@ the last person to commented about their first time, nononono! sex SHOULD NOT HURT THE FIRST TIME! it might be slightly strange or uncomfortable as it is a new sensation but as long as you are both being gentle and taking things slowly it should NOT BE PAINFUL! If you're experiencing pain during intercourse it could be a medical problem but apart from that, pain is NOT NORMAL! Take time for both of you to work yourself up to sex, use lubrication if necessary, and it should be painless xxx
“with each day, he felt the barriers melting. he let them melt. because of her genuine laugh, because he caught her one afternoon sleeping with her face in the middle of a book, because he knew that she would win. celaena laughed at something Dorian said. she’d survived endovier, and yet could still laugh. while it terrified him to see her down there, a hand’s breadth from dorian’s unprotected throat, what terrified him even more was that he trusted her. and he didn’t know what that meant about himself.”
“Ugh…” Avion slowly groaned out in pain as he could feel the wind rushing around him as he was falling. He didn’t know where he was or how he got there, but all that was on his mind was the pain that was slowly causing him to lose consciousness. “No… not… not now…” Soon enough, he succumbed to the pain of his injuries and lost consciousness, plummeting down to an unknown location.
As he was falling, Avion’s body glowed lightly before forming his ethereal wings, thanks to the power of his keyblade. The keyblade could sense that it’s wielder was in danger, so it used it’s power to form the wings into a giant capsule, surrounding the boy and giving off the image of a dark purple shooting star, which was quickly falling down to a new world.
After a few minutes, the keyblade wielder soon crashed down on the ground, creating a large crater as well as a sending out a large pulse of air rushing out, thanks to the force of the crash. When the dust cleared away and wind died down, Avion’s ethereal wings dissipated and left him exposed to the new world and it’s inhabitants.
“The hardest thing is to know that someone stops texting you because the person doesn’t need you any more. Because the person has someone else and you doesn’t matter any more. Because you aren’t important. You got replaced. If you know that it’s killing you. Slowly. And painful.”
You’ve got searing red scars from extinguishing Newports on your palm: feeling the ashes crinkle into the lines on your hands, as the embers burrow into the skin like a plant sprouting roots; you’ve never used an ashtray, and most days you trust your lighter more than you trust me. I guess I’ve never given you a good high.
Your fingers move so slowly, stiff with pain I can only imagine: you’re twenty going on sixty, old enough to smoke but not old enough to wash it down, and you joke about joining the army, although we both know you could never pull the trigger.
The sun bakes the red bricks where I find you every morning, floating beyond a haze of smoke, the calm within the fiery summer heat, and sometimes I think you’re onto something: Smoke until the days go by. Put out the fires on your palm. But your hands are so burned, so scabbed that they’ll never hold anyone else’s, and maybe you don’t need them to. That’s what the lighter’s for.
✚ - Debauchess just happened to be in the same clinic, stopping as if she had slammed into a wall when she saw him, arm above his head, not even wincing as the stitches slowly pulled the wound closed. The curtain was only cracked, but she knew he saw her, Hell he Most likely had known she was there the whole time. She looked off to the side, trying to decide on weather to bow out quietly or not, fidgeting lightly when her eyes found him once more.
His eyes are closed yet he feels the pair that rest upon him as the wound is slowly closed. The pain is nothing anymore, merely an inconvenience that reminds him that he is still breathing. In his mind, the animal growls and paces back and forth for it’s time to come out once more, yet despite that one orb slowly slides open.
“I know you’re there. There’s no need to hide in the shadows and contemplate.”
The nurse pulls the needle through once more and a drop of blood slips down his arm and onto the table beneath him, staining the white sheet with a crimson droplet.
“I’m in no position to hunt presently, so it is as safe as any time to make an appearance.”
Even as the words leave his mouth, he struggles to maintain the veneer of civility when all he wants it to return to the darkness and become a forgotten memory to the people he once knew. That was what monsters did, was it not? Skulk and hide while waiting to strike?
The softness of his mattress was not familiar and he missed the ticking of his alarm clock besides it smelled different from his own bed.
A faint unpleasant memory tugged at his mind. The last time he had woken up in an unfamiliar bed was about five years ago, likewise disoriented but a lot less dressed than today. That thought actually punched him awake and he bolted up. He wiped the cold sweat of his hand off on his blanket as his memories of the fire, the lightning, the shadows and the electricity slowly returned. Oh, and the pain of the discharging. Quite hard to forget.
Jason reached over to the night stand and picked up his phone to check the time but as soon as the tip of his finger touched the cover, a small electrical spark erupted and zapped into the device. Jason bit down a curse as he didn’t want to wake Bi up, but because he tried to turn the smartphone on, it stayed dead, emitting an unpleasant smell of burned through electronics.
Wanda Maximoff Imagine - I Almost Lost You - for thehistorynut19 Gender - Female/Male Author - Maddie Warnings - fluff, violence,
Wanda had finally allowed you to participate in this one mission.
Due to major injuries from the New York incident, you had been bed ridden for that summer. Then, able to walk on your legs with slight troubles. But that kink, that one spot in your leg just seemed to get worse.
The ones you love always break your heart. You spend years chasing dreams, always hoping and making wishes. Wishing you could get them back, anything for one last chance. Yet why are we the ones hoping for a last chance when they are the ones who destroyed us? Why do we hold on to memories so tight that they eat away at you? Why do we let even the good memories slowly disintegrate into pain? Is it because you love them or is it simply because you are on a path of self destruction caused by your own warped perceptions of self worth. Perceptions formed by heart break and years of chasing after memories. But still, we will always have hope and we will always keep dreaming even though it’s those dreams that are very slowly destroying us.
Quite a while after he blacks out, he finally stirs.
Immediately, he’s greeted by a headache. He lets out a
quiet groan, his teeth clenching together slightly from the pain.
Slowly, his eye opens. He’s left staring at the ceiling, disoriented by the sensations he feels, all still unfamiliar to him but not as overwhelming.
His brow lowers. This is certainly new. This is the ceiling he’s staring at, correct? What is he doing down here then–?
His head turns to the side and he blinks at his friend nearby. Steadily, he manages to bring himself into a sitting position, which brings another whole array of new sensations along with it. The intensity of his headache seems to increase a bit as well.
“Len…?” His mind seems uncharacteristically muddled. Uneasily, his gaze shifts around. “What on Earth happened..? What am I doing here?” His own hand then catches his interest and he chooses to look at it in wonder instead, curling the fingers and then spreading them back out.
Sarinna’s eyes opened slowly, wincing in pain as she moved on the damp mattress she lay on. Her naked body hurt even as she took a breath, but she forced her hand to move, feeling for her King. He wasn’t there.
She had been beaten, subdued, and taken in any form he wanted for taking a drink. A drink. Sarinna didn’t say a word, however. It wasn’t the first time the King would do this to her, and it wouldn’t be the last. She knew that. She understood it. It was the way life would forever be as long as she was alive and loyal to her King.
But it was just a drink offered by the Mercenary…
With some effort, she lifted herself a little and looked around, cringing as her back burned with pain. Bites. Scratches. She recalled daggers. Sighing a little, she forced herself to sit up, rubbing her eyes and her thighs as she glanced about the room. Her silver eyes locked onto his nude form as he stood in front of a broken looking glass. Carefully, she rose up and took careful steps toward him.
The Rat King was staring at his scars on his chest, alongside his “Rat King” tattoo. Sarinna slithered her arms around him and kissed his shoulder, pressing her body against his back. He didn’t ask anything, and she didn’t complain, but that he let her keep her arms around him was a triumph in her mind.
“I used to belong to two organizations before all this,” he said faintly. His fingers reached over the three letters on his chest, over his heart. “It meant something. When people saw those letters, they feared.” Sarinna touched the letters scarred on his chest. “The other organization didn’t have a mark. You know who feared them? No one.” He leaned his head back against hers, both nuzzling each other. Sarinna smiled a little when he turned his head to kiss her cheek.
He moved away from her and reached for the dagger beside the mattress. He walked toward her and grabbed her, turning her and pressing her tender and hurting back against the wall. Sarinna trembled in pain and she saw him walking toward her with the dagger in his hand. Without a word, one arm pressed against her chest and shoulders while the dagger’s cold steel punctured her light blue skin. Sarinna closed her eyes and turned away as he cut into her flesh. His hips were pressed against her and he whispered, “Open your eyes and look at me. Now.”
She did as she was told and bit her lip, trying hard not to show the pain, although she struggled, whimpering here and there. She felt him penetrate her once more and the pain was now part of their intimate act. She saw him finish his carving and the King reached down to lick her new wound. Thrusting against her, he dropped the dagger and pressed against the carving to make Sarinna ache. Once they both climaxed, the Rat King grabbed her off the wall and spun her around, his arms claiming her.
Sarinna saw the carving on the round of her breast. It was an R with a crown over it. She had seen it before, when the King would send messages, when the Ratz would smear their victims’ blood on the walls. Now it was on her body.
“Pick up the dagger.” She did as she was told and the King looked into her eyes. “Mark me.” She stared at him and looked at his body. She had a dagger in her hand and she was to carve into the King’s skin. Oh, how she wished she could simply drive that dagger into his chest and plan her escape, but she couldn’t. She loved him too much. She found a spot on his chest and she carved out the same design on his body, licking his blood as well. He roughly moved her aside and stared at both his and her markings. A cruel chuckle escaped his lips and he kissed her neck. “I want everyone to have this. We start tomorrow. We will mark all the Ratz. And if anyone sees this mark, may they tremble with fear.”
Rawness… You will sit by the lake and the sun will float above you . There are palm trees in every corner lined up back to back like they are getting ready for combat . They are not the only ones in battle . You will attempt to write out a new piece about your grandfather . Your keyboard will feel like a crown full on thorns , the one Jesus wore. But this is not a holy piece . Your fingers will be pierced by words that only you could have written. And it’s ok to bleed . This won’t be the first time. Nor the last. I will not tell you that it will get better. I will not tell you if I like the pain. Slowly the bleeding will stop and you will scroll to the top and there it is … your relationship with your grandfather on a white page. I told you it won’t be divine. You will sit by the lake and think about calling him. I will not tell you if I did. I will tell you that I came back to my room and sat on my bed. I will not tell you if I cried. I will tell you that I been writing… I been writing…I been writing. #qtpoc #femmesofcolor #migrant #qwoc #art4 #VONA
Beacon Falls. Brodie had heard a lot about the town, and decided the best place to hide whilst escaping hunters that had been on his ass for what felt like years was in a town full of other supernaturals. He hadn’t actually seen any of the hunters that were on him for about a fortnight, so he was ninety-percent sure that he’d lost them, but one could never be too careful. Naturally, the first thing he did upon arriving was head to the bar – he had earned a drink. He sat at the bar and sighed, drinking his drink slowly to drink the physical pain away from the wounds he had received; he may heal quickly, but it had gotten pretty rough out there. Brodie looked around the bar and smirked to himself when he saw a dark-haired guy with his back too him, he figure looking perfect and, not to be rude, but his ass was on point. He approached confidently, stopping just behind him and leaned against the bar. “You must be–” But then he stopped, mouth slightly agape as he pushed past the man and towards a blonde girl across the room. “Destiny fucking Stewart, you son of a gun.” He couldn’t help but chuckle breathlessly, tears coming to his eyes as he pulled her into a tight hug. “I– Things got so bad, I couldn’t find you anywhere. I looked and waited for as long as I could before I had to leave. I thought that you were dead.” Brodie whispered, pushing her away and holding her at arms length, looking over her with a laugh. “You were right – you’re one strong lil’ va– woman.” He wiped his eyes, trying to be subtle but it was already obvious that he was emotional. For years, he thought that the girl he had fought alongside for so long was dead. What were the odds of bumping into her in a small town bar? He didn’t believe in fate, but if he did he would certainly say that it was.