cuts out, replaced by the loudest ringing you’ve ever heard. Your vision goes blurry. Something drips down your face, stinging your eyes.

Then, the hands are pulled off you. You’re vaguely aware of yelling as your legs give out and you crumple against the wall.

Your head throbs, pain shooting through your forehead as you lean your head against the wall. When you pull back to try and focus on it, red stains the stone.

Someone crouches down in front of you. A gentle hand tilts up your chin. You struggle to focus on the face, but your vision won’t cooperate.

The person says something, but you just blink. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the ringing in your ears.

Hands scoop you up, cradling you in strong arms. Nausea rises in your throat at the sudden motion.

The last thing you remember is throwing up.

You wake up in the Hospital Wing. You don’t remember much; just a bustling Madame Pomfrey and a warm, firm hand gently rubbing your back as you cry. The rest is a haze. It makes your head hurt to try and remember so you just give up.

After Madame Pomfrey pronounces you to be fine, you’re swept up to the Headmaster’s office. You sit nervously in a chair, fiddling with your fingers.

Headmaster Dumbledore’s normally kind expression has been replaced with a serious look.

“Hello,” he greets you solemnly. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing better.”

Something about the way he says it makes you doubt he means it. You say nothing in return.

Your Head of House bustles around behind you, muttering something under their breath. You look down at your hands and wish you were back in the Hospital Wing.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Dumbledore asks.

You shrug a little and don’t look up. “No.”

“We take bullying very seriously here at Hogwarts.”

You snort, then wince as your head aches from the action.

Dumbledore’s lips thin, and his look sharpens. “We understand you have been through some… issues with a few of our students.”

You bite your tongue to keep from saying anything rash.

“We’ve contacted your parents about the situation,” your Head of House adds. “But they haven’t replied yet.”

Your stomach churns. You’re well aware of that. Your parents have taken a hands off approach to your schooling since you started being bullied. You doubt they’ve even read the letter from the school.

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore continues, “without the permission of a trusted adult, we cannot do much about the issue. The offending students will be given detention and strict warnings.”

“What?” Your eyes start to sting. “You’re just— You’re not going to do anything?”

Dumbledore raises his hands in a helpless gesture. “Without permission from a trusted adult—“

You can feel the tears building behind your eyes. “No! There has to be something you can do! I can’t— What if this happens again?!”

Dumbledore opens his mouth to say something when the door to his office flies open. Professor Riddle stands in the doorway, glaring at the Headmaster.

“A letter for you.” He says calmly. He approaches Dumbledore and hands him a letter. “I think you’ll find it contains everything you’ll require for the students’ expulsions.”

Dumbledore’s expression changes instantly. “Of course, Tom,” he says coolly, “I appreciate your care and concern for our students.”

Professor Riddle doesn’t even try to hide his sneer. “Someone has to do it.”

He gestures to you. “Come on.” It’s not a request. It’s an order.

You obey, getting to your feet and meekly following him out. As soon as you get down to the hallway, Professor Riddle turns to you.

“I’m sorry about that. You should be resting, not dealing with old fools.”

You blink up at him. “How did you…?”

“I owled your parents.”

He doesn’t elaborate and you decide you don’t want to know.

“Thank you, sir.”

He rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a comforting rub. “Of course. Your bullies will be expelled by tomorrow morning, and you won’t ever have to deal with them again.”

Tears well up in your eyes. He truly means it. You won’t have to worry about getting to class, or about not studying, or anything like that again.

You throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Oh, thank you, sir!”

He pats your back, lightly returning your hug. “You’re welcome. Now, go get some rest. I don’t want to see you out and about till morning.”

“Yes, sir!” You head off to your dorm, practically giddy with excitement.

You’re finally free from your bullies. You’ll be able to make friends again now. You can get good grades again. Live without fear for your wellbeing.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in your life. And it’s all thanks to Professor Riddle.

[serickswrites]

could you please make ‘rope’ into a series where whumpee eventually does recover, but it takes a long time and there are a lot of setbacks?

Absolutely, Anon, I can write this for you.

Please enjoy!

Part 1

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture (unspecified), catatonia, blood, scrapes, hurt/aftermath, head injury

Two days. Two days had passed since Caretaker sat Whumpee in their car and doctored their wounds. Two days had passed since they got Whumpee out of Whumper's compound. Two days. And Whumpee hadn't uttered a word.

Caretaker was sure that Whumpee just needed more time. Just needed some quiet and peace to realize they were safe. Then the normally bright and bubbly Whumpee would be back.

But that hadn't happened yet. Caretaker wasn't even sure they had seen Whumpee eat or drink anything. They just lay in their bed, curled up and silent. Caretaker had come in several times a day to check Whumpee's scabbed over wrists and to try and coax Whumpee into eating something.

"Whumpee, would you like something to eat?" Caretaker asked softly from the door.

Whumpee didn't respond. It was as though Caretaker wasn't even there.

"Please, Whumpee, let me bring you something. Or come out into the kitchen with me." Caretaker touched Whumpee's shoulder softly.

Whumpee began to scream and thrash violently, desperately trying to get away from Caretaker.

"Whumpee! Whumpee!" Caretaker shouted over Whumpee's screams. "You're safe. I've got you!"

But Whumpee didn't hear Caretaker. They continued to scream as they fell off the bed. Continued to scream as they scrambled back. And they screamed until they hit their head on the bureau and went still.

"Whumpee! Whumpee, no!" Caretaker rushed forward as Whumpee slumped to the side, their eyes unfocused and hazy. Whumpee flinched as Caretaker touched them, but didn't fight.

"It's ok, I've got you," Caretaker murmured softly as they lifted Whumpee up. "I'm just going to get you some help. You'll be right as rain soon." Caretaker walked to their car. They had to get Whumpee to the hospital. Between the rapidly growing bump on the back of Whumpee's head and their refusal to eat or drink anything, Whumpee needed help. And it was the kind that Caretaker couldn't give.

Tags: @janetm74 @crabofthewoods @beomsstudio @edutainer2022 @whumpbump @coramakesart @thathurt-doitagain @catnykit @idkwhattodowiththisaltiamsorry

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Trying to encourage myself. So here, a song fic that I have never done before. This is a continuation of ““𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.””

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You suffer the effects of your lost Astartes. Yet, your life isn’t up yet.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Angst, Violence, Blood, War, Wounds.

“Meet You By The Graveyard” by Cleffy

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {“𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.”} • {𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬}

“I will meet you at the graveyard” A cold wind blows as you sit near your lost, lovers grave. Your eyes looking over the setting horizon with an emotionless expression. Your body still and heavy, simply watching as the tall grass moves with the hills of the planet. The smell of the grass reaching your nose, evading you. Yet, you do not move from your place. Too loyal to leave your lovers side. Too adamant.

“Where you lay down” Your eyes briefly look over to your lovers grave. Slowly tracing your eyes up from the big, mounded dirt and up to the helmet. The helmet on top of the wooden cross unmoving, too heavy for the wind to move as you stare into the unpowered, black visor. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Your heart aches just looking at it, squeezing inside of your chest. Warm tears starting to build up in your eyes as you try and swallow them down. Reminded of the times you had together. Reminded that it won’t happen again. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” You wish you can just see your beloved physically one more time. That you were able to comfort him in his last moments with your loving embrace rather than the horrors of war. Your throat straining at the thought, trying not to cry.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” Your eyes quickly gaze back out to the horizon. The colors of the grey, golden sky turning more of that familiar, comforting, dark blue you have seen again and again. Standing idly by his rotting grave. Unable to look at his grave anymore than a few moments without completely breaking down.

“Where you lay down” You swallow your tears down again, straining your throat at the effort. Overthinking if your lover had been abandoned by his brethren or by his god; left to die where he stood before retrieving him. Your eyebrows furrowing up angry and worried at that thought. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Glancing back at his grave. You wonder if this was the proper burial for him and his kind. Wondering if you should have just set him on fire or let the apothecary’s take him, but you remember them saying they didn’t need to. They planted him on your planet, knowing that you would grieve over their fallen brother.

“Wish we were together now” You blink, your cheek suddenly feeling wet. Your hand quickly coming up to stop the rouge tear from falling any further, wiping it with your fingers. A sniffle coming for you as you tried your hardest not to cry in front of his grave once more. Only wanting to see him physically at least one last time. “I don't know when I will see you”

“You were undecided” You remember his battle however, how his brothers had told you. Being nice enough for their status to inform you of such tragedy and despicable truth. Your eyebrows furrowing up in slight, petty anger now. “Between life and past tense”

“You lost your battle, life was hell” Their words echo through your mind while you wipe another rouge tear from the other side of your cheek. Their whispering voices telling you of his fall. Sacrificing himself for his brothers to continue their mission, and clearly not wanting to come back to you.

“But I was always here, how can't you tell?” ‘Why couldn’t he just come back to you?’ You think bitterly, illogically, driving by your emotions as you know that you were lying to yourself. That you were thinking sickly of the situation, being selfish.

“Oh, I thought we'd be together 'til life was over” You sigh angrily, looking back up to his helmet. Your fingers unable to stop any more of your warm, rouge tears that turned cold on the skin of your cheeks; dropping off of your jawline and on the terra. Your selfish thoughts consuming you, purging you while your fingers gave a twitch. “But you left too soon, now I'm no longer sober”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You scowl, suddenly stepping forward towards the helmet on the cross, glaring at it, huffing at it. Wanting to just rip the helmet right off the cross like it was at fault with you; to throw it across the plains. Yet, you can’t seem to do such… dishonor. Your hands simply just coming to hold the sides of the helmet, threating to tightly grip at it before you lean in. Touching the helmet with your forehead.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck, you left me bleeding” You quietly cry and curse at the helmet, finally letting your tears loose. Your body hiccuping while your nose runs. Angry, frustrated, sad; grieving. Your mind indecisive on what it wants to do. Wether to throw the helmet or to cradle it in your arms. The logical, illogical parts, and even the love for him battling inside of you, making you feel confused; conflicted of what to do. You feel as if you had lost your way; your guidance, yourself to this simple helmet that sticks on top of the engraved cross. Never to be worn again. Never to look at you with life again.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your heart hammers in your chest as you see the littering, unmoving dead painting the hills red and a glow of orange below you. Your eyes watching as the enemies ransack your home planet, tearing into your comrades. Your hand twisting your sword once. Waiting for the enemies to cross over into your line of order. A certain dread washing over you. Yet… you can’t help but feel excited for it.

“Where you lay down” Dragging your gaze across the war filled landscape, waiting for the enemies. You ready yourself; preparing to slice and shoot at your enemies. To protect your home planet; to protect his grave. A flash of remembrance going through you. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You remember how they lowered his body into the ground. His wounds patched up by the apothecary’s care. Some limbs missing, unretrievable and unneeded to find and plant with his body. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” Oh, but you didn’t think so. You wanted all of him to be together. You wanted him to be by your side again, to be alive with you again. Not to be simply put in the ground, but you knew better than to ask for such things from the brethren. It’s would be senseless.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” You shake your head, trying to forget about your lover for just a moment, to focus on the battle that ever slowly rises to your position. Bullets whizzing past you and thumping in the ground as the screams of the wounded and enraged call out to the smoke filled sky. You question if that’s how your lover died… listening to the calls of pain and suffering…

“Where you lay down” You didn’t want to think that he had heard such things. Wanting to be more… kind with his death, but you knew such things wasn’t possible. This was a galaxy filled with unimaginable horrors. It was rare to encounter humanity itself, and that was a cold hard reality to realize for some. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You brace as the first wave washes over your line. The sounds of war ringing in yours ears, breath getting heavy as your chest tightens along with your muscles. Your sword thrusting forward as one enemy had gotten stupid close enough to test your skill that your lover has tought you. Their warm blood spewing at you, coating your face as you scowl. Your mind scrabbling to try and focus on one thing. ‘Was this how he felt? When he had fallen?’

“Wish we were together now” Pulling out your sword. You huff, tasting your enemies blood on your lips, unbothered by it. Your eyes searching for your next opponent to show themselves before landing on a figure that seems to cut down through the lines of your comrades with ease. The figure giving you a battle cry as he notices your blank stare towards it.

“I don't know when I will see you” The both of you dash for each other, eager to get each other’s heads, to be stained in the warmth of blood. Either from your own veins or theirs. Their mouth opening up to give out a frustrated huff at you. Annoyed as you were more skilled than what the figure had thought you would be. Both of your armor and skin ripping with cuts and bruises.

“It doesn't make sense to me” Unexpectedly, you find yourself stumbling, grunting out in pain as you grasp at your side. A stay bullet hitting you as you block the figures attack, stepping back into a defensive position. Your thoughts of your lover building up in your mind. Wondering if this is what your lover had felt. To be wounded and still fighting with all his might.

“You're gone, no, I can't believe” You give out your own huff as your own blood seeps through your fingers. Your eyes glaring at your opponent as they back off for a second, looking for a weakness in you. Their gaze flickering to the bleeding wound on your side. A grin rising on their face, but you can’t focus on their psychotic glee. You’re too heartbroken to. You yearn for your lover.

“They say you live inside me, but to me, you're still gone you see” You feel a rush to continue with the battle, growling out as you slash up at the figure first, surprising it. You blade upper cutting them in the face as they cry out, stumbling back. Their hand coming up to grasp at their hanging eyeball. Their optic nerve hanging from their socket as their cornea bleeds by your slash and through their grasp, hissing angrily at you, and you don’t feel any remorse for it. “This can't be real life, you were only like twenty-three”

“I'm asking questions to my God like, "Will we ever meet again?"” Another stray bullet suddenly hits you. Your form stumbling to right yourself as the burning pain digs into your shoulder this time as the figure takes this change to charge you, swiping up at you this time. Dragging its blade across your torso twice.

“Left me in pain” You hiss and cry out in pain at that, stumbling back yourself. Your hands moving from the wound on your bloody side to grasp at your shoulder. You eyes looking down at yourself, observing of how battered you must off looked before looking back up to the figure with a vengeful glare. “Was all our plans in vain?”

“Our memories to make” Feeling another surge of adrenaline rush through you. You push forward again, feeling like someone was pushing you to encourage you into battle. Their hands resting heavily on your shoulders like they were guiding you as you ensue another dueling session with your opponent. “I can see them slowly fading”

“You basically erased me” You begin to feel more heavy, uninterestedly bloodthirsty the more you strike down the figure. Their blade barely being able to block your attacks as they rub on each other and sparking up; burning at your cheek. The figure surprised at such stoicism and boldness to use such heavy attacks that stuns their own. Not expecting such from a human like you. “So how do you expect me to ever be happy?”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You glower the more this figure blocks your attacks with just barely enough attack time. Pushing them more and more back. Your tongue roughly licking at your teeth inside of your mouth as you can sense this sort of cold sensation press into your back. Pushing you to continue.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck you left me bleeding” Finally having the figure pinned to an edge of a cliff. You glare at him and huff, finalizing your attack on this enemy. Your sword thrusting forward at an opening. Puncturing through the figures stomach as they gurgle. Their mouth opening and closing as they spit blood on you while you twisted your sword. Ensuring this would affect them greatly, making them feel the pain before you jerk the sword upwards, gutting them, and letting them fall off the cliff with a sicking crack and splat that shouldn’t have been audible through the sounds of warfare.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your back suddenly arches. Your eyes going wide as you choke out your own blood. Your body trying to turn around on the balls of your boots as another string of fire shoots through your nerves.

“Where you lay down” You blink once, your eyes filling with black dots, and the next thing you know you’re stumbling down to the ground at the edge of the cliff, blearily looking out the fires of the horizon, just like you did with your lover. Your sword disregarded at your side. A thump and rustle of grass flatting at your fallen figure. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You wheeze painfully as you just lay there in the grass. Your eyes slowly blinking while the sounds of war just becomes background noise to you. A brush of heavy hands trail gently up your back. A familiar scent surrounding you.

“Wish we were together now” You close your eyes then. Enjoying the familiar scent as he coos in your ear, whispering praises in your ear. Caressing you were you lay, but he also encourages you. Telling you that you are not quite done yet. That you still have some life to give before joining him, and you can’t help but whine woundly at that. More pressure of hands wrapping gently around you. His voice echoing through your mind, encouraging you once again. “I don't know when I will see you”

[whumpchester]

john catching sam and dean having sex. both of them expecting disgust, disappointment, violence but john just tells them to continue for him. john who always wanted to fuck sam but couldn't because he had to keep him pure. turns out he didnt have to worry about that, so why hold back now. john jerking off while sam and dean continue, unsure and embarrassed, until dean gathers his confidence and starts fucking sam in earnest again. sam just taking it and trying not to look at john, because his whole rebellious act just flew out of the window. john edging himself until dean comes inside sam who's gone soft again. dean realizing john waited so he can have a turn with sam, and he tries to protect sam "i think hes had enough for tonight, sir". moves to help sam get up and go clean up in the bathroom with dean, but john just gives him a look and dean backs off. sam too out of it to even know whats going on until he feels his dad behind him

[pfhwrittes]

a quick little something for dealing drugs and feelings while i sort out my ghost hc (i’m plotting out johnny and gaz’s now but ngl i’m most nervous of writing gaz’s)

not quite a dark!fic but it could head that way.

TW: Unspecified intoxication, fem!reader, references to implied drug usage.

drabble; 200-300 words.

you grunt softly as a large warm body shifts on the sofa next to you, compressing the stuffing around you and making you blink slowly as your head tilts - rolls - spins - against a firm bicep.

you’re not meant to be here. in a dingy living room, hazy with sweet-sour smoke, surrounded by men, your friend curled in the lap of a stranger on another sofa. you shouldn’t have followed her to this house - a friend of a friend’s she said with a grin that cracked around the edges -

“ - alright luv?”

you thoughts scatter at the deep voice, into the haze of the room. you jolt and tilt away from the arm, the voice that licks up your spine and settles at the nape of your neck like weighty palm -

oh but that is a warm palm at the nape of your neck. when did that happen? your head rolls to the other side. ah. there is another man on the sofa, his arm slung over your shoulders, thighs pressing against yours causing a static hum to bloom under your skin.

suddenly you’re too warm. the cloying haze of smoke is overbearing and the static under your skin whines in shrill panic. you shouldn’t be here.

you wriggle forwards wanting to reacquaint your body with momentum before trying to pitch yourself upwards, desperate for fresher air before you make more of a fool of yourself.

two gazes, one blue and the other brown, meet over your head. across the coffee table on the sofa opposite, two other gazes meet over the top of your friend’s head. either way you fail to notice.

perhaps if you had, things wouldn’t be quite as they are now.

- - -

taglist: @kaadaaan

[ficmesideways]

Request for Anonymous Gif Source: Astarion (Unknown)

Imagine playing with Astarion's hair while he feeds on you.

------- Imagine -------

He had not been wrong when he said your body betrayed your need. Every time he neared your neck now you would shutter in anticipation. You craved his teeth in your skin as much as you craved his body over yours, and now when he joined your bedroll at night your new habit would be to slip your fingers to the nape of his nek and direct him to where you wanted. His hair had become your guide and anchor as he fed. You would twist and glide your fingers through his white strands even gripping them tightly to force him deeper all the while he moaned and you shuttered at the intense sensations as he drank deeply.

[revenant-coining]

Invigummyselachi

[pt: Invigummyselachi /end pt]

[id: a rectangular flag with 5 horizontal stripes. stripe size as follows, medium, thin, thick, thin, medium, and colors in this order from top to bottom: dakish blue, blue, light grey-blue, blue, darkish blue. /end id]

Invigummyselachi: an inviane term connected to the image below; an image of a pile of blue gummy sharks.

[ids: a transparent image, an image of a pile of blue gummy sharks, and another transparent image. /end id]

Etymology: invi, gummy, selachi(morpha)

for cam!

@radiomogai , @thecoffeecrew404 , @inviane-archive

[id: a dark blue line divider. /end id]

[proudproship]

I always see the argument against lolisho that antis have of "well its illegal in other countries so you can get arrested for it there and it is wrong"

1. Not everyone lives where you do. Guess what, I'm from the USA! And Little Timmy from Europe™️ is from, guess where, Europe!

2. Homosexuality is illegal in other countries as well! Am I committing a crime for doing something legal and not "morally wrong" in my country?

"Well even if it's not illegal it's still wrong!!"

Opinions are just opinions. Keep it that way. What's right for me might be wrong for you, and what's wrong for me might be right for you.

Also, something can be morally okay but still illegal. Stealing isn't always morally wrong, but it is illegal (in my country, at least)

What if a poor parent stole bread for their starving kids? Last time I checked, it's not bad to want to feed your kids. Eat the rich, btw.

Even if I was a starving shop owner, I'd be completely fine if someone stole my products for the sake of a loved one's health. I'd rather lose $2 than two kids.

Also another thing that pisses me off is when antis say ANYTHING regarding the AOC.

Guess what antis, Scott Pilgrim isn't a "bad person," he lives in Canada and his relationship is legal.

Plus, I personally think the AOC should be RAISED. I think it should globally be 25, or at least 20.

But I'm not gonna try to tear apart relationships because they're doing something outside of what I think is wrong.

Because it may not be wrong for them.

And it's not okay to assume.

Please. Normalize minding your own business. I beg of you. Please.

Oh btw I thought of literally all of this at 3 am watching markiplier and eating a poptart while drawing fnaf yaoi 😇

The intelligence I gain via autism is astounding

[marvellousimagines]

TW: Implied torture, blood and bloodloss, Cazador being Cazador

You tensed as the door to your cell opened, but let out a sigh of relief when you saw the familiar white curls of a particular elf vampire spawn.

“Astarion!” you called his name in surprise and relief, though not so loud as to draw attention. “You found me.”

“Of course I did, my dear,” Astarion replied. “Unfortunately, it took a lot out of me to just get here. Would you mind if I had just a little bit of your blood, help me get an edge over Cazador for our escape?”

Something didn’t seem quite right. Astarion seemed off, but that may have just been from hunger. This was the first time he’s directly asked for some of your blood since that first night when you woke up with him hovering over you. It had to be bad if he was asking again.

“Yes, of course,” you reply, tilting your head in invitation, the scars from Astarion’s previous bites on full display.

Astarion smirked, coming in close and biting down. You felt the usual pain, then numbness, as Astarion began to suck your blood.

He didn’t stop when he normally would.

“Astarion?” You prompted, giving him a nudge. You felt your extremities go numb, your vision tunneling. “Astarion, that’s too much!” You tried to push him off but the blood loss had you weakened. You blinked heavily, struggling to stay conscious and alert.

You heard a chuckle from Astarion, but it was not his voice. As he pulled away, the illusion magic faded, revealing Cazador in Astarion’s place.

“You are quite the willing morsel. I just had to see for myself how quickly you bare your neck for a bite,” Cazador taunted, running a finger down your throat. You were too numb, feeling too hazy to do much of anything except stare at your captor in fear.

At some point, Cazador had left. You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you drifted in and out of sleep.

By the time you recovered enough from the vampire lord draining your blood to just feel the usual post-bite wooziness, muffled sounds off in the distance caught your attention. You couldn't be sure, but it sounded like a fight, you swore you heard shouting and the sound of metal clashing.

After the sounds faded, your cell door opened and again Astarion stepped through. You flinched away, unsure if this was another trick.

“Hey, Y/N, darling, it’s just me,” Astarion said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Is… is it really you, Astarion?” you asked, afraid now of Cazador taking advantage of your trusting nature again.

A familiar, warm voice outside the cell behind Astarion answered for him. “Who else would it be, Soldier?” Karlach asked, and you flinched as you thought of the answer.

Astarion looked at you with sympathetic understanding, your reaction apparently telling him everything. You felt the familiar squirming of the tadpole that signaled a link to another and opened your mind to it. Flashes of panic, worry, as Astarion realized who took you from camp. His determination to get you back eclipsing the fear he felt marching right up to Cazador’s door. The blood of the vampire lord as Astarion stabbed into him while your other companions watched his back. Then finally, you as seen through his eyes, relief that you’re okay.

As you came back to your own mind, you saw anger on Astarion’s face, though not pointed at you. You were sure that, through the tadpole bond, he had seen Cazador's trick of using his image to lull you into a false sense of security. “Cazador’s dead now. We’re safe from him.” He held out his hand.

You took his hand and pulled yourself up. Your vision tunneled slightly at the sudden shift of position and you swayed a bit. However, you let yourself fall forward slightly, wrapping your arms around Astarion’s shoulders in a hug and burying your face in his chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling, now let’s get you out of here,” Astarion said gently. Once it was clear you couldn’t make it out under your own power, Astarion carefully lifted you into his arms to carry you out of Cazador's dungeon.

[jinkitsuragi]

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

Unspecified personality disorder w/ high narcissistic traits culture is being so on the fence with quitting smoking bc I really really want to smoke, but also I just went around telling everyone I was quitting and made it a whole new personality trait and if I relapse now then everyone is gonna think I’m not capable enough. So here I am powering through withdrawals like the bonified badass boy-girl girl-boy I am while secretly wishing I was sucking up a fat drag right now and wondering if the praise I’m receiving is even worth it (and it apparently is bc I’m still going strong three days in and at the peak of withdrawal). Damn, I’m doing amazing. Someone should hold me and tell me all about how great I’m doing in excruciating detail.

.

[one-fish-a-day]

day 29

Fish with totally normal values