#bare ruined choir

[izurou]

SIT STILL LOOK PRETTY FT. BLEACH MEN

features: kurosaki ichigo, urahara kisuke, grimmjow, abarai renji, zaraki kenpachi, and when you’re squirmy during sex.

contains: female reader. established relationships. very brief cockwarming. unprotected sex. dry humping. fingering. oral sex. choking. pet names. pussy eating god grimmjow. kisuke being stinky (hot version) approx 0.3k words per character.

note: some of these lack the squirming aspect but ignore it okay please i wrote these in a rabid dog state of mind :(

KUROSAKI ICHIGO

ichigo has a raw strength that’s second to none, and the determination to do just about anything in this world. still, you somehow manage to rival him at dire times like this—when he has himself buried inside you, but he’s not moving.

“h-hey, quit it,” he hisses, fingertips searing into your waist as he tries to still the subtle roll of your hips against his. he’s tired—borderline exhausted, but he missed you today, and falling asleep while you warm his cock is one of his favourite forms of intimacy—so long as you behave.

“sorry, can’t get comfy,” you respond, lying right through your teeth as you selfishly twist your hips in search of a little relief.

“right,” he mutters, slipping his cock out from in between your legs with a huff. in one swift, fluid motion—he flips you onto your back, hooking his arms behind your knees and leaning over your body. he eases back into your cunt, keeping you folded in half with his weight. “this any better?”

his presence is as overwhelming as ever—big brown eyes never leaving your own, watching the pleasure flood your face as he slowly begins to thrust in and out of you.

“ichi-go,” you gasp, feeling a wave of heat settle onto your cheeks from the sheer vulnerability of this position. that—paired with the unwavering intensity of his gaze almost has you wishing you would just absorb into the mattress. “ichigo.”

“what, baby?” his voice is low, just barely above a whisper as to not miss a single sound that comes out of you. he has the power to completely ruin you right here and now, but he keeps his pace slow—knowing the lazy drag of his cock against your walls will drive you crazy just a little more. “thought you wanted this?”

“i, i do,” you hiccup, squeezing your eyes shut as he starts to press against that gummy spot deep inside you—and he almost can’t keep it together himself.

“shit,” he groans, pressing a kiss just above your brow before rocking his hips into yours with a bit more force. “then take it, no complaining.”

URAHARA KISUKE

kisuke, who isn’t one for quickies, or half assed under the table handjobs—loves to take his time with you. in his mind, the more you writhe and squirm, the better he’s making you feel.

“please,” you beg, fisting the soft white linen on either side of your head. kisuke’s palm is warm as it runs along your spine, silently encouraging your tits to stay pressed to the mattress, and your ass to stay up.

the heat of his touch moves to your waist, both hands gripping your hips as you grind yourself—completely bare, against the persistent bulge in his boxers. you’re sure there’s a little wet patch staining the fabric, though it’s probably not very little anymore.

a choir of gasps and moans fills the room—most courtesy of you, with the occasional feature from kisuke. you keep your grip on the sheets though, even going as far as to use them for leverage—pulling yourself up the bed and away from the man looming behind you.

“where’re you going, hm?” he purrs, leaning over your fleeing figure and caging you between the mattress and himself. he nuzzles into your neck, holding you impossibly close. “you want me to stop?”

“no, don’t stop,” you blurt out, mere milliseconds after he finishes his question. you can feel his grin pressing into your shoulder—a telltale sign that he’s about to be up to no good.

he proves you right, wedging a hand beneath your body and running a finger between your folds. he does it once more, two times, three times total before he settles that finger on your clit—rubbing small, tight circles.

“that’s it,” he coos, feeling your body start to jerk under his own. he knows you have nowhere to go, sandwiched between his hand and his eager cock—begging to be set free. you bury your face into the bed, accepting defeat as you let him do as he pleases. “atta girl, lemme take care of you.”

GRIMMJOW JAEGERJAQUEZ

the list of things grimmjow hates stretches from floor to ceiling and is forever changing—however, the one constant on his list would be his number one; having to work for a meal.

“s-slow down,” you huff, clamping your thighs shut around his head, and forcing him to take his greedy mouth off your cunt. his lips are wet—glistening with you as they form a smirk.

“huh?” he sneers, making a show of running his tongue across his bottom lip, keep his piercing gaze narrowed on you. his nails dig into your skin as he pries your thighs back open—and if your pussy wasn’t messy enough already, grimmjow spits on it from above.

all you can do is prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he devours your cunt, running his tongue along your folds, sucking on your clit—all while completely disregarding the mess dripping down his chin. your hips have begun to buck and twist beneath his grip, but the thing that makes you lose it entirely, is when he nuzzles his nose against your clit and inhales.

“fuck!” you squeal, rolling yourself onto your side and hiding your face in your hands. he knows how embarrassed that gets you—but he also knows it spurs you on in some twisted form, probably from one too many nights with him.

“move it,” he growls, waving you off to the side before he lays down. there’s an obvious tent in his pants, but you know this position means his own needs are the last thing on his mind.

he motions with a finger for you to come closer—grin tripling in size with every inch that you near. he sticks his tongue out, his way of inviting you to sit on his face—the odds of you going anywhere decrease significantly so long as he can keep his grip on your hips firm—no problem at all.

“don’t cum until i say so,” are the last words you hear before his mouth disappears beneath you—resuming the heated make-out session he was having with your cunt just moments prior.

this time around, you’re grinding down onto his face rather than moving away from it, just as you should be.

ABARAI RENJI

renji is no stranger to seeing you on your knees—in fact you almost always wind up caged between his thighs by the end of the night. a way to relieve stress—that’s what he calls it, but every time he has you in this position, he loses control.

“f-fuck,” he groans, fisting the sheets on either side of him and letting his head fall back. there’s a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, and each bob of your head threatens an all out explosion.

“mm,” you hum, intentionally sending vibrations down the length of his shaft while unintentionally inviting him further into your mouth. he lifts his hips from the bed—tip already threatening to kiss the back of your throat.

“more, fuck,” he pants, tossing his pride out the window as he allows the breathiest little moans to fall from his lips. you pull off just a bit—hoping to sneak in a quick breath or two, but it’s enough for renji to notice the lack of warmth near the base of his cock.

he places a firm hand on the back of your head—holding you in place as he continues to buck his hips. he’s not being rough per se, but he’s barely pulling out—using shallow little thrusts to fuck your throat.

“yeah, just like that,” he praises you, making the conscious decision to avert his gaze from the roof to you—a choice that almost makes him cum on the spot. “fuck, look at you.”

you, with tears brimming your gorgeous eyes and saliva bubbling at the corners of your mouth, have never looked more beautiful. the sight has renji slowing his movements, cupping your face in his hand, wiping the stray tear that sneaks down your cheek.

“so pretty baby,” he mutters, unexpectedly pulling his cock from your mouth and leaning forward—kissing you instead. his lips move in tandem with yours, only momentarily though as he pulls back, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. “my turn now, okay?”

ZARAKI KENPACHI

most of the time, kenpachi is in the driver’s seat—but every once in a blue moon he’ll let you take the wheel, and every time, he’s reminded of why he shouldn’t.

handing over the reins entirely, he leans back—heated gaze searing through your weak attempt at holding your composure. one of his hands rests on your thigh, kneading the skin—an encouraging gesture, but one that does nothing to soothe the ache between your legs.

“kenny, i,” you can barely get the words out—too focused on sinking yourself down onto his shaft, back up again, down once more. you’re barely using half of his full length, but that’s all it takes for your legs to begin shaking—involuntarily clamping shut in front of you as you bring your knees together. “‘m close.”

you writhe in his lap, switching between feeble attempts to keep bouncing for him, and stopping completely to squeeze your legs together as best you can with his cock still between them.

“hey,” his chest rumbles from underneath your palms, pausing the internal battle you’re having with yourself. he grabs onto your waist, fingertips pressing into the fat of your hips and pulling you down. “you’re gonna take it all, right?”

“i can’t,” you insist, feeling his heavy cock drag against your walls, stretching you out in the most perfect of ways. a burning sensation is settling into your thighs, you can’t last a moment longer. you fall forwards onto his chest with a whine—leaving nothing but the head of his cock inside you. “can’t, i can’t.”

“come on, sit up,” he orders, wedging a hand between your bodies to hold the base of his cock in place—urging you to sit on it again. that same, thoughtful hand trails it’s way up your torso, in between your breasts, before finally settling on your throat.

it feels good—the slight pressure he’s putting on your neck, it makes you want him more. you sink down onto him, letting yourself see all the stars in the universe as his voice becomes increasingly distant—though still audible. “don’t squirm, unless you wanna run out of air.”

#izurou #bleach smut #bleach x reader #ichigo smut #ichigo x reader #ichigo hcs #urahara smut #urahara x reader #urahara kisuke x reader #urahara hcs #grimmjow smut #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow hcs #renji smut #renji x reader #renji hcs #kenpachi smut #kenpachi x reader #kenpachi hcs #bleach hcs #bleach x you #me pspspsps ing some bleach followers

[anna-hawk]

Good Boy

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Summary: Frank loves giving Matt nicknames and wonders which one he likes best. There's one that Matt definitely likes particularly much.

Explicit 🔞 • WC: 2,7k

Tags and warnings: smut, light Dom/sub undertones, praise kink, pet names, come eating + sharing, bj

A/N: Based on this small comic. The second I saw it, I knew I needed to put it in writing and give it an end. I really hope you like it @kuriusagiart. Thank you for allowing me to write for you 🧡

Read it on AO3

As soon as he was through his apartment door, Matt heaved a giant sigh of relief at being back home after a long, very long day. The days had gradually gotten warmer, which did nothing for the fact that he had to wear a suit to work. Whichever suit or work it might be, too. He put the jacket that he’d been carrying over his arm on a coat hanger next to the entrance door and untied the already loose knot of his tie until he could take it off. While he walked further into the apartment and towards the bedroom, the entrance door closed before heavy footsteps sounded from behind him. Inside the bedroom, Matt put the tie on a dresser, where Frank joined him without a word and pressed his chest to Matt’s back. It always amazed Matt how much Frank seemed to need to touch Matt after a tiring day, trying to get to skin as quick as possible. Frank never let anything on outside, but as soon as they were out of the public eye, he was all up in Matt’s personal space. Not that Matt could complain, as he smiled to himself when barely a second later, Frank slid his hands under Matt’s arms to reach for the buttons of his shirt, his lips mouthing over the back of Matt’s neck. 

“Frank, you’re gonna ruin my shirt,” Matt grumbled at the hurried way Frank was dealing with the buttons, the threads holding on for dear life under his rough fingers. 

The only downside to all of it was that a few of his dress shirts had suffered from Frank’s hastiness; buttons flying, a rip there. 

“Altar boy,” Frank grunted back, not stopping his assault on the shirt whatsoever and instead lifting it over Matt’s stomach to get to the last buttons. 

While Matt undid his pants at a slower pace, he rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Frank’s use of that nickname. 

“You are such a nickname freak.”  

Frank snorted. An instant later, Matt could feel the grin against the side of his neck.

“What’s your favorite?” Frank wondered after uttering a satisfied sound at finally getting Matt’s shirt fully open and pulling at it to expose more of Matt’s neck to him. “Choir boy?” He kissed his way along Matt’s shoulder as he tugged a bit more at the shirt to pull it down one arm now. 

Matt didn’t reply and instead turned his head to the side to give Frank more access to his skin, which rose with each of Frank’s touches. 

“Red?” Frank continued without missing a beat, while keeping his attention on Matt’s neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of small marks over it. 

Again, Matt chose to ignore him in favor of enjoying what Frank was doing with his mouth and hands. 

“Babe?” Frank intoned with an audible smirk now, the term getting a grimace of disgust out of Matt. “Sweetie?” 

This time, Matt had had enough. 

“Ah, shut up. Ew!” he groaned on a shudder, and pushed Frank’s face away from him with a hand against the man’s cheek. 

Frank laughed heartily, the sound vibrating against Matt’s hand and through his body before he caught Matt’s wrist. There was a sudden shift in Frank’s whole body language, as well as in the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing, which had Matt stilling as a shiver ran through him. 

“Or…” Frank drew out the word as he gently tugged at Matt’s wrist, his voice lowering a few octaves before he slowly licked his way between two of Matt’s fingers, teasing at the center, which got a small gasp out of Matt. “Good boy,” Frank rasped in a low and gravelly voice, right against Matt’s cheek and ear as he wrapped his arms around Matt’s chest.

The name hit Matt like a ball of heat that spread through his whole body and located itself in his chest and groin. He felt his face heating, while his mouth went slack and let a soft moan escape. Until Frank had called him that for the first time, Matt never would have believed that he could respond that way to being called that particular pet name. Or the idea that he could crave the satisfaction of being good for someone, being praised. The first time Frank had called him that, Matt had felt deeply embarrassed by his reaction, coming so hard that night that he’d gone dizzy with it. Frank’s own reaction to how Matt had responded had been enough to soothe that feeling, however. He’d come just as hard as Matt, a feeling of surprise and awe rushing over to Matt from the other man. They hadn’t gone down that path anymore, until tonight, but Matt had known that first night that this only worked for him because it had been Frank.   

Frank made a pleased sound and curled his fingers under Matt’s chin to bring his face towards his. Using his thumb, Frank rubbed along Matt’s bottom lip and slightly pulled it down. 

“Yeah?” Frank whispered against Matt’s lips. “Wanna be a good boy?” he continued, and slid his other hand down to slip it inside Matt’s boxers. 

Matt’s entire body jerked at the feeling of Frank’s warm and callused fingers wrapping around his length, which had gone from interested in the proceedings to fully hard at Frank’s last pet name. He moaned as Frank pulled him out of his boxers to give him a few perfunctory pumps.

“Please,” he sighed, and parted his lips further to let Frank’s thumb into his mouth. 

Frank groaned deeply as Matt sucked and nipped at his thumb, his own cock pressing more insistently against Matt’s ass. 

“Only got started, and you’re already beggin’?” Frank hummed appreciatively, swirling his other thumb over Matt’s slit that was starting to leak pre-come. “Gonna make it real good for ya.”

Matt’s hips bucked forward as Frank tightened his fist and twisted it over the head to coat his palm with Matt’s pre-come, before sliding back down all the way to the base. Matt had to reach for Frank’s thighs to anchor himself as Frank began jerking him off with a rhythm that only quickened with each downward stroke. He tilted his head back over Frank’s shoulder as he gasped and moaned, his hips twitching and thrusting forward on each particularly sharp pass over the sensitive head. 

“Not gonna hold out long, huh?” Frank rumbled against Matt’s throat that he was kissing and sucking on anew, while his other hand kept Matt’s body steady against his own, the palm resting over Matt’s chest.  

He certainly knew Matt’s body and its tells perfectly, since Matt was indeed only a few strokes away from coming. Nodding jerkily with a tiny whine as his breaths came at a quicker speed, Matt’s grip on Frank’s jeans tightened as his orgasm began to rise, his whole body going slowly taught in anticipation. 

That's when Frank took his hand away. 

Matt's entire body pitched forward at the sudden lack of contact on his cock, the delicious tightness gone. 

“Frank!” he gasped, as out of breath as if he'd run a marathon, his fingers scrabbling at Frank's arm over his chest in despair. “Please, don't — I — please.” He had a hard time focusing on his words, Frank's earlier use of the pet name and his need to come taking up his every thought. “You said — you said you'd make it good. You said-”

He cried out hoarsely as Frank's fingers abruptly returned to his cock, even his heightened senses having not warned him of the impending contact. Matt went up on his toes for a brief moment as his head flew back over Frank's shoulder, his fingers digging into Frank's arm as Frank's hand flew over his length. 

“Sh, sh, 'm sorry… Just couldn’t help myself,” Frank admitted in a rough voice right against Matt's ear. “Needed to hear you beg again… Fuckin' beautiful when you let go, Red.” He thrust his hips against Matt's ass, letting Matt feel the way Frank’s cock was straining against the fly, as well as smelling Frank's own pre-come through the barriers of fabric. “But you can come now. Been so good for me… Such a good boy for me.”

Between the wild pulls on his cock, the scent of Frank and the heat of his body taking over Matt’s every sense, the use of those two words again had Matt suddenly flying over the edge with a loud shout of bliss. His cock spurted long lines of pearlescent come all over the side of the dresser, until the last, weaker shots poured over Frank's fingers. 

Matt slumped against Frank’s chest as the pressure of the entire day suddenly eased off him. Grinning, probably dopily, Matt turned his face towards Frank’s with a satisfied hum, until he felt Frank’s lips meeting his. Frank chuckled into the slow kiss, and squeezed Matt’s chest lightly. Reaching down, Matt caught Frank’s wrist and pulled the hand away from his spent dick, only to bring it to his face. Ending the kiss, Matt turned his head forward again to lick over Frank’s fingers, cleaning away the traces of his own come. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Frank grunted, before he was using the hand that Matt was so carefully cleaning to grab the side of Matt’s face and turn it to him to crush their mouths together again. 

Matt groaned and turned in Frank’s embrace, opening his mouth for Frank’s insistent tongue, which was focused on getting its share of Matt’s release. The hunger in Frank’s actions had them stumbling against the dresser, Matt’s ass colliding with the wood as he caught their fall. He grinned to himself at Frank’s reaction, his senses taking in Frank’s spiking lust and rise in body heat, his dick hard against Matt’s hip. With a quick move, Matt had their positions reversed, with Frank now leaning against the dresser, his chest rising and falling quickly as he held himself up with his hands on the wood. Without another word, Matt sank to his knees in front of him and made quick work of taking care of the belt, buttons, and zipper. Even before he pulled Frank’s jeans down, Matt’s senses could make out the hot outline of Frank’s length. As soon as it was out of the confines of Frank’s clothes, Matt curled his fingers around it and leaned forward. He slowly licked and sucked over the head with the barest pressure, running the tip of his tongue along the frenulum and the slit at intervals. 

“Shit, Red,” Frank rasped, sliding the fingers of one hand through Matt’s messy hair to gently grip it. 

He might have been about to say something more, but Matt slid his mouth down to the base to suck there while he cupped Frank’s balls and stroked a thumb over them, cutting off any further words and transforming them into a long groan of pleasure. The sound reverberated through Matt, who moaned in turn at the knowledge that Frank was enjoying what Matt was doing to him. While he jerked Frank off, Matt’s mouth went further until he was tonguing and sucking at Frank’s balls. The fingers in his hair tightened, and Frank grunted as his hips bucked faintly. As Matt made his way back up to the head, Frank finally pulled Matt’s mouth away and tilted his head up. 

“Open up.” 

Matt obeyed immediately at the need in Frank’s rough voice, his jaw slackening and his mouth opening wider. A second later, Frank slowly pushed between Matt’s lips, sinking in until he barely grazed the back of Matt’s throat. Sliding back out, he did it again a few more times, until Matt moved in until Frank’s tip was pressing against his throat. He moaned throatily as he pushed forward, relishing in the small tremors of pleasure running through Frank at the stimulation, the fingers tugging at his hair, and the scent of Frank’s arousal sharping all the more. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, the way you go off on that,” Frank rumbled in awe, as he did as Matt requested and thrust in and out of his mouth while getting deeper every time. 

Matt only groaned and whined around Frank, his cock slick with Matt’s drool and making wet squelching noises each time Frank slid further down Matt’s throat. As he contracted his throat around Frank, Matt felt a rush of satisfaction at the cry of pleasure, followed by a sling of half formed curses that fell from Frank’s mouth. He moaned and redoubled his efforts as he could feel Frank getting closer, his sole focus on bringing Frank pleasure. However, Frank clearly had other ideas, since he pulled Matt off all the way by his hair but kept him close. 

“Open up,” Frank repeated, his voice having gone to its deepest timber yet. 

A shiver ran through Matt at the command and just like earlier, Matt did as he was told. He kept his hands on Frank’s thighs as he stuck his tongue out as well, giving Frank the opportunity to place the head on it as he stroked himself hard and fast. The bitter taste of new droplets of pre-come hitting his tongue had Matt groaning again, a shudder of anticipation running through him at what was to come. 

“You’re fuckin’ perfect like that, Red. Gonna take my come like the good boy you are, right?” Frank gritted out between his teeth. 

As tired as Matt might be from the long day and the very recent, spectacular orgasm he’d just had, his dick still jerked at the praise. He nodded enthusiastically and made a sound of fervent agreement, never taking his tongue away from Frank’s cock as he let his senses take in the way Frank’s body began to go rigid, how his breathing shortened and heat culminated in his groin. A few more passes of his hand over his dick later and Frank was coming, his hips jerking as he moaned and shot all over Matt’s awaiting tongue. Matt groaned at the sweet and tangy taste coating his whole tongue, not moving until he was sure he’d gotten all of it. He slid his lips around the head once Frank was done and sucked the last traces away, the act having Frank sighing and stroking his fingers through Matt’s hair. Satisfied that he’d gotten it all, Matt stood and cupped the back of Frank’s head to pull him into a kiss. Frank made a sound of surprise, as he was still reeling from his orgasm, only to wrap his arms around Matt’s back and growl into his mouth as Matt slid his still come-covered tongue along Frank’s. They only stopped kissing once every lingering taste of come was gone, and ended with their foreheads touching, breathing deeply and smiling lopsidedly. 

As Matt put a hand on the dresser to pull away from Frank, it landed right into the little puddle of come that he'd made on the furniture. He grimaced and sighed. 

“You really need to stop breaking or dirtying up my stuff, Frank,” Matt muttered with a pointed wave of his hand. It might have been Matt's come, but he blamed Frank for where it landed. 

Frank snorted. “Didn’t hear ya complain, Choir boy.” 

“Nope, not doing this again.” Matt shook his head with a roll of his eyes, but huffed out an amused laugh all the same as he cleaned his hand on the shirt he'd just taken off while he headed for the bathroom this time. 

Frank followed again with a loud laugh and caught up with him at the shower stall. 

“Nah, no need. Now I know which one’s your favorite,” he whispered into Matt’s neck. 

Despite the tiredness, a frisson of arousal still went through Matt. Frank’s voice just had this effect on him when he was using that low tone. He was still too tired for anything more, however. 

“Don’t you go wearing it out now,” he smiled with one side of his mouth pulling up, as he turned to face Frank. 

Frank chuckled and made a noise of understanding, kissing Matt briefly. 

“I can always try finding new ones you like.” 

But the way Frank said those words told Matt that Frank was about to go for another round of silly nicknames, so he pushed him away. 

“That’s it. I’m showering on my own.” 

Frank laughed, but thankfully remained quiet, which granted him access to the shower in the end.

#frank castle x matt murdock #fratt #frank castle #matt murdock #frankmatt #mattfrank #the punisher #daredevil #fratt fanfiction #fratt smut #frank caste fanfiction #matt murdock fanfiction #mes fics #inspired by fanart

[songtiddies]

Charmed Masterlist

This is not completely 100 percent accurate to the Harry Potter universe nor do I own any of the Harry Potter characters, I just took it and added my twist to it and here we are

In no way does this reflect on any of the Ateez members, my work is purely fiction

The mood boards and works of fiction were created by me so please do not repost my work

Tumblr is ran by reblogging so if you like my writing please reblog my work

All works are SFW, maybe suggestive but nothing crazy

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Synopsis: A Patronus charm can only be casted by picturing a vivid image of intense joy, so it’s no wonder that for wizarding folk it’s the key to finding your soulmate.

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Come Up Off Your Color Chart.

Synopsis: After getting caught breaking quite a few wizard laws and somehow avoided getting expelled, you save him from getting stampeded in Care of Magical Creatures class. How have you never noticed him before, but he’s everywhere you go now? And why does his hair keep changing color?

Pairing: Metamorphagus! Gryffindor! Hongjoong! x Care of Magical Creatures Apprentice (afab) Hufflepuff! Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmate au, SLOWWWW BURN, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining (they’re both low key dumb sometimes, Hongjoong is especially), a lil Angst (but barely)

Release Date: TBA

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You Gotta be Cruel to be Kind.

Synopsis: Years of battling for the top of the class was starting to become exhausting. Everything lately has become exhausting, except for the recent late night excursions to restore a broken mirror that have been helping you escape. Or will Park Seonghwa somehow try to ruin that for you too?

Pairing: Headboy! Hufflepuff! Seonghwa! x Headgirl! (afab) Ravenclaw! Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmate au, Enemies to Lovers au, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual fluff, Seonghwa is a jerk like 80 percent of the time, Slow Burn

Release Date: TBA

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Would You Catch Me if I Should Fall?

Synopsis: Juggling quidditch practice, coursework, and running an advice column for the school newspaper means any sort of love life is out of the question. Until recently when you’ve been getting love letters sent to your advice column, and you start seeing your best friend in a different light after he saved your life.

Pairing: Quidditch Captain! Hufflepuff! Yunho! x School Journalist! (afab) Hufflepuff! Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmates au, Fluff, BF2L, Secret Admirer au, Love Triangle au (but not really), Reader is BLIND, Slow Burn, Yunho really is a Golden Retriever

Release Date: TBA

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They’ll Tear Us Apart if You Give Them the Chance.

Synopsis: You already knew he was way out of your league, seven years of him not noticing your existence could tell you that. Yet when you finally catch a break, you’re suddenly being blackmailed, and there is no amount of bubblegum or midnight rants to the ghost in the bathroom that can ease the hole in your heart.

Pairing: Blonde!! (Yes that’s important) Prefect! Ravenclaw! Yeosang! x Quidditch Captain! Gryffindor! (afab) Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Angst!!!, Fluff, Soulmate au, Bullying (not from any main characters), Insecurities, Yeosang is an angel, Hurt/Comfort SLOW BURN

Release Date: TBA

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Now I Hear a Symphony.

Synopsis: You were completely content coasting through your eighth year as a background voice in the choir. Having managed to make it this far completely out of the spotlight, you were surprised that your gentle tune suddenly caught the school prince’s ear. Suddenly a boisterous symphony doesn’t seem so intimidating anymore.

Pairing: Slytherin Prince! San! x Hufflepuff! Choir Student! (afab) Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmates au, Opposites Attract au, Fluff, a lil Angst, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, San is so stupid but he makes up for it

Release Date: TBA

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We’ll Never Be as Young as We Are Now.

Synopsis: You don’t know how you got there, but surprisingly you got roped into tutoring Song Mingi, one of the loudest and most rambunctious boys in your year. What’s even more surprising is how he convinces you, one of the most uptight prefects in Hogwarts’ history, to tag along in his shenanigans.

Pairing: Keeper! Gryffindor! Mingi! x Potions Tutor! Ravenclaw! (afab) Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmate au, Slow Burn, Reader is awkward (but so is Mingi), Fluff, a lil Angst, Classmates to Friends to Lovers

Release Date: TBA

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Plant New Seeds in the Melody.

Synopsis: After detangling the loudmouth boy from the tentacula plant you’ve been tending to, ultimately sparing him from getting eaten, Professor Sprout forces him to help out in the greenhouse as punishment for ruining your end of year project. Unfortunately for the plants you tend to he has a black thumb, but luckily for you he has a heart of gold.

Pairing: Prankster! Slytherin! Wooyoung! x Herbology Prodigy! Hufflepuff! (afab) Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Soulmate au, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF, Wooyoung is WHIPPED, Lowkey Enemies to Lovers (but not really), Lowkey Opposites Attract, Slowburn

Release Date: TBA

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You Can Coax the Cold Right Out of Me.

Synopsis: After waking up in the hospital wing because he knocked you out with a football to the head, he has been giving you flowers ever since. You don’t know why he keeps coming back even after you keep pushing him away, because there’s no way for someone that sweet to be able to withstand a personality as frigid as yours.

Pairing: Florist Assistant! Jongho! x Tsundere! Slytherin (afab) Reader!

Genres/Warnings: Angst/Fluff (Flangst), Soulmate au, Jongho is so sweet it hurts, Hurt/Comfort, One Sided Pining?, Flower Language, Slowburn (yeah I get it they’re all slowburn)

Release Date: Sunday April 2nd, 9 P.M. MST

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#ateez #fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez jongho #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez hongjoong #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez yunho #ateez reactions #ateez angst #k pop fanfic #kpop #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

[bulgingpushh]

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The head is almost at your slit - I can feel it, only a few knuckles in. As the head fills and deforms your birth canal, my fingers move across the roof of your pussy, slowly stroking your cock from the inside. At the same time, my thumb rolls your tip in a soft circle. God. Your moans are like a choir.

Come on. You're almost there. I know you can do it. My arms wrap around your vicelike abdomen. Our family. Together. Just a little further. Breathe in. Push out.

The further it starts to move forwards, the less you can bring yourself the push. It's agonizing. Unbearable. Not even close to the worst it will get. The head is barely visible, but it already feels worse than you could have imagined. You realize what's really in front of you, and start to sob as your body forces you to keep bearing down.

Shh... it's okay. I'm here, alright? You can do this. You're the strongest man I've ever met. If anyone could give birth to my kids, it's you. You can't back down now, it's time to go. Ready? Breathe in. Push.

Your voice starts as a low, steady, whine. As your lips part and the head passes millimeter by millimeter, you start to wail. Your legs begin to thrash towards closing, but I can't let you give up. I seize your thighs, and wrench them apart. You shriek in utter agony as our child's head abuses and stretches your gash, a searing pain in your lower vulva only starting to peak out. You can't. You fucking can't. It'll break you. I'm sorry, love. I know you cant, but you have to.

I bury my face in your neck and press you close to me. You let out a blood curdling scream and give one final, massive push, tearing your slit and bringing out a truly incomprehensible wave of utter torture. Somehow, you rode it out. Maybe it was my arms around you. Maybe you were too focused on the impossible pressure that your tdick swam in, basking in the exquisite sweetness of agony. Maybe you were just that good at messily birthing my kids, just that perfectly made to breed. God, I love you. With one last choked sob, you slide the head into my hands.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I'm so proud of you. You're almost there. I know it hurts, but you can do it. Push the shoulders out of your broken gash. Whine and thrash as the agony flashes in and out. Lose yourself in it all as the pressure bursts out of you, your senses overwhelmed. You can't tell if you black out from the pain, or how hard you cum as I pull our kid out of your ruined little pussy.

You drift back in a few seconds later to the sound of wailing - not your own. As you look down at your slightly deflated belly, a long, rubbery cord trails out of your pussy and towards the babe I place in your arms. He's perfect. You did such a good job.

You're confused when I put him to the side, frantically twisting your head back to look at me. My apologetic eyes smile down at you. You've forgotten, haven't you?

Our second born grinds further down your birth canal, and you almost break under the revelation. As the horror passes through your eyes, I lean down and pull you into a kiss. You're almost there. I know it hurts. I know you think you can't. But you need to. For me.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push.

i cant wait to jerk off to this!! i love your writing, thank you for writing these posts out for me <3 i would totally bask in the relief of finishing birthing and then realize that i have to do it again!!

#ask box #user maiesio

[p-bee-writes]

the gods among us

I think being a writer is a bit like being a god - we spin worlds out of thin air and mould clay mounds into people who dance to our tunes and we push and pull against the boundaries of tradition and break people-

I think being a poet is a bit like being a god - we write in blood and carve out hearts with mere words and leave stains on the earth with every poem we rip out of our soul, and make people question their own sanity-

I think being a painter is a bit like being a god - we tell stories with no words and sing songs with no music, peer into the soul of the very universe. We stop time in its path and turn emotions into colours and breathe life onto empty canvases-

I think being a sculptor is a bit like being a god - we see trapped angels in blocks of marble and make deals with devils to free them, we break apart mountains with bare hands and trickle streams into cracks in stones-

I think being an architect is a bit like being a god - we build eternity into the earth and leave ruins of empires every century, singular creatures that help mark the presence of kings and gods and faes and apsaras. We weave homes, etch schools, raise hospitals, fabricate lives-

I think being a musician is a bit like being a god - voices to raise the dead and fingers so deft at enticing heaven and life out of dead things, with our very souls filling the air around us and keeping afloat cities. We lead choirs into war and sing epics of the ones who make it out-

#i know its incomplete #i will continue this #but if you want to #go ahead #fine arts #literature #poetry #architecture #sculpture #painting #artists #stray gods #pluvia bee #spilled ink #artists are gods

[veneror]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 by 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍

↪ lyric starter for @xluciifer ( currently : accepting )

THERE  IS  A  BOY  IN  HIS  MIND  that lived ages ago  ;  he is constructed of bruised legs and bare feet and calloused, bleeding palms, a cocophany of childish color.  in  another  life,  those young hands would not have been stained with blood that was not his own.  the  CULT  he once remembered acted as a fog around his childhood memories.  all that he remembered was stained in a thick layer of dark  /   that goddamn forest was so intent on ruining every moment he could possibly remember. 

(  you still hear the hymms in your sleep at night, after all of these years have passed and you have not sung praises to your lord in a millennia’s time. you remember the last time you heard the choir.  [  𝐆𝐎𝐃  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒  𝐘𝐎𝐔,  𝐁𝐔𝐓  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔.  ]   when you skinned your knee at twelve you were patched up by father terrance, and you remembered his voice from the way he told you  HE WOULD  HEAL  YOUR  SIN.   you remember birthdays surrounded by desolate forest.  you are the founder’s son, and god will forever love you like his own, as long as you stay quiet.  )

BUT  YOU  REMEMBER  HIM   /   HE  DOES  NOT  APPEAR  STAINED  IN  YOUR  MEMORY  /  THE UNTAINTED ARCHANGEL !

the memory plays in vox’s mind like a rerun.  (  blonde haired loverboy with a sharp - toothed grin and six ethereal wings.  he is summoned at the slaughter of the sacrificial lamb given to you by your father, the lamb you were meant to drag into the outskirts of the commune and smear its blood across the trees.  [  but you hadn’t, had you?  ]   you were nineteen and you were  EXHAUSTED  and when you pulled open its body you  CRIED.  do you remember it?  you had blood on your hands and you sank your teeth into your lip to stifle the sounds only the forest might hear.  and when he appeared it was as if your life had ended and begun.  )

;     he says :  you must be the one who summoned me. what is it you’re asking ? a favor ? wanna sell your soul to the big guy himself ? ;     he says :  what, did you not expect it to work ? you’ve got the lamb and everything. ;     he says :  what’s your name, anyway? ;     you say :  james.    ( and your voice shakes as you say it, like you’re not certain if it’s the truth. )

of  course  vox  remembers  him.  it would be foolish not to. he’s there at the gala at the pride ring, and despite being  SURROUNDED  by high - class sinners of pride, bodies decorated in the finest silks, speaking of their accomplishments and their plans for the upcoming decade,  VOX  CAN  ONLY  GLANCE  OVER  AT  THE  KING  OF  HELL  HIMSELF.  he looks the same, just touched  by  time.  worn around the edges  ⸺  once  ETHEREAL  EYES  now stained with dark circles. how much had changed between them that neither of them had the time to speak of?  

(   but  he  is  still  the  man  you  thought  of  when  you  washed  the  lamb’s  blood  off  your  hands.  he is still the boy you thought of while silently and tearfully confessing to a sky that felt empty to you at the time. was lucifer not always known as the harbinger of sin and temptation?  what had you expected?  you keep picking at a wound you won’t let heal.  [  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐈𝐓  𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒,  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐈𝐓  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐒.  ]   )

vox’s claws sink into the wood of the bar beside him as the two’s eyes meet. they dig heavy into the material, four lines of nostalgia. a part of him almost hoped he wasn’t recognized. he’d rather leave his life in the dirt of a desolate woods.   [   𝐈  𝐂𝐀𝐍  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐆𝐎  𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊  𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.  ]    but he cannot stop himself from staring, from catching glances across a sea of sinners, eyeing lucifer in an almost suspicious manner. in a horrible, horrible world, lucifer would know exactly what had crossed vox’s young mind every single time he smeared blood over a summoning circle days after the first unknowing ritual.  YOU  WEREN’T  SUPPOSED  TO  LOOK  FORWARD  TO  SEEING  THE  ONE  WHO  DAMNED  ETERNITY  TO  SIN.

;          𝐍𝐎  𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐌𝐄  /  𝐒𝐎  𝐈  𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃  /  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐈  𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.

(  and the king is just as beautiful as he had been the first night vox had ever summoned him. and the feeling of acknowledging that feels like a dagger burrowing itself into the bottom of his stomach. to love was his original sin.  )

#cw blood #cw cults #cw animal death mention #cw sacrifice #cw internalized homophobia #VOX . (ic) ╱ there are no actors in this film / what you see and hear is real. #. 𓆩 JUST TO TAKE THE INJURY OF FINALLY KNOWING YOU. ╱ starters. #. ꒰ა VOX AND LUCIFER | . . . I'M JUST LOWERING YOUR EXPECTATIONS. ╱ xluciifer. #novella length for NO reason sorry bb

[neos-schlond-poofa]

Resident Lover x Ethel Cain I

Which song fits each RL Character the best, and why? Only featuring songs from Preacher's Daughter; any other Ethel Cain albums and EPs will be in another post if I feel like it. And also, you don't need to know any Ethel Cain lore to get this post.

BELA DIMITRESCU: Sun Bleached Flies

Listening to the choir, so heartfelt, all singing God loves you, but not enough to save you

A song about one making peace with their fate; not so fitting for Bela, is it? The one love interest who never stops fighting for MC?

But what if the she's accepted that her fate is fight for MC. Her fate is to always be there for them, even when the universe tries to tear them apart, even when everything is utterly terrible. And all throughout the song, it is clear that what Ethel wants is just her lover back, just as Bela hopes to have a wonderful life with MC without the fear of Miranda ruining it all.

I'm still praying for that house in Nebraska By the highway, out on the edge of town

CASSANDRA DIMITRESCU: Gibson Girl

You wanna love me right now You wanna get alone with me

Arguably the hardest character to assign a song to, Cassandra is the Gibson Girl not due to the specific lyrical nature of the song, but the interpretation others have from it when listening to it without knowing its full story.

Those who don't know the story of Preacher's Daughter just believe this is a song about being hot and sexy and getting around. Just as some believe that is all there is to Cassandra. But truthfully, Gibson Girl is a dark song hidden behind the sound, with so much more to be read into than just "this song makes me feel so good." And like the song, there is so much more to Cass than just her looks and her relationships... she's her own character going through her own things who doesn't just want these small flings, she wants a relationship, she wants someone to love her.

Then I would show you something You can never have

DANIELA DIMITRESCU: Strangers

I tried to be good Am I no good?

The forgotten sister who just wants to the best version of herself as she can. The one who wants to please everyone even when she doesn't know how to. The one who has so much expectations put onto her.

This song, similar to Cassandra's, is a bit of a stretch, but I'm not basing it directly off the story, am I? Dani is Strangers as even in her darkest moments, she cares for others, even the ones who haven't been the best to her or the ones she has complex relationships with. It's as simple as that.

Found you just to tell you that I made it real far And that I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did

ALCINA DIMITRESCU: Televangelism

You see, this is hard, because there are no lyrics, so it really messes up the layout. However, I don't need lyrics for this. This song is all about Ethel's journey to the afterlife and her acceptance of such. And for Alcina, is appears she has just accepted her life to being one of Miranda's tools for getting MC back. She barely fights for herself or her daughters unless the player pushes for it.

ANGIE BENEVIENTO: American Teenager

Head full of whiskey but I always deliver Jesus, if you're listening let me handle my liquor

I promise I didn't just pick this song because of its mentions of alcohol. But Angie, out of all the members of the cast, is the most similar to American Teenager, even if she isn't American. Angie wants to have fun, she lives an idealized life where she parties every day and has little to worry about. Out of all the songs on the album, this is the happiest sounding one, but just like Angie, there are somber undertones to it.

Angie's life really isn't ideal. She's a doll. She can't go anywhere far or she will basically die in a weird, non-permanent way. Her life isn't all that great, and neither is the place that she lives in. Just as Ethel grew up with an amazing view of the world, only to realize it's not great and had been glamorized.

It's just not my year But I'm all good out here

DONNA BENEVIENTO: House in Nebraska

We had nothing except each other You were my whole world

A torch song. Fitting for Donna, who has gone through multiple timelines where her love is unrequited after a previous one where she experienced the happiest moments of her life.

At the core of this song is truly a sense of longing. Ethel misses her lover who left her before the events of the album. Time has passed, yet she can not accept that he is gone. As for Donna, years could have passed since her time with yet MC, yet she still loves them. She almost always remembers what they had and what they didn't. The pain both of them went through, but the love they still had for each other afterwards. The nights they had in the flower shop and the mornings they had waking each other up with kisses. And yet, it's gone. And Donna will never truly have that back due to the loop. She will never have her love. The person that helped her with her mental health and allowed for her to become an even braver person than she ever would've been before.

She's alone without MC. She has Angie, of course, but that's her niece. As for the Dimitrescu sisters, she isn't that close to them as she is with Angie, and Bela, with whom Donna has the closest relationship with out of them, will forever lose her trust in Donna. Alcina and Miranda aren't that great figures in her life either; MC was her light, and it was taken away from her. She understands she doesn't own MC, but she still wants them. She loves them so much and hates the thought of them being gone. But ultimately, she has to accept that there is no happy ending with MC.

But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there I just pray that you're all right

MOTHER MIRANDA: Ptolemaea

Heard you, saw you, felt you, gave you Need you, love you, love you, love you

Miranda is not a good person. In this case, she is not Ethel in the song. Ethel can easily be viewed as any other character in the game. Instead, Miranda is the haunting voice of Ethel's murderer. And while Miranda does not murder everyone in the game, she does ruin their lives for her own sake.

Miranda is the figure that harms everyone else. She manipulates them and makes sure none of them gets their happy ending with MC. She owns MC and she loves the idea of having a relationship with MC. Miranda has done so many terrible things just to have MC, who will truly never be in a happy relationship with Miranda. MC had no choice in what would happen to them, they have no choice in being in a relationship with Miranda, as even though they "choose" Miranda in her route, that is only after countless resets by Miranda to get MC for herself.

Run then, child You can't hide from me forever

MIA WINTERS: August Underground

Another song that ruins the layout. Mia might seem a bit of an odd choice to be included, but she is just as important as the other characters. However, that doesn't mean I have a good reasoning for her being this song. It's just an ominous, creepy song that matches up with Mia being crazy.

MC: Thoroughfare

And you said, "Hey, do you wanna see the west with me? 'Cause love's out there and I can't leave it be"

A long song dedicated to Ethel falling love with her ultimately doomed lover. What could be more fitting for MC? After all, to be loved by MC is to be doomed by the narrative. And that includes for MC.

MC will have the most passionate romances imaginable, but they mean nothing. They will always be taken away from them or end terribly, such as being murdered by their lover or watching them just leave for someone else. MC never even intends to fall in love, just as Ethel didn't mean to fall in love here, but they both did. And it seemed so amazing for the both of them. Just a wonderful moment of bliss that didn't last long.

'Cause in your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck Is the only place I think I'd ever wanna be

#resident lover #resident evil #resident evil village #re8 #bela dimitrescu #mother miranda #cassandra dimitrescu #fuck cassandra dimitrescu #fcd club #daniela dimitrescu #angie beneviento #donna beneviento #alcina dimitrescu #re8 alcina #lady dimitrescu #ethel cain #rl fandom please have some ethel stans #ignore the donna bias she just fit the best too

[bigstupid69]

Can we hear your Ocean hcs? Despite having her as your pfp you don't mention her that much hc wise please tellll - 🐀

I honestly just draw Penny more. I love my stupid problem child that is Ocean O'connell Rosenberg, but I don't talk about her much on Tumblr.

Here you go under the cut

She always runs for class president and wins since there is literally no competition. She's also a hall monitor and ruins everyone's day by existing.

She hosted a feminist club that literally had only 4 members including Noel from some reason (she dragged him in there).

Honestly I threw every single diagnosed illness I have into that poor girl but BPD Ocean is real to me and I will fight anyone who opposes it.

She like completely covers herself in any deodorant or perfume, but always faintly smells of weed because of her parents.

She's the type to constantly correct people's grammar and wording, doesn't matter if it's through text or not she will hunt you down if you're not using proper English.

She also texts with perfect grammar and punctuation, and uses emojis like a wine mom. LOVES to use the heart emoji passive aggressively.

She has the immune system of a sickly Victorian child and is also pretty much built like one. She can be snapped in half like a twig and will have a seizure if given a sour gummy worm. Despite being named Ocean she will drown if thrown into any body of water.

Ocean and Tammy absolutely hate each other and are student council rivals. They only act nice with each other when there's other people around other than the choir.

She absolutely hates the sound of people chewing gum and has screamed in Noel's face multiple times because of it.

When Ocean bumps into an inanimate object instead of doing the awkward apologizing to it, she will at points literally yell at it. Like it was the tables fault for her just being clumsy.

Ocean is simultaneously a loser and one of the awful popular girls, except she's just delusional and thinks she's popular when everyone literally hates her.

Mini perfectdolls time

Ocean commonly shakes like a rabid Chihuahua if she's resisting the urge to scream at someone. So she'll just be absolutely fuming as Penny holds her hand and literally does nothing helpful.

Plus Penny barely breaks up the fights between Mischa/Noel and Ocean unless they attempt to get physical. Even then most of the time she just watches unhelpfully, as Constance is usually the one who has to separate the two. Or having to force Penny to do something, which she just drags Ocean by the collar of her shirt as she's still screaming and kicking at Noel/Mischa.

#ride the cyclone #rtc #rtc musical #ocean o'connell rosenberg #ocean rtc #perfectdolls #rtc headcanons #headcanons

[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Youngest of the Choir

Author: GeraniumSky

Artist: Aceriee

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore Briefly mentioned past Dean/other

Length: 40000

Warnings: Canon typical horror (including child harm) Alcohol use

Tags: AU - Fantasy John Winchester’s A+ Parenting Presumed deadWitch Sam

Posting Date: October 17, 2023

Summary: A thousand years ago the Lightbringer duped the Shield into creating the Twisted Gate. After two or three generations' respite, the gate opens yet again and spews more monsters into the world. The next onslaught is coming and Dean is ready to help defend his little town of Whitehill. More hunters are always needed and when Cas Novak decides that Whitehill is as good a place as any to make a stand, he’s welcomed and especially by Dean.   But Cas Novak is keeping unimaginable secrets. He wants to shut the gate - but what sort of being has the power to do that? And why are Sam and Dean Winchester crucial to his plan?

Excerpt: Cas stood in the center of the fire, and his eyes were barely less aflame in anger than the circle around him. His fists were clenched, and he glared at them all, and he said not a word, not even to protest. “Bobby!” Dean tried again, but Bobby only made a quelling gesture with his hand – ‘Shut up, boy’ clear as any words, and stepped forward to face Cas across the fire.   “Who are you?”   Cas’s lips thinned, pressed hard in silence, and Dean’s gut swooped in unexpected fear. Cas was fighting the truth spell, fighting it hard.    “Tell me who you are,” Bobby repeated. “Tell me what you are.” He looked grieved.   Sam’s face told the same story, but anger was settling there too.  “Who are you?” he asked, witch-voiced and resonant. Jess joined in, her voice deepening with power.   Cas bent his head, his shoulders hunched and his eyes screwed shut in effort. The smithy was filled with a presence, a threatening sense of power that Dean remembered all too well from that room where Sam had lain dying.   Cas groaned out, “Stop this! Stop, you don’t understand…”    Dean understood all too well. The man that he’d fought alongside, and laughed and loved with the past six months, had been a lie. “Who the hell are you?” Dean shouted. “What are you?”   Cas’s head shot up, his eyes glassy and wide. “I’m Castiel,” he said. “Called Shield, called the gate-maker, messenger, youngest of the choir, the last note of the first song.” With that astounding claim, his eyes cleared, and his hands grabbed at the chain; Sam cried out in disbelief and alarm. Someone, something, with a truth chain around their neck shouldn’t be able to touch it, it was the very nature of the spell. Cas pulled at the chain and it broke with the ease of rotten thread. Some of the amulets flashed, and Cas flicked molten metal from his fingers the way Dean might shake off water after he’d washed his hands.   “You’re claimin’ to be an angel?” Bobby croaked out.   The smithy air felt like a thunderhead – looming, dark, despite the daylight outside. Cas straightened his shoulders, like a man shucking off a heavy pack. From behind him, the shadows of huge wings unfurled. They seemed to suck all the firelight in the room to them, including the flames of the circle. It was almost too dark to see, and there was a faint but piercing sound in the room, like the tone made by striking a bell – but it didn’t fade into silence, but instead sang on, unearthly and unnerving.   “It’s no claim, but fact,” Cas – no, not Cas, Castiel – said in his rough, human voice. “And you fools may have ruined everything.”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

[saunne]

Kafka wasn't even sure what had left her lips, mind filled with static and Spirit Whisper singing under her breath as she reached out, grabbed and seized, deaf to the prayer-like moan that escaped from Jing Yuan’s tempting mouth. She barely felt how the ridges of Jing Yuan's armor dug into the relief of her spine as the woman collapsed, whole body seized with a tremolo-like tremor. 

With quivering eyes hidden behind closed eyelids, Kafka let herself be carried away by Jing Yuan’s melody, losing herself in the most delicate nuances of the tonal color, in the cadence of the notes, in the phrases and motifs and bridges, tasting the notes on her tongue and feeling the emotion rise, ascend, climax.

She opened her eyes with a trembling breath, her mind saturated with something incredible, inconceivable, exhilarating. It was a matter of an instant for Kafka to reverse their positions, pressing a limp-bodied Jing Yuan against the wall, pulling that marvelous thick hair with a firm hand to reveal the curve of a pale neck. The marks left by her rouge almost looked like wounds in the semi-darkness, as she worshiped that swan-like throat with feathery kisses, feeling the slightest quiver of suppressed moans beneath her mouth.

Elio was a composer, Kafka his conductor and Ren would be one of their joint masterpieces. 

But Jing Yuan ? 

Jing Yuan was a magnum opus.

Jing Yuan's spirit sang an angel's choir in the embrace of her Spirit Whisper, soft and malleable and delicate in all its strength. Not the slightest trace of resistance, not the slightest surrender either. 

An offering, on a platter, all for her to grasp, all for her to devour.

All for her to ruin, all for her to destroy.

All for her to sublimate, to rebuild, to elevate.

Jing Yuan was a magnum opus and Kafka wanted to make her sing.

Gift to @aratribo and @hunterfromtheabyss ! 💜

#hsr #hsr fanfic #hsr kafka #hsr jing yuan #kafyuan #female!jing yuan #genderbent #rule 63 #they're lesbians your honor #hsr smut #pwp with the tiniest bit of plot #unnewrites #unne's promo snippets #unneism #unne reblobs misc

[doing-something-unholy]

Father's Dream

Father Adrian has had some... interesting dreams here lately. But what could possibly be causing them?

CW // dubcon, cnc, monsterfucking, body horror, unreality? 

I am alone in the nave, tidying up after evening mass. The altar servers were already sent home, my vestments put away, and straightening up the last few misplaced hymnal books meant that I could leave too. But, not yet.

The atmosphere in the church at dusk is so calm and quiet, I take a few moments to breathe it in. The last rays of sunset set the stained glass windows alight, color beaming across the faint trails of incense smoke still drifting through the air. This church is my sanctuary, my second home, my passion project. One would hardly recognise it from the near-ruin it used to be in, and I couldn’t be more proud of the way this parish came together to restore it. I’ve spent so long in this building, so much of myself is poured into it: blood, sweat, and tears into everything here. It’s as close as I’ll ever come to Heaven on Earth, and I am grateful for the respite from the noise in my head within these walls. My soft footsteps are the only thing that breaks the silence as I walk back to the altar.

I place a reverent hand on the very edge, leaning down to place a soft, barely-there kiss to the cold stone before kneeling on the steps in front of it. I fold my hands together, resting on the edge of the altar, my head bowed between my arms. It's not the most comfortable spot or position to pray, but it feels apt. Maybe the strain in my muscles and the ache in my knees will keep any other thoughts out of my head. 

Which I can avoid no longer. Now that the church is empty, and I’m unlikely to be disturbed, I want to talk with Him.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Amen.”

My voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes off every wall and the effect is chilling: a whole choir of voices surrounding me, and I can only hope it's the voices of Saints and Angels, and not… well…

“Please, Oh Lord, lead me not into temptation. You know the strength of my spirit and I trust You not to test me to destruction, but… Please, I- I can't sleep. Deliver me from these… nightmares. Protect me from the demon that hides in my dreams, Lord. I submit to Your Glory and accept that I need Your divine intervention.”

My own whispers twist and echo back at me, like an audience discussing my ‘performance.’ 

I wish they were nightmares.

I wish I couldn’t say that for a brief moment, every morning I wake after one of those beau- Damned dreams that it is the most relaxed I’ve ever been. I wish I didn’t have to wake up loose-limbed and at-peace and smiling only to have it crash down around me as I remember who I’m supposed to be.

I wish I could say that I hated those dreams.

But even now, hazy images flicker through my mind, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. And certainly nothing else rising. The guilt at thinking these things in a church, in my church, is almost too much. I’ve been staying up later and later to avoid sleeping, but someone is going to notice the growing bags under my eyes eventually. But mostly it’s the toll the stress has been taking on me. I’ve always been an anxious person, but I didn’t used to jump when parishioners knocked on my door. 

The shame is killing me, the eyes of God and His angels stare into me like red-hot brands, seeing the stain upon my soul. Hopefully He also sees how desperate I am for this to end, and I will be spared.

I stay in place for a long moment, willing the ache in my body to clear my head. It’s not as straining as I thought to sit like this, so I can stand to stay here as long as it takes to replace the thoughts in my head with the soreness of my knees. The church is so still and quiet, my eyes fall shut in silent prayer, breathing deeply and slowly. I don’t know how long I stay there, surrendered to the Lord.

I can hardly bear looking up toward the crucifix hanging on the back wall of the sanctuary. It's no sooner that I make eye contact with Christ that the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I don't know how I know, but something in the air has shifted. I can't seem to move. Someone- no, something is behind me.

There's a faint whisper in my ear.

"Father…"

I turn suddenly, plastering myself against the altar, heart racing. There's no one there.

Obviously, I am being ridiculous, there can’t possibly be anyone there. There's no reason my heart should be leaping into my throat. Just an overactive imagination, I am jumping at nothing, again.

I'm glad I decided to opt for a clerical suit today instead of the cassock, I'd have made a fool of myself tripping over the skirts. I pick myself up off the step, embarrassed and ready to spend another sleepless night in my office, but I hardly get upright again when I can see movement towards the front door of the church.

The votive candles flicker, the flames guttering. They shouldn't be, there's no wind in here. My stomach drops when they go out entirely, the dim red glow from the windows and the few candles left on the altar behind me are the only lights in the church now.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happens and I think I might be able to just leave when there's a soft purring growl from behind me. 

Every muscle in my body tenses. 

I can't move, even when I can hear something huge shift its weight and the breath leaves my lungs when a large clawed hand lands softly on the back of my neck. The claws gently scrape my scalp as it drags its hand up through my hair. I shiver at the feeling of it, goosebumps breaking out on my arms. 

The hand abruptly grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, making me gasp and look up to see an inhuman face peering down at me. 

A wicked grin reveals sharp teeth in it's short muzzle, two pairs of bright mischievous eyes staring down at me from under elegantly arched horns. The same gilded eyes that have haunted my wet dreams nightmares for weeks now. It must see the horrified recognition on my face, because it laughs, a rumbling chuckle that I'm mortified to realize makes my pulse pick up for the wrong reasons. 

“We finally meet face to face, Father, and you look so scared? You never seemed so off-put before.” It’s voice is a seductive purr, and it goes through me like fire. 

“L-let go of me. I c-command you to let go of me,” My voice comes out so much weaker than I hoped, “In- In nomine Pat– mmpph!”

A hand slaps down against my mouth, cutting me off. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, priest. Let me have my fun first.” There’s a grin in its voice as it watches me struggle to pull its hand away and wiggle out of its grasp. The grip in my hair slowly tightens until it hurts, making me cry out beneath the hand on my mouth. It’s only when I go limp, stop fighting that they- it, loosens up.

“What a quick learner. Good boy.” It leans down and whispers the last two words into my ear, and the effect is immediate and devastating. I can feel the pull of arousal in my gut, and goosebumps down my arms. It just laughs above me, this close to it I can feel its chest rumble.

“There we go, just like in your delicious dreams.” The hand comes away from my mouth, but before I can say anything it wraps around my throat instead. My breath catches as it puts just the slightest pressure on my neck, the claws little pin-pricks against the skin.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Father? This doesn't have to be so difficult, sweetheart…” Its voice vibrates against my ear and I can’t suppress a shiver. 

“No… p-please…” I feel pathetic for begging a demon to spare me, but there’s nothing else I can do. I don’t want this, I can’t want this, I can’t convince myself I don’t want this let alone convince them. 

It still has one hand in my hair and the other wrapped around my neck, and I yelp in surprise when I feel two more land on my waist and glide up and around to my chest. I can feel the thing smile against the side of my face, amused by my every reaction.

The hands pull until my back hits the altar, my head bracketed by the monster’s knees, and it’s only then I realize it has the audacity to sit, kneeling, on the altar. I’m so stunned and instantly angry I forget what vulnerable position my throat is in.

“How dare you desecrate my church, the very altar, you foul monster–” 

The grip on me tightens in an instant, claws pressing into but not breaking the skin of my neck and my hair nearly being ripped out. I can’t stop a pained whine from pouring out of me, I can’t even move my hands to try to pull away, the other two arms holding them down by my sides. 

There's a low, menacing growl behind me, and their voice is rough and dark when they speak, a dangerous edge to it.

“I strongly recommend you shut your mouth, Father. I don’t think you’re in any position to be casting stones about desecrating a church.” They finally loosen their grip on my hair just enough that my scalp isn’t screaming in pain, but I still can’t move my head. The grip on my arms shifts, they catch both of my wrists behind my back and their newly freed hand presses softly against my stomach and slowly drifts downward. I nearly sob when their hand closes around my clothed erection, palming me through the cassock. 

“What were you saying about desecration, Father? Dirty little priest, are you hard for this ‘foul monster’?” They move their hand slowly along my trapped length, the friction is maddening even though layers of fabric. I can’t speak, just taking shuddering breaths and praying this is over soon. 

“You were never this shy in your other dreams, Father. Nothing to say to me now? Do you want me to keep hurting you, you masochist?”

“No! Please, no. Stop touching me…”

“I’d probably be more convinced by that pathetic attempt at getting me to stop if your cock didn’t throb under my hand when I said that. I can read your desires like an open book, Father. Give in to me and I’ll fulfill every single naughty thing you’ve ever thought about late at night with your hand under those robes.”

It’s getting hard to think about anything other than how good their hand feels. I have to focus to keep from rutting my hips forward into their agonizingly slow rubbing. I must have taken too long to answer, because the next thing I know I’m being lifted into the air and pulled back onto their lap. My body is arranged how they want me, my legs spread wide outside of their thighs and my hands trapped between my back and their chest. 

"N- no, I can't- I won't! Let go of me!"

I can feel the laugh rumbling out of their chest, their hands holding me close to their body- oh God, they're almost twice my size. 

"Oh don't worry Father, I know you can't. You're not allowed to, are you? But that doesn't mean you don't want it." 

Their lower hands drift downward, broad palms flat against my thighs. They squeeze my thighs at the same time a hand on my chest finds my nipple and starts rubbing it through my clothes. I bite my lip to keep from making any noise, but the demon won't have that. There's a soft rumbling growl next to my ear and they start palming me through the cassock again, slow but firm. 

"I'll take care of you, better than God ever will. Just give in and submit."

It's torture, I can't stop the shudder that rips through me and the gasp from my mouth. My thighs are tight with the effort of not rolling my hips into the touch. The incense smoke is heavy in the air, the heady scent making my head spin. It's getting harder and harder to stifle my reactions, to not give this monster the satisfaction of watching me crumble at their every touch.

The other hand slips behind me, groping my ass before lifting my cassock and suddenly I can feel short soft fur against the back of my bare thighs. 

Wait- what happened to my clothes, this isn't what I was wearing- 

Their hands move over me, adjusting my positioning, and I can feel- oh God, no-

They laugh when they feel my weak struggling against their grip, all it does is grind my ass against their cock, making the both of us moan.

"I'll give you what you need, Father, what you've wanted for so long. I won't hurt you anymore than you want to be hurt." 

Their cock rests against my entrance and with a shocked groan I can feel myself open for them, suddenly dripping wet like a cunt. Then it's pressing inside me and my mouth falls open at the feeling of being stretched. The demon presses in so slowly I can feel every inch of their thick cock spearing me open. They moan in delight, a purr rumbling up from their chest when they're pressed fully inside me. I can't do anything but hang limp in their grasp, panting heavily.

I can’t move or think, consumed by the feeling of the massive cock stretching me out. Mercifully they haven't moved yet, just gently arranging me to sit comfortably in their lap and caressing my thigh and chest. I can feel their smug purring through my back, their nose nuzzling through my hair and along the back of my neck. A forked tongue laves over the back of my neck, I break out in goosebumps as they slowly move down one side of my neck, licking and kissing. I pull my head away, refusing to allow the display of affection from this… thing. I can feel it’s disapproval, it’s lip curling in a silent snarl next to my face.

“Oh Father, would you rather I not kiss you? I thought you would appreciate a little romance, but you really do just want me to treat you like a cheap whore, don’t you?” Their voice has a dangerous edge to it, are they genuinely upset by my rejection?

“We’ll just get on with it then,” they purr into my ear as their hands move my body where they want it. 

A hand on my lower back and another on my throat push and pull in tandem to force me to bend in an arch, the movement rocking my hips over the cock inside me and sending sparks up my spine. The demon uses its new leverage to pull almost all the way out, and it pushes back in just as slow as the first time, letting me feel how much my body has to stretch around. I can’t let it hear me, I refuse to humiliate myself further, so I press my lips together to keep my mouth shut. Each slow thrust makes me shake and my breath comes heavy through my nose, but I can’t make any noise-

The demon pulls me back onto its cock with a hand on my hip and the change in angle makes the next thrust drag across something inside me that makes me see stars. I forget entirely where I am and what I’m doing, my mouth flies open with a shameless moan. Instantly my face is on fire, but I don’t have time to think about my shame because the demon’s thrusts speed up and start targeting that exact spot. Each one lights me up, driving all other thoughts out. I’m distantly aware of the pitiful little noises I keep making, but I can’t do anything other than hang on for the ride. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before, being stretched out and fucked mercilessly and each thrust hitting something incredible inside me… it’s almost too much to handle.

“There we go, that’s what you needed, isn’t it, Father?” The monster’s head rests on my shoulder, speaking into my ear. I can’t answer anymore, I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams, the intense sensation and incense smoke have me so dizzy. Is the room really spinning? It shouldn’t be, I know it can’t actually be. There shouldn’t be this much smoke in the air, mass ended ages ago… The whole sanctuary looks unfamiliar, the altar and nave warped together into one massive alcove with velvet curtains and gilded candelabras and enormous stained glass windows that bathe the both of us in blood-red light. The architecture in the room pulses like a heartbeat- in time with my heartbeat, like the ornate vaulted ceiling and pillars and carvings can’t decide what they're supposed to look like. Or maybe it’s me, my vision swimming as I lose focus on reality itself.

Looking up isn’t any better, the monster behind me seems to have changed too. Shadowed shapes flutter above us, I almost think they’re wings until it clicks into place- hands. Dozens and dozens of shadowy arms pour out of their back in the shape of wings. A tarnished, cracked ring hovers above the back of their head, spikes emanating from it at regular intervals as it spins lazily. I can’t look at any of it for too long, my eyes refuse to focus and slide off like water off a duck, leaving motion-trail after-images in my mind. 

I close my eyes to avoid the worst of it, whining and laying my head back on the soft fur behind me. One of my hands finds a horn above me and I hang on just to have something to anchor myself to.

My hips move on their own now, meeting each thrust from the demon. A coil tightens in my stomach, something building to a knife’s edge inside me. It doesn’t even occur to me to stop, solely focused on chasing that pleasure. Then that rumbling laugh comes again in my ear, and I remember where I am all at once with a keening whine. I still can’t stop myself from rocking backwards onto the thick cock, but now there’s a white-hot streak of shame burning in me, and I’m horrified to realize that it makes the arousal and lust burn hotter, too.

“You’re so close, aren’t you, Father? Ready to cum for me?” The demon taunts. Their voice sharpens suddenly, their hand tightening around my throat, “Don’t you fucking dare. Not until you admit how much you love this, how good it makes you feel. Give in and say ‘yes’ to me, Father.”

I'm too breathless to speak, just a keening whine escaping me.

"No, please… I can't…"

I can't think, I can hardly breathe, too dizzy and overwhelmed to focus on fighting back or arguing. And the demon knows it, their voice a seductive purr in my ear.

"Don't be so difficult. You want this, Father."

"N-no, no…"

A hand creeps around to palm my cock through the cassock, I jerk in their grasp and sob at the pleasure of it.

"There, is that better? Say yes, sweetheart."

I can't- I can't move my mouth around the words anymore, oh God-

"Father…"

Please, I can't- I won't- I shouldn't…

"Father?"

Another pitiful whine, I can feel my resolve slipping.

"Father, are you alright?"

Oh God… y-

"Father!"

There's a hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. My heart lurches in my chest, I jerk awake so suddenly I nearly jump off the floor.

I'm laying on the step in front of the altar, heart hammering and a concerned altar server hovering over me. Sunrise weakly peeks through the windows. The nave is as it was, no warped architecture or demonic influence.

"Father? Are you okay?"

"...No, I'm sorry, I… must have fallen asleep here last night. I haven't been sleeping well."

Every movement aches, my entire body is stiff and sore, and no wonder if I spent all night on the steps. I pull myself upright, wincing in horror at the warm, wet feeling across the front of my pants, thankful they're dark enough to hide the stain.

The altar server just stares at me, I can’t bear to meet their eyes and see the pity there.

They insist on canceling Mass to 'let me rest,' concerned I may be sick. I'm going to let them believe that, too exhausted and ashamed to argue. I find myself back in the rectory in a daze, re-dressed in casual clothes and dreading the heaviness I can feel pulling at my eyelids. 

I put myself to bed in a haze, rosary wrapped around my wrist and clutching my bible to my chest like a shield. I intended to read it, but I no longer have the energy for it, already drifting off despite my best efforts not to. 

I pray I can rest, I pray the Lord will shelter me, that I may sleep in His peace. 

Amen…

#hierophilia #priest kink #terato #nsft #father speaks #i had an original text posts tag but fuck if i remember it #its 2 am bec i got distracted playing sims and now my brain is fried goodnight lmao #art

[xbalayage]

"Why did you do that?" w/ Charles please :)

Charles-Henri Sanson in his POV and it's a little heavy, so read at your own discretion. [Potential spoilers? If you haven't read the beginning of his route?] <3 I hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing this one.

Charles/Reader

Angst

WC: 505

Blood had stained my hands permanent as a reminder, the stench malodorous and foul, engraved deep into the crevice of my memory so I could never repent. I was known as The God of Death. A fitting title for the sins I've bestowed onto these flowers of life; my existence a living enigma. A title I no longer wanted to bare across my skin had scarred itself in, the generational curse too deeply rooted to attempt any refuge. I've taken more lives than loved, the mere act of watching a slicer decapitate heads and the shine leaving their eyes left me feeling numb; having been done by my own two hands with no consequence to myself. The people cheered and claim me a hero, ignoring the fact of who I was, ridding the world of yet another undesirable ... but I couldn't help thinking, 'Is this what you deem as salvation?' ---And I'm not necessarily numb to the feeling of killing but numb to the monster I've become. My tears fall silently in the drought of my internal pain. I've grown to accept that's all I'll ever be. A rampart inferno burns deep in the hole inside me, one that festers and aches, one that burns from the inside out, clawing and tearing at my flesh in the spot between my rib cage that once laid a heart undeserving of its vessel. But along with that emptiness stirred a deep craving burrowed deep in the pits of my stomach that made me feel sick - I couldn't identify it. I longed for the feeling of being loved, the feeling of being accepted as something more than just a monster. Something more than just the Grim Reaper. "Why did you do that?" she spoke, amidst the ruins on display. ...And then, I met you. An angel had forsaken me with her tears of gold while mine ran red; who's touch against my cheeks made the choirs sing symphonies and mine left whomever in my wake tormented, devastated with cataclysm. Who's eyes adorned beautiful paintings of a warm sunset and mine whirled the ravaging waves of a storming sea at dusk. A voice so salacious, my knees fell before your presence in weakness - in a hope that this was my retribution, my chance to atone, my chance at redemption. No further words were spoken but a smile reached her rose petal lips, she leaned down to my sinful body and laid blessings upon my forehead, resting her hand above my eyelids. She'd given me the gift of a mourning dove. At the realization, a soft heavy sigh of long needed relief left my lungs seamlessly - allowing those monstrous eyes of mine, who'd witness and performed multiple acts of sacrilege, to permanently rest and never awaken. For you, I'd had given my mind, body and soul for a chance at freedom. Ah, to be loved by god by your given graces, for even just a moment. To had been given reprieve in a kiss bestowed by the Angel of Death.

taglist; @drachonia

#charles henri sanson #charles henri #ikevamp #ikevamp charles #ikemen vampire charles #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire #fics. #my fics.

[kagrena]

VYRA

When you come to, it's after four thousand years of being stuck while the whole world's been spinning around you, and you barely recognise a thing. They don't recognise you, either. You're not the half-wild dwemer bastard daughter of some Telvanni wizard-lord, nor are you the architect formerly known as Rzarak, fallen from grace. You don't know if you can go back to being Vyra Rzarak Demnevanni. Maybe some clans can continue on like nothing happened, go back to their workshops where the tones stopped singing so long ago, but you -- you were determined to go your own way, to make something of yourself without the choirs and the clans chiefs trying to figure out what to do with you, without the acolytes who wanted to rip out your throat and the bell towers ringing your name and the half-dozen mentors who scratched their heads because you, Vyra, you could be something brilliant -- when you weren't being difficult, which was all the damn time. You'd taken one good, long look at that world -- and you'd left it all behind.

But not without having it all first. It was the Brass Architect herself who'd gotten through to you, after all, who'd seen you as more than 'trouble', and whipped you into shape. She'd taken one look at the engine in your big old brain, fed it the nuts and bolts of tonal theory, and got it to work, got you to work, got you to love, got you to hunger, and you grew. You grew until you towered over everyone else, one of the brightest minds of your generation, right until you were shining at the top of the spire. Introduced you to the big names, to the players and shakers, to Chief Architect themselves, who picked as one of their favourites - and they did pick favourites among acolytes, that was no secret. Yes, you were good. And once you realised exactly what you were reaching for, you wanted none of it.

The Numidium Project would ruin you all.

You had told people - you'd yelled your damn lungs out - that it was all no good, that it was all was rotten to the core, years before anyone else did. You brought it to the Grand Debate, where you were scolded like a child, and got ousted from Grand Chamber by the Chief Architect herself, who'd carved you up into little pieces and served them up to applause - but by the grace of the very same Chief Architect, you had not fallen fully from your previous stature. No, you'd been offered some write-off tonal engineer position in a minor outpost where you couldn't cause any more 'upsets' nor rouse any other 'upstarts'.

'She didn't want this to happen, Zakya. She's already overcome with grief,' you were told, by the woman you'd considered more than a mother, like you were already dead.

So you left.

You left the only world you knew and you spent forty years being raw and furious with the open skies and roads before you. You cut your hair and shaved your beard, threw out every precise instrument you'd ever touched for netch leather and a well-oiled crossbow. You cut yout hair and ran a caravan from Nchumzel to Tel Enora to half-way across Tamriel that you stashed with knock-off brass implements and any runaway who could pull their weight on your pathetic, wretched father's guilt money and you hated everything and everyone you saw along the way. You cut your hair and it always grew back long and thick and curly, no matter how savagely you cut it. You cut your hair and rode out your rage, tear up the road and everything on it, until the end--

-- until the Call came --

And 'I was right,' turns out to be no comfort at all, not even a bitter one, when the world's rolled on past you, and you haven't changed a bit.

Except that your hair's grown back.

You've realised you miss your grandparents. Even though they died fifty -- four thousand and fifty -- years ago. And you'll never see your cunt of a father again -- more's the fucking pity -- nor your half-brother, unless you waste half a funeral at an ancestral -- shit, what's the word for those things? Shrine?

Your hair's long past that feeling of fresh-cut grass and is beginning to curl around your ears. It itches.

You on keep counting their names. Lyr, the stable kid sweetheart who liked your guar -- you'd let her name them, Mistymuck and Needle and Calamity, that last one you both had a soft spot for -- she'd liked them far more than she ever liked you. She's gone. So is Knocks-on-Wood, the drover your father hired to spy on you, the only person you'd ever considered taking an arrow for. You'll never catch sight of Melyn Drels and his dimwit brother again, nor Shady Jade, nor the Alessian nuns, nor the Tel Enora cornerclub crew nor ---

Kagrenac would never speak to you again.

Kagrenac is still missing. You half-wonder whether she'd thrown herself into Red Mountain in spite.

But Bthemetz might. Bthemetz--

You learn that Red Mountain still smokes in the distance in Ald Resdayn, but the trees are now younger than you are. You only recognise half the road signs in Ald Cyrod. The traders on the high road gawk at you. The route is the same.

You miss them. You've always missed them. You'll always miss them. Your life will always be missing something, and you think you'll have to live with that. You're not happy, but you're no longer so furious you don't know what to do with yourself. The old world you wanted to tear up with you is missing. And you're what's left, Vyra--

When you get enough coin together to get a good look at yourself in a looking glass and not a muddy lake, rough stubble's coming through along the length of your jaw. You decide not to touch it. You pull your hand through your hair. Strange, how its length feels like a comfort now, when it had felt like a wound before.

When you raise a knife to your scalp--

When you raise a knife to your scalp, you think better of it. You finish your tea. It's the fourth era of some empire you've never heard of. Dynasties, what are they good for? You sign the guestlist with VYRA. You give no family name.

#vyra #dwemer #chimer #dwemer return AU I guess? #dwemereth #1st era

[madwickedawesome]

actually i gained a few mutuals today so hi my names juno heres some fun facts about me

i cant sleep unless i have my stuffed lobster (accordingly named lobby) with me

im insane about victorian flower language and rococo

i performed at carnegie hall almost exactly a week ago w my choir and we slayed #junoxmozartcollab

my first musical was legally blonde. its actually still so good everyone go watch it

christian from moulin rouge & orpheus from hadestown & aziraphale from good omens & dandelion from the witcher r all the epitome of junocore they make me sick in the head honestly

ive been in choir for way too long to still not really be able to read music. i can barely sightread

i listen to a lot of classical music but also 80s pop and rap but also modern indie rock but also everything sad and also everything about love

im a nyctophobe 😈

i have a dog and . 2 cats and one of them is my silly orange cat named ludo (after the bowie labyrinth character)

mischa bachinski is a bug that i squish underneath my shoe (love him to death)

i had a WICKED crush on mozart when i was a kid like i saw a painting of him and i was like damn...

me and my friends are all obsessed w jfk yaoi for some reason

as a kid i ate a lot of construction paper like plenty of construction paper

also as a kid i hyperfixated on the imitation game (w benedict cumberbatch) for literal years and have seen the movie an obscene amount of times

in addition as a kid i had an irrational fear of michael jackson for years and it ruined me as a person i think. it was so bad LMFOA

ive never been normal about anything in my life

#nice to meet u guys

[eurigmorgan]

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 73

#winter trees #trees in silhouette #cold skies #on South Mountain #late afternoon #Shakespeare Sonnet 73

[scattered-amongst-the-stars]

@confluxium

Garreg Mach Monastery, the once shining pillar at the center of Fodlan: home to the Knights of Seiros, the religious headquarters for the Church of Seiros, and where the Officers Academy took place. Now? Now, it was a towering monument to the devastation of war. The very first in a long list of victims that the Adrestian Empire and its emperor have wronged.

Its many hallowed hallways were stripped bare of anything valuable by thieves long ago, the once bustling marketplace desolate and bare, there was hardly any evidence anyone had ever set foot in these walls let alone lived in them. The only sounds one could hear were the whistling of the wind through shattered window panes and the skittering of rat claws on stone on a good day.

Yes, it was a place fallen from grace. No sane person would ever come to this hollowed corpse of a monastery willingly.

".....aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

CRASH!

Unwillingly then does the varied vagabond that is Lionell finds himself crash landing into the ruined chapel. Precisely on one of the abandoned benches that housed diligent disciples during choir.

"FUCKING - FUCK!"

#🔪;;which mask should I use for this one?: threads