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shoyudon · 3 days

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𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 .ᐟ

them forgetting a date night.

starring. gojo, sukuna, toji x fem! reader

heads up. cursing, no fluff, sukuna can use a phone (bcs u taught him lol /j), sukuna calling u "woman"

note. haiii, how are you guys doing? make sure to take care of yourself!! i'm feeling a bit angsty today, so i'm gonna write a bit of angst. i miss gojo, like so much u guys :( i might make a part two for this btw hehe

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

the one thing you hated more than people being late was people who don't keep their promises — your boyfriend wasn't an exception to it. gojo's a busy man, you get it. for months you haven't been able to see him because he was so caught up in the jujutsu world; he saves people dan and night from lingering curses that it broke you a bit.

the jujutsu world treats him like a weapon; and you never liked it. despite your constant battering on him, trying to get him to quit and just settled in for a quiet life, he tells you that he can't. that people needed him, and you felt selfish.

but isn't it fine to be selfish sometimes?

clutching onto your phone, you'd tried dialing gojo's number at least six times before he answers. his voice groggy and slow, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, "huh . . . hello?"

you wanted to yell at him, especially because he was the one who has been reminding you about this particular date night — and he was the one to forget about it, "good sleep?" you ended up asking him, voice hard.

"y/n . . . why did you—"

"why did i call? oh, i don't know. maybe because my boyfriend stood me up for an hour and a half. i look like an idiot sitting here, satoru," you mutter out in embarrassment, avoiding the lingering gazes from both waiters and waitresses around you.

for the past hour, you've lost count of how many times you'd ask them to refill your glass of tea — embarrassing. then telling them you were waiting for someone when they tried to ask you if you were going to order anything since there were people waiting for a table, just for the said person not showing up.

"what time is— oh, fuck. baby, i'm so sorry, i fell asleep when i was work—"

before he could finish his words, you finished it for him, "working. i get it, you're always working. clearly, you don't have time for anything else, right?" you ask him, signaling the waiter nearby for the bill.

"baby, i know. i'm so sorry, i'm on my way, okay? please," he whispers. you could hear a few shuffling on the background; along with a few curses he muttered under his breath as he stumble over his feet, mind hazy from all the sudden movements he was doing despite just waking up.

"no need. i'm leaving the place," you mutter, walking out of the restaurant — heels clacking on the pavement, "and 'm leaving you, because clearly you're not ready for a relationship, so bye."

gojo yells out, "what? no, baby. i swear — i'll make it up to you, please. don't leave me . . ." he rambled on the same words over and over again, "where are you? i'm picking you up. please, can we talk about this? i'm sorry, i know i should've—"

"bye, satoru," and with that you ended the call.

──────〃★ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

you fiddled the hem of your dress as you sat inside the almost closed restaurant, the last speck of hope you had on your boyfriend —sukuna— dissipating into hopelessness. standing up you walked over to the cashier, taking out your card to pay for the one glass of shrimp cocktail and one glass of white wine.

the cashier shot you a sympathetic look, and you didn't dare to look her into her eyes. face hard from embarrassment and shame, "thank you for coming, come again next time, ma'am . . ." she bids you goodbye as she returns your card.

walking out of the restaurant that now had the 'closed' sign flipped made your stomach churn in mixed feelings: anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness, everything all at once.

sinking your nails onto the palm of your hand, you muttered out strings of curses. you knew being in a relationship with someone who had no understanding to the concept of love was a hard thing — but honestly, you thought you got a hang of it. all this time you had been nothing but patient with sukuna, but maybe even that wasn't enough for him.

three hours. you sat alone inside the restaurant you booked for the both of you for three hours — each hour depleting your hope even more. and sukuna just managed to fuck it up even after he said he'd try. well, you should've underlined the keyword there: he said he'd try not that he'd come.

maybe you saw it coming yet it still disappointed you anyways.

your phone rang. even before you see who it was — you knew it's none other than sukuna. your heart screamed at you to answer his phone call, but your mind told you to leave it ringing because you were in no mood to talk to him. yet, at the end — you still pressed the answer button.

"what?"

"where are you?" his rough voice echoed through the line as you walked down the nearly empty street, holding onto your purse, "place's closed."

scoffing, you answered, "'f course it's closed, it's almost ten. i've been waiting for three hours, ryo. three hours."

you could hear him inhale sharply, "i was caught up with something, woman. where are you now?" he questioned. hearing a few car honking behind on the background, "where are you? answer me."

"doesn't matter, i left. and i'm leaving you, i was wrong thinking maybe i could've changed you — turns out, i couldn't. good luck to you," you mutter out sternly.

sukuna raised a brow, "y're kidding."

you weren't, and all he could hear next was the loud dial tune of the other line hanging up — now did he realize that this was all serious and you were actually leaving him for good.

──────〃★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you sighed, dialing toji for the first time of the night when he said that he was going to pick you up for a date, the phone rung for a while before going into voicemail. grumbling under your breath, you tried dialing him again for the second time, which ended up the same way.

all these time spent on makeup and picking out the best outfit — all for nothing as your boyfriend, toji failed to show up on time. angry, you tried calling him again for the third time, only for it to end up in voicemail yet again. this time you decided to leave a message for him.

"hey, you forgot. didn't you? hope you're happy with yourself, cause 'm not."

dating toji wasn't the easiest — but you love him, no matter what he was like. and it was stupid of you to do so, all this time you've defended his name against your friends' malice towards him, saying how he wasn't treating you well enough and that you deserved so much better.

despite all that, you love him. disregarding their words, retorting back to how toji treats you well, which he does — except for the times he tended to forget about everything, even you. maybe it was time to open your eyes and actually break up; because you did deserve better than this.

it would be a shame to let all this makeup go to waste, and so you hailed a cab and decided to go out for a treat. and made the best out of everything, that is until toji decided it would be the most convenient time to call you back amidst your little "me time".

wiping your hand on the napkin, you answered him, "huh, you're alive," you muttered out, huffing.

he sighs, "i forgot, sorry." you couldn't see him, but toji actually looked remorseful, already on his way out of his apartment to yours, "i'm on my way."

you chuckled, "doesn't matter. i left my house," you informed, taking a bite out of the crab meat, "so don't bother coming — and i don't think i don't deserve this kind of treatment from anyone, even you, toji. i'm breaking up with you because clearly you don't take this relationship as seriously as i am."

toji furrowed his brows, "i forgot, i fucked up, i can make it up. where are you right now?" he asks, his voice still as calm as cucumber. but the look on his face contradicted the tone of his voice.

"bye, toji. good luck."

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cenorii · 2 days

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Indifference and Excella

Today I'd like to talk about an issue like indifference and its consequences. But we won't talk about whether it's bad or not, I just want to discuss how Excella's indifference changed the history of all the following games.

Excella had known Wesker since about 2003, but had been directly close to him since about 2006, when she gained control of Tricell Inc. From 2006 to 2009, she was close to him, through which she began to experience romantic feelings that blinded her critical thinking. But even without the crush, she was indifferent to what kind of person he was, and that probably always annoyed him in people (Wesker's second report states how he hates people who elevate others only for their background and not for their personal accomplishments. Excella exalted Wesker perhaps not even for his research but for his looks, that is, she did not read between the lines at all and did not pay attention to who was actually standing in front of her).

Being indifferent to his personality, she did not notice at all, so unstable man was next to her. The object of her lust had a huge bouquet of psychological problems and inferiority complexes, which he hid behind a mask of calmness.

However, even this mask gave a crack in re5, you can tell by the animation of the sudden outburst of anger.

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Based on all of this, Excella hasn't been paying attention to the fact that the person next to her isn't what she thinks he is. Chris is blind to Wesker's psychological problems too and he is clearly not the person who would suggest he go to a psychiatrist, but he, unlike Excella, has good reasons for this. For example, he's blinded by his resentment toward Wesker (for the mansion, for kidnapping Jill, and so on), he's also blinded by hatred. But Excella treated Wesker well, was directly next to him, and still missed the fact that everything in his character screams that he needs help.

But while in re5 he's angry because his plan is slowly falling apart, in the Lost in Nightmares DLC, it's much deeper than that...

He just learned the truth about his life, and his anger is probably directed at that fact. He's angry at the truth and the fact that his past continues to haunt him (Chris and Jill). His past in the form of Umbrella, who he ran away from, has also caught up with him again, turning out to be the truth he had to face. Because of his pretense and “calm” image, he never learned to deal with his emotions, and I'm surprised that Excella never noticed it, since he must have been angry when the cockroaches mutated on his ship.

Yes, if someone had offered him psychological help, he obviously wouldn't have liked it, but he would have realized anyway that someone had shown him attentiveness. He would have felt that someone cares about something much deeper in him than his external image, and maybe that would have made a difference.

Just imagine that ONE caring person could have changed the course of further history by showing of the right attention. Especially if this person had appeared long before re5, for example in 2006, when Wesker was the most psychologically unstable because he learned the truth from Spencer. Feeling that someone didn't just sympathize with him, but wanted to help him deal with an deep problem, perhaps he would have made other decisions in the future.

And if just ONE person in his past had shown genuine empathy for his personality, advising him to see a specialist, maybe the whole RE story would have gone differently. There would be no Jill kidnapping, no Uroboros, no biological weapons and the organizations responsible for them, because Wesker, based on his words, is disgusted by war and pestilence. His dreams are of a world without decadence, a utopia where there is no destruction. And biological weapons are precisely the tools of war, pestilence and destruction. If he had other goals, Wesker would have gone up against BOW, and knowing how well he was able to counter his competitors, the bioterrorists wouldn't stand a chance.

After all, in fact, Wesker is not so much interested in Uroboros and power, as in getting people from it who would be equal to him and consider him. His main problem is a sense of detachment, as if he is superfluous, different from everyone else as a white crow, and so he needs a society made up of white crows like him. He strives to stop feeling "different". And for the sake of this, he has made the mistaken decision to “make others like him”, because he considers "ordinary" people unworthy.

However, he turns a blind eye to the fact that all these people he considers unworthy have a chance to merge with Uroboros and become like him. So it's the same "unworthy" people, just in a different cover, you know? This is another fact that proves that he doesn't care what kind of people will become the Uroboros users, he wants that they just exist. It's important to him that there are people like him.

Let's not forget that Wesker developed many weapons against bioweapons, the blueprints for which were later found by Blue Umbrella ("Albert System Weapon"). So even being a bioterrorist involuntarily, he developed means against BOW, indirectly speaking out against his own work

Draw your own conclusions, I was just sharing my thoughts on indifference and how Excella's blind love contributed to the situation <3

#resident evil #rebhfun #albert wesker #chris redfield #excella gionne #cenori's long posts about RE

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thenightmarketofdathomir · 3 days

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Oh great Wishmonger, how would our boys react to a lover who is a total giver at heart and wants to be helpful to the three most important people in her life in literally any way? Need help filing horns or claws? Already grabbed a file. Cynernetic legs acting up and being bothersome? She’s not a mechanic, but well shit, she’ll try to do something. Tattoos need a touch-up/up-keep? Hell, let her hold the jar of ink and she’ll be content to be contributing in some way. It’s almost embarrassing how much she wants to be of service to her loves but tbh she doesn’t care. Just, a lover who is completely devoted to her boys and wanting to bring every comfort she can to them, no matter how small.

Who's paragraphs? Don't know her.

Warnings: Feral's mostly fine (indirect references to his time under the Nightsisters referred to in a negative light.) Savage is fine. Maul... I went hard: indirect references to child abuse, indirect references to murder (Daleen), some degree of C-PTSD can be inferred, touch aversion, anger management problems, Force choking but not in the fun way, red flags/toxic behaviour, HEA (probably)

Feral: Accepts your help with an incredulous smirk, at first. Nightbrothers look out for each other, but it's a boys' club -- a different standard for survival: what is clan is theirs and what is theirs is clan. The Nightsisters... well. That's another story. Feral doesn't believe your sincerity. He waits for the other shoe to drop, to see your sleight of hand in action. It's in his nature to exploit the situation because he thinks it's a trick -- he wants to see how far you'll go. So he gives you a few "helpful" suggestions: next thing you know, you're mending the tears in his tunic, and cooking his eggs just so, and rubbing his calves until your fingers are sore. You're tired, but he sees that you're trying so hard to make him happy. It takes him a few days of telling you what to do before the feeling of superiority its given him starts to waver. Then he starts to feel a little badly about it, even as you keep working at trying to get a genuine smile out of him. Finally, five days in, he decides you're not going to quit, and he genuinely feels rotten. He takes your hands, stopping your work, seeing your chipped nails and tenderized skin and sweaty face, and he brings you to the Dreaming River where he coaxes you into the shallows, bar of soap in hand, and sits you between his knees where the current is gentlest. "I'm returning the favour," he tells you when he bathes you, notching fingers into your tense shoulders to ease the soreness from your muscles, undoing your clothing with deft fingers. "Nightbrothers take care of their own," he says in his rough tones. Because no one accepts the help of another that they haven't laid claim to.

Savage: Has no bloody idea what to do with you when you fuss over him. Doesn't like it. Doesn't respond well at all -- he has always been the protector. He is the rock among his brothers, and he's never forgotten that his failure resulted in losing Maul to Sidious when they were children. It's why is always been so over-protective of Feral. It's why he refuses your help over and over, and why he remains stoic when you grow sadder. He doesn't understand that the things you offer aren't meant to unseat him as the family's natural protector, but to show your appreciation of everything he's done for his kin. So you trick him. Obvious solution. Or you try to, because while Savage's hearts are large, he's often on his guard, and he can pretend to not see the careful way you polish his armour, the way you turn down his comforters before he falls into bed, or the placement of his weapons to make them easier for him to grab on his way out the door (two feet farther so he doesn't kick them over.) Little things that he accepts because he can pretend not to notice. The thing is, he does, and Savage's reciprocation is a subtle art: your seat shifted two inches closer at dinner, the chair pulled out so he can glide you into place at his side with a grunt and a nudge; the little pots of potion and fragrant tonics on your night stand that appear mysteriously when you comment on a new ache; the way his kills come back already dressed so you fuss less when trying a new preparation for dinner. Little things no one dares remark on, but have enormous impact on the ways in which he lets you in. That's the thing about Savage: the biggest, fastest, and strongest of the three brothers needs to take things slow, especially when it comes to letting someone new get close.

Maul: Maul's is the response you did not sign up for. His station, his occupation, his preoccupations wear on him, and the longer he spends on Dathomir with the ghosts whispering in his ears, and his syndicates taking his daylight hours, his obsessions turning him inside out, you forget that all those sleepless hours and darksome thoughts spoken aloud when he thinks he's alone are the direct result of a lifetime battling against a destiny that loves him not at all and cares for him less. So darling, don't despair when you touch the back of his neck that first time with a gesture of tenderness and you find yourself pinned by the throat to a nearby wall in an invisible, unrepentant chokehold. You interrupted his reading, the book abandoned. "Forgive me," is all he mutters when he leaves you slumped, your little offering of fruits and meats and cheese scattered around your knees. (He hasn't been eating.) You clean up the mess. You pick up the pieces of shattered pottery. You try again the next day. This time, he watches you warily, like a caged animal, eyes narrowed when you return to his chambers. "I slaughtered the last person who offered me the same gesture of kindness," he explains. It's not an apology. You bring him a concoction the Nightbrothers drink but he doesn't recognize, even though it's traditional amongst his kin. He asks if it's poisoned, "Because that would be a fitting rejoinder for his behaviour yesterday." You leave it with him, an ache growing under your sternum that won't abate because you don't know how to help a man that only knows pain. So instead, you remain within his orbit, allowing him to observe you at your best with his brothers, letting him spy on the dejariik game that Feral lets you win, letting him hear your laughter. You know he was in the shadows when Savage prepared you lunch the other day, and welcomed you when you offered to feed him the tender morsels from your fingers while sitting on his knee, his large hand supporting your hip. He watched as you filed Feral's horns in the exact short style that he prefers, careful of the trim around the tender bases. He's watched them warm to you, your affection demonstrated in unassuming little things that all cobble together into a picture that is unfamiliar to him because he's never lived it, but the space allows him one thing: the opportunity to crave what was never offered to him. Desire is a strange thing, longing even more so, but Maul is a quick study, his feelings are powerful. Heady. So you remain patient, awaiting the day when finally, uncomfortably straight-backed and rigid, he beckons you, "Attend me. I require your... assistance." There are so many possibilities swirling around your head when you follow him to his chambers that you'd never expect the bound collection of flimsiplasts awaiting you on his couches. "You wished to be of service, and I wish to make amends. Let us... begin again." You take the seat beside him when offered, curious at where this is going. A slanted glance in your direction, and Maul inclines his head. You hold your breath. "You may touch me again," is all he says. "I would welcome it." You pretend to not see the way his skin pebbles with frisson at the brush of your fingertips, the way he stiffens under the careful attention. His eyes flutter shut, his shoulders heaving, and when he opens them once more, he murmurs, "This is an ancient book of poetry, left to me by my mother. May I read to you from it? I find it most diverting." It is not everything, but as you lean closer into his side as his melodic murmur takes over, you realize: it is the start of something.

#Darth Maul x Reader #Darth Maul x You #Savage Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x You #Feral x Reader #Feral x You #Feral Opress x Reader #Feral Opress x You #Feral (Star Wars) x Reader #Feral (Star Wars) x You #Darth Maul #Maul #Savage Opress #Feral Opress #Feral (Star Wars)#Opress Brothers #Daleen mention #Wrath of Darth Maul #the night market of dathomir

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dusty-daydreams · 2 days

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Hi! Fic Anon again!

I hate when people say that Penelope only talks about people that bullied her when its not true! Daphne, Edwina, Kate and Eloise NEVER bullied her and were nothing but kind to her.

You know who did bully her? Cressida but I never hear Wistledown talking about her.

Have a nice day!

I totally agree Fic Anon!

It feels like a lot of gap filling is happening with people that claim she was bullied.

She was bullied by her sisters and by Cressida. She never truly talks about any of them. She talks about her own family, but not her sisters directly and the only real mention of Cressida I can remember is her complimenting her fainting technique from the Prince/Art gallery episode.

I feel like there is this narrative that Penelope is bullied, purely because of this was an 80’s teen rom com, Penelope, the shy wallflower who isn’t skinny would be bullied.

But this isn’t set in an American 80’s high school.

It’s set in a fantasy version of Regency England, where the demure not-skinny girl isn’t the focus of ridicule. Especially when gossiping about each other was women’s primary weapon to bully each other, and we have been shown categorically this season that Penelope has not actually been directly gossiped about until she started stepping out from the wall.

Not being courted does not mean that Penelope was being bullied, especially not by other women who have very little power over who men choose to court.

Yeah I don’t know what else to say other than the fact that Penelope isn’t being bullied by anyone at any point in the show except her sisters (who she doesn’t care about or care about their opinions) and Cressida (which wasn’t consistent it was just when Cressida happened to cross paths with her and felt in competition with Penelope for friendships and courtships).

It’s not an 80’s teen movie with mean girls and good girl protagonists.

Further, Penelope’s primary subjects either don’t interact with her at all, or are far from mean to her.

Daphne is the sister of her friends, and Daphne is highly invested in being kind. You cannot make me believe that Daphne was cruel to any of her siblings friends.

Edwina actively tries to befriend Penelope, who doesn’t reciprocate because she is too busy mooning after Colin.

Kate never interacted with her.

Eloise was her friend. Her best friend. Who yes was so busy chasing after Whistledown that she wasn’t always there for Penelope. But Eloise was initially chasing after Whistledown to help fix Penelope’s reputation. Also, Eloise wasn’t always there for Penelope, but equally Penelope wasn’t always there for Eloise. (Gaslighting her about the clues to Whistledown? Prioritising her business where she publishes people’s suffering and dirty secrets over spending time with Eloise at events?)

So yeah, the idea that anyone other than Cressida was bullying Penelope is laughable, let alone the idea that Penelope only writes about people who bullied her.

#anti penelope featherington #bridgerton #fic anon #asks #bridgerton analysis

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dark-elf-writes · 2 days

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Sally would hear Poseidon say that and immediately attack him and Poseidon would just be taking and telling everyone not to interfere because, “he fucked up and that was not what he meant to say and it was worded really fucking poorly and he deserves to get his ass beat for that”

(That line causes so many feelings in me because Poseidon is trying to apologize for the pain Percy will be forced through for being born his son and part of me has always read it as Poseidon thinking Percy would suffer less if he was never born but he’s still grateful on some level to have Percy for a son and I’m crying)

“How could you?”

It took a moment for Percy to place the words. To register the absence at his side where his mother’s warmth had been. To realize why everyone else in the room stared in shock at the two people in the center of the room.

Sally Jackson was small. It was a weird thing to think. For so much of his life Percy’s mom has seemed to be so much bigger than him. So much taller. So much more prepared to take on the world. But here in the center of the throne room turned reading circle and occasional torture chamber where Percy was not only subjected to hearing his deepest thoughts but having to watch other people react to them too she looked tiny.

In the light of Olympus his mom was so small. So mortal. And yet there she was beating against his father’s chest with closed fists as she sobbed in a mix of grief and fury.

And Poseidon, the god of the sea, the earthshaker, the stormbringer, was letting her.

“How dare you!” She screamed again, the words sounding strangled. “How dare you tell our baby that!”

Zeus rose, reaching for a bolt he wouldn’t find (all of their weapons had been confiscated after all or Percy and Ares would have slaughtered each other by now) but Poseidon waved him off. Waved Paul off too when he rose to pull her away.

“I know.” He said instead, sounding ancient and tired and full of so much grief Percy wanted to cry. “I know.”

Whether he knew why Sally was attacking him or whether he was agree with her that he deserved it Poseidon didn’t say. Simply let her slam her fists against his chest over and over until she slowed and her sons took over in full force.

It was too much. The knowledge of what Gabe had been doing to her son, of what Percy had been forced to live through to save her and the rest of the world, of each and every horror her son had been forced to live through when they hadn’t even finished the first book. Hearing Poseidon, her first love and the man who had given her the most precious gift, say it was a mistake shattered something in her.

Poseidon wrapped his arms around her, tucking her close to his bulk while she sobbed.

“I worded it poorly,” He said full of apology and anguish. Those sea green eyes met Percy’s over his mother’s head. “I am several decades out of practice with children, but that is no excuse. I should have worded it better, and by failing to do so I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Zeus choked. Percy wondered just how many times any of the gods apologized much less one of the big three.

He didn’t know what to say. What was the protocol for a god apologizing to a mortal? Was there one? Percy doubted it.

“It’s—“

“Perseus Jackson if you say it’s fine I swear I’ll—“ Annabeth doesn’t finish whatever she is planning on doing. Percy has just enough self preservation not to push it. Barely.

But it was fine. Kind of. He knows it’s not what his dad meant. Sure it hurt but that was years ago now. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. And Percy still didn’t know what to say.

“I will always be grateful that you are my son,” Poseidon said, sparing Percy. “I was simply… regretful that the life of a Halfblood, a hero, is one that is rarely peaceful. You were not a mistake. I just wish I could spare you the pain.”

That Percy knew what to do with, sort of. “I wouldn’t change it.” He said, his smile feeling gossamer thin on his face. “No matter what I wouldn’t want to be anyone other than your son. This is where I was meant to be. What I was meant to do… and Thalia would have sucked being the prophecy kid.”

“Hey!”

“You were a tree, Grace!”

“I was a damn good tree, Jackson!”

He was grateful she picked up their usual bickering so easily. Grateful Nico made a show of arguing his own merit as a prophecy kid. Grateful that the eyes turned away from him and went to the growing spectacle.

Percy honestly had no idea how they were going to make it through the rest of the books.

#the elf talks #pjo

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margridarnauds · 3 months

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Working on Malla's gifset just reminds me of how canonically screwed she is as a Lolth-Sworn Drow

#like. one of the most devastating things I realized during her run #was that it isn't that she's evil for the hell of it #she thinks that Kitrye's the weak one for running away and staying loyal to Eilistraee #but she's the one who knows on some level how expendable she is to Lolth #and can't do anything about it #because she's a weapon. she always has been #so she doesn't encourage Lae'zel to break away from Vlaakith #because what's the good in it? these things never work #better to keep your head down and do their work for them #she gets some freedom from being on the surface but she knows Lolth will jerk her back in a second #and that her loyalty means nothing to Lolth because they're all expendable #and the only one to break her out of that is Minthara (and Kitrye to a lesser extent)#because she can't kill her lover. and she can't kill her sister.#i just. i love Kitrye but I also love Malla #oc: mallathalra

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licorishh · 5 months

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OH YEAH ALSO finally watched the FNAF movie with the coolest person on Earth, 11/10 movie, Mike looked ready to curl up into a fetal position on the floor and burst into tears at all moments, he is so me, would watch again

#fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt #anyway. i loved the end scene where the four of them do the thing with afton #i was also extremely glad the springlock scene was very palatable and not gory or overly vivid because i can't and won't watch that stff #when i tell you i HOLLERED when cory showed up. almost cried. my BOY #cory is the king of youtube fr fr. nobody does it like him #he's on a hiatus again but we the samurai will patiently wait for the shogun's return #i am getting off-topic. matpat's nametag said “ness” which was extremely funny #afton was in literally two maybe three scenes tops which i was not expecting but he stole the show ofc. very spazzy. dig it #vanessa was so mysterious??#i kinda loved her and mike's dynamic though. so very silly the pair of them (running from real-life manifestations of fictious characters)#I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW FOXY WAS IN THE MOVIE. THAT MADE ME SO HAPPY #foxy's always been my favorite. my boy. he can have a little murder. as a treat #VANESSA HAD A GUN!! VERY COOL AND GOOD #she barely even shot afton though. honeybun literally had the upper hand by a mile #that man did not have a long-range weapon. he was entirely at her mercy. if she'd shot him all the animatronics would've instantly helped #still like her for some reason though. she permanently has the default sim expression etched on her face #also i don't know if y'all saw but in the credits it says foxy's humming was my boy kellen goff!!#mike was so STRESSED and so DISTRACTED the ENTIRE TIME i see so much of myself in him #can we also agree josh hutcherson looks great with a goatee like that is eons ahead of the peeta look (never read/watched himger gims ok)

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rocicrew · 2 years

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#the expanse #theexpanseedit #naomi nagata #klaes ashford #marco inaros #mine : gifs.#i am unable to stop making naomi gifsets that hit me right in the feels #she tried sm to do that #even with marco in her youth #she wanted to change things - for the better -#but every attempt ended up being weaponized #her code #giving the protomolecule as a bargaining chip and that ending up in marco's and later duarte's hands #(not that i think she's responsible for it bc fred had the sample for years - it was his responsibility at that point)#and nearly tearing up the new family she found #her work on the behemoth - rlly wanting and needing to be a part of the belt's step forward -#and seeing that ship be used as a weapon to fire to the people she loves #(i tried to find another way but there isn't)#and she's left in this in between of wanting to be involved wanting to take action for the better and fearing the cost #because it has always been the same cost #she even thinks she killed filip for the greater good #and that's i think where she gets misunderstood #at least in the terms of loyalty #because she's not really selfish nor truly disloyal #it's just that her loyalty doesn't come without questioning (not to a nation not to even a person)#because blind loyalty led her to the worse outcome

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rohirric-hunter · 9 months

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#lotro #do you think that when sara oakheart leads you down the side passage to get her stick in the hideout #because shes trying to get rid of witnesses #i mean she very much does grab a stick that she always has afterwards #but i dont think its an amarthiel thing. she never has a staff #so i mean that might have been some kind of artifact or weapon #perhaps it was what was powering the illusion? idk #but it could also have just been a convenient excuse #and yeah part of it is that shes trying to distract you so you cant prevent amdir from committing a few murders or w/e #but maybe she wants the brigands dealt with

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araneitela · 20 days

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Jace: Sends a meta ask about combat preferences Me: Okay, okay, let me make this short and touch on just the katana... The equivalent of piles, and piles of paperwork in my OneNote and FF tabs: 🤔

#[ ooc. ] don't try to make it logical or edit your soul according to the fashion. rather; follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.#[ stitch hiss at myself. ]#[ like i've always known the katana is a massive topic. and i can't/won't talk about it at total length in this post-- ]#[ and it'll just be an intro to it of sorts. or a tldr without /all/ of the info. but man. ]#[ let's give a chinese character a japanese blade that holds /so much/ significance. ]#[ like i'm aware people just kind of go 'oh katanas are overdone'-- sure. everyone loves giving their character a katana and go 'woop!' ]#[ because they're cool. and yes they are. but they are /so/ representative of so much. and they're not your regular blade. ]#[ they're not utilized in the same way. they're not practiced the same. and i'm far from an expert on these. but man. ]#[ every time i think that i'm done. i learn more things. and the more i learn. the more i realize this woman has such good duality. ]#[ and it's in /everything/. but man the presentation of her as some uncaring individual with little interest is true to /a/ degree. ]#[ but the duality is intense in so many facets. the arachnid vs. the butterfly within one's own reflection. ]#[ the disinterest vs. the curiosity. ]#[ the script vs. her admittance of believing that destiny isn't predetermined and it all /fitting/ without making it inconsistent at all. ]#[ the black vs. the white (shh; can't talk in all details yet). ]#[ the audience's perception as her as evil and yet-- he actively following a sense of morality and acknowledging it in her sq. ]#[ her detachment as she kills vs. wielding a katana to do it-- the weapon tied most strongly to justice. morality. /a code of honor/. ]#[ i'm feral about her. genuinely. it's like i love my two others intensely; but this is the kind of 'grey' i've been craving to write. ]#[ it's different. it's so different. ]

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elliesbelle · 10 months

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lol

#humungous trigger warning for the tags in the post #but i just need to vent somewhere and i don't want people irl to be in my business about this #or to get too worried and all...#tw: mentions of death and weapons and mental illness and suicide and sh-ing and abuse etc.#please feel free to ignore like i said i just need somewhere to vent #anyway i'm just so sick of being alive fr i've been so massively suicidal this past week and i'm so tired #having bpd AND bipolar AND depression AND ptsd and etc....#it really hurts so much #and my personal life is in fucking shambles like i just don't know what to do anymore #i feel so fucking alone all the goddamn time #so many friends don't give a fuck about anymore like they straight up just don't check up on me or anything #and my ex... i just. why can't you be more fucking understanding of what i'm fucking going through because of you #how the fuck did you turn my months-long depressive episode into me not caring about you cause i couldn't open about what i was going thru #i get you were fucking lonely but i was trying not to fucking die i was over here being talked off ledges #and then sending me a voice memo saying that you were lonely and trying to make an effort but i just didn't care about any of it #it's not fucking about you!!!! i didn't even let my own girlfriend or best friend in!!!! that's what fucking mental illness is!!!!!!#you promised that you'd be more understanding about my mental illnesses when we started talking again #what the fuck is this then?#why am i breaking down every time that you ignore me or take forever to text #like... she's gone back to calling me by my name instead of calling me 'baby' like she always has #she hasn't called me by my name since we first started talking it's been literally fucking years #and not saying i love you to me anymore...#and how can you fucking promise to stay in my life and still be my 'friend' and then fucking ignore me and don't answer my text messages #how the fuck am i supposed to feel that you haven't responded to me in over 24 hours but you react to days old ig messages from me #i fucking hate having borderline for fucking real i hate that she's my fp it hurts so fucking much #i feel like a fucking child i can't deal with this #i literally woke up from my sleep at like 3 or 4 am this morning nearly screaming #and then my gf found me on the living room couch crying and cuts all over my arm and a kitchen knife next to me #my left arm has been stinging all day from the fresh wounds #too painful to bandage them at the moment

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deva-arts · 10 months

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Testing out CSP Assets hehehe

The city can be pretty beautiful with enough distance and a nice view.

Oh. I forgot what kind of story this was.

She ends up short circuiting the main terminals and letting it crash into a processing facility. Then she takes a stress nap and worsens her insomnia.

#sera in her big girl suit- one she designed herself for once #Reddish Burgundy has always been her favorite color #And the gold comes from the suit's integration with her weapon #There's a very specific reason why all of her weapons are made of that “gold”#One of the rare times you get to see her back for once #That big weaponized drone is an OVR-S; also known as overseer sentinels. They are the eyes in the sky keeping count of everything for OS.#They are rarely used for combat due to the size and inconvenience in battle #but certain exceptions are made for threats like Sera.#She took something far too important from the main OS to be left with all her limbs in one piece and a head full of eyeballs #No opportunities will be wasted. Sera hates these because they rarely have a pilot and often take ages to hack into.#plus they fail spectacularly #one crash from these ships is enough to destroy a city district- they're easily the size of a football field #Even worse yet are the rotary blades used to rudder the ships. They could easily slice her in half- armor and all #She has thankfully managed to avoid dying to them thus far. they usually end up crashing into the ocean and ruining variant imports #sentinels will usually monitor under a more advanced cloaking than the kind given to protected variants #Just under the cloud cover. Sera's cloaking functions the same way if not better thanks to her personal touches on it #Hers is a mix of both illusion and cloaking. in an emergency she could technically walk into a human space as long as she isn't touched #she would be okay unlike most variants who have trouble fitting in because of the city's mandated infrared cameras.#suffice to say there's a lot of things going on in this city that most people- humans and variants alike are none the wiser about.#ARK_SYSTEMA #Seraphinatag

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slocumjoe · 1 year

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It's so funny to think how we both have the incredible specific scenario of 'my sole survivor was stuck somewhere while serving in the military and had to eat his fellow soldiers and now he's a Cannibal'. Its like that Doofinshmirtz meme. Its weird that this happened twice. Here I was thinking I had galaxy brained when I did this a month ago and bam!! You did it too!!

8 END is both a blessing and in the right wrong circumstances, a curse

#i write my characters around the perk chart jahajshslhshsls #so gus has always been perceptive and durable and agile (all special stats relating to sniping w/ vats hits and vats accuracy and AP usage)#so those perks informed his character #he sometimes goes behind backs. he has a quick eye and picks up on things easily #he has a chem tolerance. he has an iron stomach #and he is a survivalist even if that means he has to eat people sometimes #and Isadora is a builder. So her stats are STR and INT. she uses power armor and heavy weapons.#she does the literal and metaphorical heavy lifting being a combat engineer. she needs to be able to carry the heavy parts and tools #and she needs the brains to do anything with them #so like...shes both brains and brawn but Gus is the heart and people person #and hes the one with the personal reason to be bothering #like Isadora just wants to shoot the guy that shot her (kellogg) but Gus had his whole ass baby stolen #so its like. Isadora is very competent and qualified to do the plot but she doesnt have the reason. Gus does.#and the /need/ to do this. because hes so guilt ridden over everything in his life he feels like this is his final chance to redeem himself #so he throws himself into the Minutemen and Brotherhood trying to fix the world bit by bit #and he does! but it takes so long that when he finds Shaun finally #Shaun has only a week or so to live #so he redeemed himself but at the cost of finding his son #he spent so much time making a better world for the baby he was looking for and instead all he got was a child's bedroom never to be used #meanwhile Isadora is watching the legacy of the old world terrorize this new one #The Institute was founded by rich white men who thought they knew what was best for the world #the same thing with America. and look how that ended #so shes seeing this continued cycle and shes furious that even after all this time. these fucking people are still oppressing Massachusetts #when Shaun dies Gus gives up and relapses and throws himself in a ditch somewhere to die #and Isadora has to find him and be like *i know this sucks but we are not done. we are not leaving it like this.*#*Shaun was okay. he wasnt in danger. your son was okay. you know who does need you? the Commonwealth.*#*they need you because you are the only person who can look at this wasteland and see something good. we're all here to help you.*#WOW LOOK AT ALL THOSE TAGS. THIS IS WHY U CANT SAFELY TALK OCS W ME. JESUS.#ss; alter #ss; ivy

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vigilantaes · 2 years

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batgirl brainrot

#bbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrr #i wanna write my hcs on her complicated relationships #with the batfam #especially Bruce #some of the new 52 panels talk about how he still sees the weapon she was meant to be and doesn't fully trust her because of it #and it hurts her more than she can ever say #hmmmmmmhhhhgggghhh #also wanna write about my cass's time-line of events since mine ends up drifting more from Bruce and has her duo with cassie #and there's that huge can of worms with shiva where mine accepts her training in her mid to late 20s #which is an unpopular choice to say the least #but boy does it actually get that number one spot for best fighter #also her growing conflict with Bruce's no killing rule especially when everybody around her who isn't a bat #will kill if they have to they're not cruel they're not evil in fact some of them are the definition of good #and cass feels guilty about not feeling bad when these terrible people die #when the reality is that she never got a choice to build her own views on anything #especially that #it was always killing is your job to never kill no matter what #realizing she's in that grey..... needless to say thats rough for her when shes been operating on purely the guilt of her first kill for so #long #Bruce runs on guilt and vengeance and justice #cass really just runs on guilt and necessity because she never got a choice to try something else #and by the time she's questioning this no kill shit she's.... long paid her debts in her head. saved so many more lives #being around shiva doesn't help either since she's so lax with killing and death #and she isn't making her kill. she's all about choice and though she'll never be the best mother #what she truly wants is to give cass the freedom to do whatever she wants which is something she's never had #she straight up told canary she doesn't care what she does with this knowledge she just wanted to pass it down #and cass would use it for good as much as she possibly can #she sees her mother heal the same way she hurts and that potential is just too good to pass up #the MORAL CONFLICT OF IT ALL!!!#ooc.

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sundereign · 7 months

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i feel like base syndra is one of those muses who are so difficult to write just random starters for without plotting, so feel free to come message me for plots, especially if you were eyeing any of her other skinline verses ♥

#syndra is prob going to be a super low energy / low presence blog for me #but she's been sitting in my brain for a few years now and #here she finally is #i just love a powerful rage-filled woman who doesn't care for anything except her own little sanctuary #begging riot to update her voice lines too because she deserves them #like they've updated her lore a little bit but like #i want to HEAR that depth because her current lines just #don't reflect who she is and who she COULD be like #imagine all the bitterness and anger and rage and pain they could weaponize like #at the end of the day syndra is deeply misunderstood and painfully emotional and #i just think there should be a few lines about her family too because she was forced into slumber for at least a century #her family is long gone by now #but anyways #there's just something about syndra that has always made me associate like.#deep dark ocean vibes to her. not just bc of like atlantean or anything and certainly not a mermaid thing but #i don't knowwww how to explain it LMAO #ooc.#tbd.

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shotmrmiller · 2 months

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johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

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