experts only

Shsl Ice climber : Miyuki Oka (Name mean Snow field/Hill) Aka the protag

Alright hello! This new blog (Ignore the previous beanings) for my dumb fangame called Danganronpa Convention or Kuma kon  Other characters will be created and released one by one because im not an expert im only one person 

Only my first supporters/Freinds know about what happens to the cast and everything will be told in a (badly) drawn comic format i made this game because i was inspired by Despair-Resort Dialaces kiling game and others also because its summer and i dont know what to do :V

Please reblog!

707mmgirl  asked:

I was wondering if you could do a NSfw where the rfa+v and saeran are having sex with mc for thw first time and they orgasm too fast and are afraid that they'd disappoint MC?

(  ˵¯͒⌄¯͒˵;;) I couldn’t sleep so I really…Really…Wanted to write this. Thought about it all day.


- He was losing it mentally. His hands were sweaty, his chest was beating

- He wasn’t going to lie, he had jerked off quite a bit before…Especially when LOLOL introduced that new female skin….

- But never much more than that! God, he was too scared to even get a sex toy- Too scared and embarrassed to even entertain the thought!

- He tried asking Zen for tips, even resorted to asking Seven. But Seven laughed and Zen said to look up some porn videos to get an idea because he was too busy to help

- (Or was he just sour MC didn’t fall for him?)

- When you came out of the bathroom in your pjs, he was already trying not to get a stiffy. I mean, what you were wearing wasn’t horrible, wasn’t perverted, but…You weren’t wearing a bra. Even he could tell that

- And the fact that tonight would be the first time you shared a bed together…

- “Yoosung?”

- “Y-Yes??”

_ “…Are you going to come lay down? It’s cold without you~”

- This was it, he was going to die. Someone get his will from that coffee fiasco out, he was going to need it after tonight.

- Carefully, he climbed into bed behind you, opting to try and be the big spoon and hold you tight.

-…Too tight, too tight! Your ass was rubbing against his groin so nicely. He ended up burying his face in your hair, desperate just to pretend he didn’t feel it.

- “Yoosung, are you alright?”

- “Yeah, yeah- I, uhm. I am.”

- “So you’re not hard-”

- “Don’t say it!!”

- Oh my god, this is it. You were going to make fun of him endlessly, just like the guys would when they found out. 

- You turned around to face his red face, and right when he thought it wasn’t going to get again worse, you slipped your hands around and squeezed his ass, pulling his hips flush against yours

- He. Couldn’t. Breathe.

- He felt you start kissing his neck, grinding against him, and he could only whimper in response. This isn’t how he thought it was going to happen- I mean, he was supposed to take the lead, right?? Right??

- But you slipped your hand in his sweat pants, letting out a lustful groan as you found he wasn’t wearing underwear, and he lost it

- You pulled your hand back and looked at the cum on your fingers, before looking him right in the eye and licking your hand clean

- Were you trying to kill him???

- “MC I’m sosososorry, oh my god-”

- “That’s okay, Yoosung,” You grabbed his hand, guiding it under your underwear, “Why don’t you show me what those gaming fingers can do?”

- God, please someone print out that will. He really was going to need it after tonight.


- So she wasn’t as innocent as everyone thought she was

-…But she was still blushing like crazy

- A cuddling session gushing over a dirty story you found online had turned sexual very quickly. Mainly due to your wandering hand, but…

- Now she was under you, one hand halfway covering her face, and the other gripped your arm as your teased her clit

- Every time she let out a squirming moan, her chest heaved and you swore you were in heaven

- You didn’t waste much time with foreplay. The two of you hadn’t really gone this far before, and this poor woman needed some excitement in her life that didn’t end in cat hair everywhere

- You couldn’t take it anymore, you slowly licked her nipple, then clamped your teeth over it, loving her surprised moan.

- “M-Mc!”

- You gave her nipple a harsh suck, your fingers trailing down from her clit to her entrance, slipping in two fingers already.

- You walls clamped down, her nails digging into your forearm already. She was sweating, chest heaving, but you knew all the right spots to hit.

- As your mouth bit on her neck, her moans kept getting higher and higher in pitch, until her nails dug in so harshly that you knew you were going to need a few bandages later.

- You felt her hips jerk up a few times, her whimpering when you kept trying to fuck her with your fingers, so you slowly pulled out.

- “Did you cum already?”

- She let out a groan, covering her face. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a while.”

- You just laughed, kissing her forehead. 

- “I mean… I could be my turn, if you really loved meee~”

- She rolled her eyes but laughed, motioning for you to switch spots with her.


- The two of you were resting on the couch, just cuddling, until his fingers liiightly brushed against your sides, and you made the mistake of giggling

- Now it was On

- First thing about being friends with Seven: Never, ever, let him find out where you’re ticklish.

- He had you squealing and threatening him at the same time, squirming in between his legs as he laughed at you.

- Pretty soon you started fighting back- Turning around and desperate to find his ticklish spots. 

- But, after a while of squirming in eachother’s arms, he accidentally let out a moan that was not painful

- You stopped, and the both of you blushed… But, you just placed a questioning kiss on his lips.

- “R-really? Right here?”

- You nodded, already moving to start palming him through his pants, and he automatically started working on pulling off your shirt

- He groaned as you unzipped his pants, palming him through his boxers. He tried returning the favor, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

- But you slipped to the floor and got on your knees? What where you- Oh my god you were going to blow him

-Oh…My god.

- He watched with a growing blush as you tugged on his pants to be able to pull his hardening cock out easier. He watched your eyes widen just a bit when you pulled it out, him mentally fist pumping that he was a good enough size for you

- He wanted to lean back- Play it cool and just enjoy it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You brushing your hair behind your ear, getting a decent grip on his cock, your half-lidded eyes studying the head. He could feel the pre-cum leaking out already, and he prayed you thought that was normal.

- You gave his cock a few tentative pumps, him trying his fucking best not to jerk his hips up, and then suddenly you took the tip in your mouth.

- He couldn’t hold it back, he ended up letting a low whimper out, his fingers itching to tangle themselves in your hair, but god he managed to keep them away.

- You bobbed your head a bit, removing the cock from your mouth with an obscene ‘pop’, looking him right in the eyes as you licked up the underside of his cock

- …And he came all over your face

- It was slightly, just a bit, adorable at how you winced, but he felt his soul leave his damn body. Damnit, he knew he should have jerked off last night when he had the chance.

- “Oh my god, Mc I’m so–” 

- You wiped a bit off your cheek, slipping your finger in your mouth and letting out a hum. “You taste a bit bitter…”

- Instantly he pulled you up on the couch, sucking and nipping at your neck as you moaned a bit.

- He really, really, needed to know how you tasted as well. And, well….Hopefully that would make up for him being such a quick shot.


- The marriage had been sweet, and ended with lots of cuddling on a plane as the two of you went to enjoy your honeymoon, something Jumin was very insistent on.

- As soon as the two of you landed, it was getting changed into something more appropriate, going off and enjoying the sites, having a nice romantic dinner

- And now the two of you finally made it to the place you were staying at for the next week. With just one bed in the room.

- He didn’t want to admit he felt nervous- What if he harmed you? What if he did so many things you didn’t enjoy? Expert Playboy only told him so much, and he wasn’t too keen on watching porn. Especially if Seven had his hands in the RFA’s search history.

- The two of you dressed in your sleepwear, then he coaxed you over to lay with him.

- Getting to finally hold you in his arms like this was amazing. He felt his chest swell every time you snuggled closer to him.

- “Mc?”

- “Yes, honey?”

- He gave your forehead a kiss at the nickname, his cheeks lightly blushing. “From my research, we’re not completely done for the day yet, are we?”

- Your face went red, but he started with gentle kisses to your lips, moving to your jaw, then to your neck, his fingers dancing around the hem of your shirt.

- Your breath hitched a couple of times, but you started working on unbuttoning his shirt, groaning when his hands started groping your breasts

- God, this felt amazing so far, from just barely doing the minimum. He focused on recalling all the tips in the magazine, some of the grosser things some board members had talked about drunk- Just anything he could apply to please you

- It wasn’t long before you were fully on your back, breasts heaving as he teased your clit, his boxers the only clothing left on him

- The way your cheeks flushed looking at his cock straining against his boxers made him want to take you instantly, but he needed to be patient, he needed to hold out a bit longer.

- But you gently squeezed his forearm, mewling a bit as he kept trying to rub your clit

- “Ju-Jumin, please, I want to feel your cock- I’m ready, just please.”

- He felt his eyes widen, but quickly cleared his throat and nodded, pulling his boxers off

- He teased you a bit more, the head of his cock barely entering you and pulling back out, making you let out the cutest whines. But finally, when he couldn’t even stand it anymore, he pushed himself fully inside of you, groaning along with you

- He stayed still for a moment, feeling how amazing it was to have you squeezing him so tightly. He tried to move, just one pump, but it was too much.

- As soon as he realized what had happened, his face was completely red, and he felt so ashamed when you let out a little questioning noise.

- “It…It seems that I’ve…” He trailed off, suddenly pissed at himself for cumming so damn early. You didn’t even get to enjoy anything.

- But you just squeezed his hand, placing a kiss on his cheek.

- “If you want…You could just use your fingers for tonight, tomorrow we could try-”

- “No, we’re doing this right tonight. I told you I would keep you up all nigh- I’m not going back on that now.”

- While he did finally get rid of his shame at how much you squirmed from his fingers alone, he promised himself that he was going to make you cum twice as much from his cock alone.

- (What the fuck did those magazines say about this situation???)


- You had been trying for ages to get him to have sex with you. 

- Inviting him in the shower? ‘Accidentally’ letting him walk in on you? Snuggling super close during a romance scene? All of them failed.

- And god, did he hate it.

- He wanted to fuck you, have you screaming his name so loud he was sure to get noise complaints- But was he ready??

- It had been a very, very, long time since he had, ahem, let the beast out. The last time was…Way too long ago.

- But all the teasing, and bluntness without saying anything, was starting to get to him. Starting to have his hand wandering when you weren’t there with him, and a few times when you were.

- Tonight was a bit better. You weren’t trying to throw more ‘hints’ his way, you were just snuggled up to him resting your head on his chest, tracing an imaginary circle on his ribs

- Yeah, he could handle this!

- But your fingers stopped, and you started to play with his hair a bit instead, making cute little noises as you shifted to look up at him

- “Your princess wants some kisses.”

- Oh no. He felt his cock twitch, but he tried his best to ignore it as he tipped your chin up, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

- “I can’t help but do as my princess wants~”

- But you pulled him back towards you, planting a few soft kisses, and then slowly making them more and more greedy.  You even slipped your tongue in, and when he groaned out he knew he was done for.

- He wanted to avoid sex at the moment, but tonight he didn’t have enough willpower.

- He grabbed your shoulders, pushing you to lay on your back as he slipped between your legs, leaning over to start sucking on your neck.

- You didn’t waste a second, especially since you had been trying to get to this point for ages. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinning when he grinded against you with a low growl

- “You’ve been such a tease, princess, I can’t take it anymore.”

- As he pushed your shirt up, working on your breasts, he was frantically trying to recall all the moves he used to do back when he was in that gang.

- (God, it really had been forever!)

- Your hands fumbled with his shorts, yanking them down and giving his ass a firm squeeze, loving as he bit your neck in response.

- You were going to kill him. He wanted the first time to be sweet, romantic, but he couldn’t even control his thoughts right now. He just kept imagining how tight you would feel, how you would squeeze down on him-

- You reached and grasped his cock, starting a teasing pace as he leaked pre-cum already.

- Ah, fuck, fuck, he couldn’t take this. He ended up moaning into your shoulder as he jerked his hips in time with your pumps. One, two times, and he came.

- Kill. Him.

- He didn’t want to face you, he just closed his eyes tight as you pulled your hand away.

- “Zenny~ No fair, let me have fun too.”

- He took a deep breath and looked at you nervously- Only to be greeted with a firm kiss. You pushed his shoulder a bit, wriggling your hips.

- “Why don’t you put that mouth to better use~?”

- He looked a bit dumbfounded for a moment, but quickly slid back a bit, working on getting your pjs off.

- I mean… at least he had an impressive recovering speed? Hopefully luck would be on his side and let him recover fast enough to fuck you like he had been wanting.


- It…Had been a very long time. A long time since he was fully willing to have sex, at least.

- When the innocent cuddling on his bed got more perverse- Your hand slipping under his shirt and teasingly running your fingers so close to the waistband of his pants- Well… He did want it, it had just been ages

- He tried his best not to show it. Each feather-light touch he returned, every little breath you let out he had to stop himself from groaning

- He hadn’t realised how badly he wanted this from you

- Once the cute kisses died down, turning into panting breaths and low moans, you rolled yourself on top of him, straddling him and purposefully refusing to grind against him

- Were you trying to kill him? He needed this- He needed you

- His hands found your hips, holding you as he bucked his hips up with a barely contained groan. It had been too long, way too long, since he had felt so good from just teasing

- “Mc-”

- You leaned over, starting another string of greedy kisses, taking his will to talk and interrupt you away

- It didn’t take long for his hands to act on their own- Slipping under your shirt to grope, pushing your ass down so he could grind against you fully

- When you broke the kiss and let out such a sinful moan, he couldn’t do it anymore.

- “Mc, please- Now, now, please.”

- He felt your breath against his neck as you giggled, wiggling out of your underwear and pulling down his pants

- You took his cock and slid the head against your clit, making him bite down hard on his lip

- “Oh, god, Mc-” You were horrible but so fucking amazing. He wanted to thrust his hips up, slam into you with all he had-

- You let out a little mewl of pleasure as the head of his cock rubbed your clit just right, and suddenly you felt a hot spurt against you.

- He covered his face quickly, panting but letting out a sound of utter disappointment. 

- “It’s been ages, I just-”

- “Shh,” You leaned over, kissing his forehead. “ It’s fine.”

- But it wasn’t, was it? Your cheeks were still flushed, you were soaked but he knew you hadn’t came yet.

-… Was it too early to suggest…?

- “M-Mc, ride me.”

- “…What?”

- God, don’t make him say it again. He carefully squeezed his cock, feeling how sensitive it was, but he didn’t care. He wanted you anyway.

- He rubbed the head of his dick against your clit, then finally trailed it to your entrance, pushing the tip in and joining you in your moan

- “Jihyun-”

- He jerked his hips up, pushing into you fully, and the sound you made had him dig his nails into your thighs.

- “Ride. Me. I can take it.”

- He came early, but he was going to be damned if you weren’t going to be able to feel his cock slam in you tonight.


- He had experience with women. Not exactly loving ones, but quick and hard fucks in the backs of bars or in hotels was what he was used to the most.

- And usually they all went well, except if the women tried being too clingy with him.

- He wasn’t expecting you to last so fucking long though

- The two of you were just cuddling on his bed, something he was always insistent on. But you were trying to find some funny things to show him on your phone, and he was tired of watching videos. 

- He ended up initiating it, slowly trying to tease you by acting like he wasn’t aware of where his hands were, but quickly dropping the act and pushing you on your back, grinding against you and slipping his tongue in between your bruising lips

 - It didn’t take long at all for both of you to rid each other of any fabric in the way, him burying his cock inside of you with a grunt and a low “Fuck,”

- Usually with the women he had fucked before, they came rather quickly… 

- But as he harshly slammed himself inside of you, finally being able to enjoy being inside of you, he felt himself coming closer and closer to the edge- And you definitely hadn’t came yet.

- He pulled your leg up a bit, pushing it flush against your chest to get a better angle to ram into you, letting out a growling string of curses as you tightened around him

- A few more jerks of his hips, and he easily came inside of you, groaning out and breathing harshly against your neck.

- He wasn’t expecting you to whine, though. He looked up, a bit confused, as you pouted.

- “You came already?”

- “…You didn’t??” He swore he had felt you tense up, dig your nails into him even more. What happened?? Oh god, was he losing his touch?

- You pushed him on his back, climbing on top of him and forcing his cock back into you, rolling your hips. “I wasn’t done yet~ Can you keep going?”

- The fuck he could, but his embarrassment didn’t let him say that. He gripped your hips, keeping you in place as he pushed as deep as he could inside of you, letting out a guttural groan.

- You let out a loud moan, starting a steady and heavy pace, drinking in how his cock hit your g-spot on every thrust.

- He hadn’t been overstimulated before, but he refused to argue against it. He apparently needed to build his stamina back up anyway…


honestly if the accommodations are peecakes, take me before they get here, too.

@rareruiz : Allura, A2

Don’t fool yourselves, Allura makes bad puns and starts explaining them when no one laughs.

“Did you get it Coran? Because lion and lying sound the same.”

“Yes, Princess. Very clever”

“You didn’t laugh so I thought you might not have understood.”

“I’m laughing on the inside, Princess.”

NCT in a Heist (As Requested)

Chenle: Sniper who is there to take out any big opponents who get in the way of the heist. 

Doyoung: Smooth operator who could talk his way out of anything or is good to use as a distraction because of his tendencies to be a drama queen. 

Haechan: Demolitions man. Important to have in sticky situations where there seems to be no escape as he can create one using his skills as an expert of explosives. Should only be used in extreme situations because of the casualties. 

Jaehyun: Getaway driver whose there for a quick escape, especially handy when things go wrong. Also helps to calm down the others by being an excitable puppy despite the situation.

Jaemin: The Cleaner who cleans up any evidence of the crimes that have taken place during the heist from removing finger prints to cleaning up blood. 

Jeno: Look out. In charge of making sure that they aren’t caught before their time is up

Jisung: The rookie or member in training for a position as a gunmen. Too young to actual to become part of the heist.

Johnny: The brute. Because Johnny is tall and has some muscle he would be in charge of brute strength and making sure people listen carefully to instructions. Would literally just intimidate people with his height despite being the softest ball of fluff.

Kun: Medic who is there in case any of the members get hurt and has to step in. Constantly in the background and people often forget he’s even there until they need help.

Mark: Hacker who is in charge of all things to do with computers, mostly used to remove evidence from security cameras. 

Renjun: Safe Cracker. He would be in charge of getting into vaults and high security places.

Taeil: The planner who comes up with everything ahead of time and explains in detail what everyone’s job is. He then replays all the plans to the mastermind who puts them into practice. 

Taeyong: Mastermind who is in charge of the plan and making sure everything runs smoothly. Makes sure they have time and skills to execute the plan and there to work out an escape if things go wrong. 

Ten: Cat Burglar who often checks out the area or location before the plan is put into action so they can map out how everything is gonna happen and if the plan will be successful.

Winwin: The inside man. He’s cute so he can charm anyone into getting what he wants, including information which he then passes onto Taeyong.

Yuta: Hitter aka a professional assassin. If someone need’s to be taken out inconspicuously before the heist then this is the guy to do it. 

Honestly the entitlement Kpop fans have about South Korea and South Korean issues and its people and even the entitlement that fans of Mandarin pop and Taiwanese music have about China is so fucking ridiculous… like… just because you’re into a genre of music or pay attention to a few idols does not make you a goddamn expert on my culture or my people or what the fuck ever else. 

This also goes for those Kdrama fanatics.. or those people who want to dote about how “Wah Korean people are so cute! So beautiful!” or put down sino people while liking Korean music (e.g. “Ew Chinese/Mandarin sounds so weird” or “Chinese people are so immoral compared to Korean people”)

Understanding anti-Asian sentiment is another ball game and also Asian fetishism as well. I’m not even going to delve into sociopolitical issues. 

I highly dislike POC / non-white people who are non-Asian (or more specifically non-sino or non-Korean) claiming they understand this shit just because their own race/ethnicity faces discrimination. Like yes it matters and there is no oppression competition at play here, but when you’re fetishizing me or my people and speaking those words under your breath - you don’t get it.

It just seems like Koreaboos and sinophiles these days loooooove to think they have some kind of *~*~special closeness~*~* to my cultures just because they know some problematic shit with music entertainment companies or some intrinsic issues with idols for that matter. Like no. Listen. I can care less for most of that shit really. I do care because yes it involves my people - but SK and China does not revolve around that. Idols from music groups are not representative of a country or its people and especially I see a lot of Asian fetishists fawn over them because of their aesthetic beauty only. 

The other thing I find weird is how non-Korean and non-Chinese fans want to act like an expert but their only knowledge on most shit is with music industries and idols/celebrities.

Spare the bullshit with me and quit giving me secondhand embarrassment. Really. Don’t act like you know what you’re talking about when it’s clear you speak over those from those ethnic groups trying to talk about this.

Some Post-The End Tord Headcanons
  • Tord isn’t completely blind in his right eye. He can see shapes and smudges of color but that’s it. It’s more of a distraction than a help so he wears an eye patch at all times unless he’s in his private quarters.
  • The thing is, hair won’t grow over scar tissue. Half of Tord’s face has some degree of scaring now. Basically, he has to keep clean shaven unless he wants to go around with half a beard.
  • On that note, Tord also keeps his hair long to hide a few, small bald/scar spots on his scalp.
  • Another thing to take note of, being near loud explosions can damage your ears to the point of hearing loss. Tord took the most damage in his right ear and has to wear a hearing aid. (He’s not deaf but Tord doesn’t deal well with any sort of weakness.)
  • There was some nerve damage to Tord’s right arm. He might have been able to regain some functionality in it, but the prognosis wasn’t looking good. Rather than be limited by what he considered dead weight, Tord had the arm removed and replaced.
  • Let’s be honest here, folks: Tord totally got the inspiration for his arm from anime. Lucky for him, he has some talented people working for him or his idea would have just ended in disaster. (It’s still kind of disaster. Every 8-12 years he’ll have to have surgery to replace parts due to wear and tear. It will suck.)
  • Since the tech is brand new, there are times where Tord has to walk around without it attached while the technicians fiddle with it.
  • Phantom limb pain is still a thing. A thing that sucks.
  • Tord severely underestimated what a big adjustment it would be to get used to the prosthetic. A lot of practice and adjustments over several months because sometimes he’ll crush things, or drop them, or his hand won’t even close when he wants it to. Temper tantrums aplenty. 
  • (He learns to enjoy the little victories, like tying his shoes on his own without too much trouble. Or manages to shakily write his own name with a pen. Or he stops breaking every glass he unthinkingly grabs with his right hand.)
  • During the winter, Tord wears a cozy on his metal arm because it sucks sleeping pressed up against cold metal.

If you look close enough, Mic has a language gain on her back. She never really messed around with it, until one time when Soap have her a gentle hug, and flipped the gain. Mic ended up speaking Japanese for the rest of the day (While Soap did nothing but try and clean her up, to see if her original gain was malfunctioning)

Bomb is FORBIDDEN to drink or eat anything that contains sugar. If he does consume any (for example, he drinks soda by mistake) he will RUN AROUND, HAVING THE BIGGEST SUGAR RUSH YOU HAVE EVER SEEN, DESTROYING EVERYTHING IN HIS PATH before having either a sugar crash, or exploding. This has happened a few times; let’s just say that there we’re injuries and it did not end very well.

Knife can Tango/Dance. Like, when he’s alone, and when nobody else is around (HE WILL MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS GONE) He fricken TANGO’S LIKE A EXPERT. The only one who knows about this is Pickle, who walked upon Knife dancing, and, Knife being the lil flirty shit he is, pulled him in and they basically tango-ed for an entire hour.

MePhone 4 usually hosts a dinner for the contestants after each elimination. During one dinner, Lightbulb slammed her fist down on a ketchup packet and the ketchup fricken WENT EVERYWHERE. It splattered all over Paintbrushes face, got on Fan’s phone, some flew into Test Tubes liquid, and even all over the food.
Lightbulb was laughing like crazy, Test Tube was giggling because she felt a bit odd, Fan was quickly trying to clean off the ketchup from his phone, and Paintbrush was yelling the entire time.

Cheesy once jumpscared YinYang while they were washing a couple of pots, pans and dishes. When he did, YinYang turned around and SLAPPED CHEESY WITH A COOKIE/BAKING PAN. Cheesy was on the floor both laughing and crying in pain, Yin was apologizing like hell and Yang was LAUGHING.
Cheesy ended up with a ice pack on his cheek for a few hours.

In the mansion, Bow loves to posses Apple, so she can feel and taste stuff again. She possessed Apple once so she could touch a chair again. Apple doesn’t mind, but it does startle her a bit.

Apple gets easily flustered. Like, Marshmallow and Bow could give her a smooch on the cheek, and she would be a ditzy, giggly mess. She would be so flustered, that she would sometimes not notice where she’s going and could walk into walls, chairs, or even outside into the woods.

The Cherries sometimes go out of hand with their pranks. They once put a rubber tarantula in Paper’s bedroom; and the next thing you know, he was having a severe anxiety attack. (Note that Paper has severe arachnophobia). The two just hid in their room and kept quiet for the rest of the day.

When someone misbehaves in the Hotel, OJ usually puts them to clean around the hotel.

One time for Christmas, Lightbulb made cookies. RAW cookies. Paintbrush got really dizzy, and they raged about dizzily. Fan and Test Tube decided that enough was enough, and they tied them and Lightbulb together with Christmas lights, saying that they will not be let loose until they get along. Lightbulb just smirked and talked with them, in a giggly sort of way.

One time, Paintbrush snorted after laughing really really hard. Fan recorded the whole thing, and would always play it when Paintbrush was around.

Lightbulb accidentally tangled Paintbrushes hair into a big knot once. It took them HOURS to get it untangled.

Tissues actually LOVES fish. Especially jellyfish. The sight of them actually helps him take his mind off of his condiSHAWN and focus more on the gentle beauty of the fish.

Salt and Pepper sometimes invite Soap over for a girls night; A night where Salt and Pepper help Soap look pretty and nice for Mic.

Taco LOVES gummy candy. Gummy fish, gummy worms; anything that’s a gummy. She will KILL for the gummies.

YinYang actually gets along for one thing: oreos. Ever since they were young, they’ve agreed that Yin gets the cookie part, and Yang gets the cream. That’s the only thing they’ll get along to. Good happy boios.

Nickel still has his rubber ball with him. It’s a little stress reliever for the guy. When he feels real angry or frustrated, he would bounce it or throw it against the wall furiously. Let’s just say that rubber ball of his came as a good use to him after the elimination. Otherwise, things would’ve turned for the worst.

One time, Suitcase was walking by glumly until she looked at the ground and saw a trail of little paper flowers. She followed the trail which led to the cliff, and when she looked up, she saw Balloon (of course) waiting there for her with open arms. She immediately ran into his arms, and they stayed at the cliff for hours, comforting each other, hugging and giving a few kisses, and admiring the view. MePhone 4 eventually found out, and has forbidden Balloon or Suitcase, or ANYONE, to approach the cliff.

Nickel rebels and usually sneaks out of the hotel during the wee hours of the night. He runs towards Baseball, and usually just cuddles up right beside him and falls asleep. Baseball falls asleep crying most of the time, so Nickel gently wipes his tears away and mutters comforting words to him.

During the Fourth of July, the Bright Lights agreed to tie Paintbrush with a large firecracker. You could only imagine how that went.


Hope you guys liked these !!! I really tried, I did-

On Trump firing FBI Director James Comey:

“This is a grotesque abuse of power by the President of the United States. This is the kind of thing that goes on in non-democracies. That when there is an investigation that reaches near the President of the United States, or the leader of a non-democracy, they fire the people who are in charge of the investigation. I have not seen anything like this since October 20th of 1973 when President Richard Nixon fired Archibald Cox, the Watergate Special Prosecutor. This is something that is not within the American political tradition. That firing led - indirectly but certainly - to the resignation of President Nixon, and this is very much in this tradition. This is NOT normal. This is not politics as usual. This is something that is COMPLETELY outside how American law is supposed to work.

Can we point out that the emperor is not wearing any clothes? This memo from Rod Rosenstein says that James Comey was fired for being too mean to Hillary Clinton. Does anyone believe that?? Could anyone believe that??? I mean, it’s just absurd! That suddenly, here it is in May of 2017, that he’s being fired for a press conference that he held in July of 2016?? I mean, this is just the most preposterous pretext.

This is an investigator who is investigating the White House. AND HE WAS JUST FIRED BY THE WHITE HOUSE. This doesn’t happen in the United States. Except on October 20th 1973, when Richard Nixon fired Archibald Cox. And if anyone thinks that a new FBI director is going to come in and the agency is just going to take over as if nothing has happened, that’s not how it works! They will put in a stooge who will shutdown this investigation. They are in charge. The political people are in charge of the FBI, not the street agents. The street agents do what they are told. Now Donald Trump will put someone who will do this bidding.

You know, Rod Rosenstein is a distinguished prosecutor, I interviewed him when he was in Baltimore, he had a very good reputation here - and how he could affix his name to that DISGRACEFUL MEMO, this total lie, this pretext, this absurd memorandum, that suggests that the basis for firing Jim Comey is the Hillary Clinton investigation is one of the many mysterious that abound today. But keep in mind, and this is what we just have to keep in mind because everything that Donald Trump does sort of becomes normal, “Oh, he says things on Twitter. Oh, this is just Donald Trump being Donald Trump”. This is NOT normal. We do NOT fire FBI Directors when they are closing in on the White House. This is not something that has happened before in American history.

[Q: So why do you think he was fired?]

Because the FBI is running an investigation against Donald Trump and Russia - AND APPARENTLY IT’S GETTING TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT. That is the only rational conclusion that you can draw from this fire.

Keep in mind that what Rod Rosenstein says in this letter is that what Comey said in his press conference LAST JULY was “outrageous”and that “it was just terrible” - well, Donald Trump QUOTED from that press conference REPEATEDLY. He was delighted by that press conference! How can that be grounds for his firing right now??? It makes NO SENSE. It’s irrational.

We can try to dress it up, but it’s just NOT credible that Donald Trump fired Jim Comey for being too mean to Hillary Clinton. It’s just NOT possible.

This is a White House that wanted to fire Comey and was looking for a reason.”

- Jeffrey Toobin, political expert

Everything is fine

Pairing: IvarxReader
Rating: Explicit
Words: 4584
Warning: Smut, very short masturbation, (fluff?), (insecure Ivar?)

Notes: There it is! I always wanted to write something about a very insecure Ivar wanting to pleasure his lady but being completely lost. I don’t know about the fluff tho, not enough fluff? Too much fluff? Is that even fluff?? I’m lost. (I imagined Ivar with longer hair than in the gif, but it is the main reason I came up with this. Seriously, this gif is killing me.) Sorry for any mistakes. I hope you will like it, enjoy heathens! 

“Y/N!” You jumped at the sudden scream that tore you from your deep thoughts. 

You turned your head towards the one who screamed. “Ubbe! You don’t need to shout like that, you scared me.” You giggled. Hvitserk was with him, a devilish smile on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. You need to follow us.” You eyed them suspiciously, they both looked at you with that damned Ragnarssons signature smirk that you knew too well. Usually, it meant that they were up to no good.

“Why?” It’s not that you didn’t trust them but the sun was already down and their smile gave you the creeps.

“It’s a surprise.” Hvitserk winked.

“Where is Ivar? I haven’t seen him since last night.” You felt a little uncomfortable under their heavy gaze and our body language betrayed that; your arms were firmly crossed against your chest.

“All we can tell you is that he is where we are taking you.” Ubbe spoke softly, noticing your shyness.

That was all you needed to know. Ivar left in the morning before you woke up, it was unusual and you wondered all day about what he was up to.

“Alright, I’ll come.” Their smile only grew wider at your words.

“Good.” Hvitserk winked again and took your arm, guiding you towards the hill.

You knew very well where they were taking you now; to their hunting hut. You couldn’t see why they leaded you there but you kept your wonders to yourself and patiently waited to get there. A light irradiated from the windows, indicating that Ivar was indeed in here.

They stopped you before the hut. “Here you go, Y/N. It’s time for us to leave. Have a goodnight.” Ubbe smiled, a cheerful light in his eyes.

“Yes, goodnight Y/N. And enjoy!” They both laughed loudly as they walked back to the town.

Enjoy? Your mind was working at full speed, trying to understand what he meant by that. Deciding that it would be best to see it for yourself, you slowly opened the door and stepped inside. The warmth of the fire burning in the corner warmed you instantly but what you saw warmed you even more. Candles had been lighted all around the room, giving it an appeasing felling. The two-place bed was covered in long beautiful furs that looked soft. A delightful smell of honey filled your nose. You inhaled deeply and frowned, searching for the origin of it.

Ivar laughed lightly, “Here.” He said, showing the cup he held in his hand. “It’s honey, I fetched it myself this morning. I know it’s your favorite thing to eat.” He smiled awkwardly, eyeing you carefully to see your reaction.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, barefoot, wearing only a long tunic and his pants. The flames of the candles danced on his skin, making it glow.

“You… You prepared all this?” You were a little shocked; Ivar was not exactly the romantic guy.

He took a deep breath, “Yes, you don’t like it?” His voice sounded like a disappointed child, making your heart melt.

You sat next to him, “Of course I like it Ivar, it’s beautiful. And you brought honey, how could I think otherwise?” He exhaled, relieved. “But, I don’t really understand why you did it.”

It was a lie. The second you entered the hut, you knew exactly why he did it. You’ve been with Ivar for a couple months but you never made love. Every time your hand tried to reach for his pants, he stopped and looked at you with apologetic eyes. You understood he was insecure and you knew about his first attempt; you didn’t mind to wait until he was ready to open to you entirely, even if you had to control yourself to not rip his clothes whenever you were with him.

“I will tell you why after you have tasted this honey. I dragged my crippled body to fetch it, you’d better like it.”

You grinned, enjoying the special attention.

“Open your mouth.” He commanded. It would be a lie to say that this tone didn’t spread a heat right between your legs.

You obeyed happily, opening your mouth wide for him. He took some of the nectar with his two fingers and brought it to you. You closed your lips around him and hummed in pleasure at the sweetness invading your taste. Ivar inhaled sharply, clearly aroused by the sensation of your tongue sucking his fingers clean.

“More?” He asked, practically out of breath.

“Yes, please.” You licked your lips, a movement Ivar didn’t miss; his eyes never left your mouth as he dove his fingers once again in the cup and brought them to you.

You repeated your actions and sucked his fingers harder; enjoying the reaction you pulled out from him.

“Do you want some honey too, my love?”

He shook his head, “No, I prefer to taste it from your mouth.” He murmured before capturing your lips. You opened your mouth instantly, letting his tongue wander around.

You pulled away, breathless. “Can you tell me what this is all about?”

He lost his smile and tried to hide his shyness as much as he could, but you could clearly see that he was feeling uncomfortable now.

“I- I want to try, with you.” His eyes looked everywhere but at you. “If you want of course! If you don’t, I’ll understand perfectly and I’ll never bother you with it again.” He hurried to clarify himself.

You couldn’t help but find his uncertainness cute and you just wanted to reassure him. You stroked his cheek and forced him to look at you.

“Don’t even think for a second that I don’t, Ivar. I want to make love with you; in fact, I desperately want to do it with you since the first time you kissed me.” You let out a small laugh before leaned for a kiss.

That was something you were experts at; kissing each other. It was the only physically thing he allowed. He knew your mouth by heart, knew when to suck and when to bit your lips, always rewarded by a soft moan from you.

This time was no different. You grew eager and hungry for him every time your tongues brushed. Breaking the kiss, you quickly lifted your dress and straddled him. His hands found your hips and yours roamed his thick hair.

“Please, touch me Ivar.” You moaned against his lips.

He pulled away and looked at you with wide lost puppy eyes.

“Y/N, I don’t- I’m not sure-” He stuttered, deeply ashamed. 

You smiled gently at him, and scratched his scalp in order to ease him.

“Shhh, that’s ok, my love. Listen to me; I don’t care how inexperienced you are. I’m not a expert either, I only had one man in my life before you.” At the mention of your former lover, Ivar tightened his grip around your hips, his nails digging in your flesh.

“Don’t remind me of it.” He hissed.

You pecked his lips quickly, “I only meant to remind you that I too was not very experienced. I will tell you a secret, it doesn’t matter how experienced a man is because every women is different. Sex is about discovering each other body. A man has to find out what makes his woman shake and moan, with her help if necessary. To be a good lover, you need to be attentive at the reaction of your partner. You’re very perceptive Ivar, I’m certain you will learn very quickly. And I can show you what makes me feel good and together we will find out what you like the most. Will you let me teach you?”

His eyes stared at yours, drinking every word you said. He nodded firmly, determination written all over his face. “Yes, yes show me. I want to know everything about your body.”

“Then touch me, anywhere you want. Let your hands feel my skin, I’m aching for your touch for so long Ivar, please.” You moaned softly.

Your words awoke something in him, something predatory. His pupils slowly swallowed the blue of his iris as he looked at you like a prey. His lips crashed on yours, hungrily slipping his tongue in your mouth. His hands slid under you dress, stroking your legs until you felt them slowly going to your ass. You whined when you felt him squeezing it, the sensation even better than what you had been dreaming. You gripped the hem of his tunic and took it off; the urge to see and touch his naked chest was too strong. Your hips began to grind on his on their own. Suddenly, he pulled back and stopped you.

“What if- What if it doesn’t work like it supposed to?” He murmured; you could practically see all his determination fade in his eyes.

“If it doesn’t work then we will use other ways.” Your eyes were fixed on his but your hands roamed his strong chest, his skin soft and warm under your fingers.

He frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you have fingers, you have lips and you have a tongue. It’s enough to please me.” You smirked, thinking about how his mouth would feel between your legs.

“My brothers told me about it, but they said it only serves to make the women ready for the men’s cock.”

“It’s not entirely false, it does make a woman wet enough to take a man. But to say it’s the only purpose is not true. A woman can climax several times with a man’s mouth and fingers, and it feels so, so good. Now, I don’t want you to worry about if it will work or not. Don’t think too much and let yourself enjoy this.” You whispered the last sentence in his ear and you could feel him shudder at the tone you took.

You began to trace a trail of kisses from his cheek to his neck, nipping and licking his glorious skin.

“I still don’t understand why you are so eager to give yourself to a man like me, to a inexperienced cripple.” He muttered sadly.

You sighed deeply in annoyance and pulled back, giving him a stern look. “Have you not listened to what I said?”

“Yes, but… how? How can you be attracted to me when you could easily have someone else, with a more attractive body.” He looked so lost and sad it broke your heart.

“You have no idea what your body does to me, what you do to me. If my words are not convincing enough, maybe my body will be.” You took his hand and guided it between your legs, gripping his index to slide it between your folds. “Feel it. Feel how wet I am for you.”

His eyes widen in pure shock at your wetness. He stared at his finger as if he could see it through your dress. Your breath accelerated at the sensation of his finger exploring you. You pressed your forehead on his.

“Do you believe me now?” You murmured.

He withdrew his finger and contemplated it as if he didn’t believe he had just touched your most intimate place. He furrowed his brows and brought it to his mouth, tasting you.

You gasped at the sight and whined, “I swear to Odin, Ivar, you’re driving me crazy. Do you want to know what I love about your body?” You decided that praising his body and describing what you loved about it was the best way to shut down his insecurity once for all.

“Yes, tell me.” He growled.

His voice fueled the fire in your stomach. Standing up, you pushed him roughly, “Lie down.”

He executed quickly, dragging his body up on the furs until his head rested on the pillows. You straddled him and let your hands stroke his hair. You have spent a lot of time admiring him from afar, and now was the moment you would let all your frustration fall of your mouth, without bother to form coherent sentences.  

“First, I love your hair. They’re so silky and thick and long, I could touch it all day and I wish you would let me braid it.” Your hands moved to his cheeks, cupping them. “Your face Ivar, your fucking face. It’s so sculpted; I could cut myself with your jaw and those cheekbones. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve never seen, so blue and so expressive… Your lips, so kissable, so full and pink, it makes me want to bite it, hard. Even your nose…” You patted his nose with your finger. “So pretty, pretty nose. And your smile Ivar, when you show me those glorious teeth, so white and perfectly lined up, I swear my heart stops every time.”

Ivar tried to talk but you cut him up. “Let me finish.” Your hands grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head. “You have magnificent broad shoulders. Your arms are so strong, when you hold me against you I feel completely safe and relaxed. And your hands, they’re so huge and always warm, I wish their only job were to caress my body. And please, can we talk about your chest? Because I swear Ivar, you have the most well-defined chest I’ve ever seen.” You traced his abs with you nails, scratching him. “Your stomach is so strong and hard. And here, you even have muscles between your hips, forming a perfect v-shape. You are more than attractive my love, only you don’t see it. I know you fear that your legs will repulse me, but the truth is that couldn’t care less about it because I like them that way. The gods have crafted you like this, and there is a reason. You don’t see it now, but I’m sure your legs have somehow given you a strength.“

He was speechless, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing, trying to choose the right answer to your declaration.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just make love to me. I need you.” You whispered, grinding your hips to emphasize your eagerness.

His face darken at your movement, his hands found the laces of your dress, trying to undo them as fast as he could. “I want to see your naked body.” He mumbled breathlessly, knitting his brows together in frustration when he struggled to untie a knot.

He growled deeply in annoyance before grabbing the sides of it and yanked it violently, tearing the front of the dress apart, revealing your chest and stomach.

You gasped and slapped his hands. “Ivar! My dress! I don’t have many.”

He completely ignored your statement and moved quickly, his movements needy and rough. He pulled at the fabric, “Take it off.”

You couldn’t deny him, not in the state he was; panting, face red and lustful eyes. The moment you liberate yourself from the dress, Ivar flipped you, hovering over you as he stared at your naked body.

“Perfect…” He whispered to himself.

Ivar took an initiative; he had memorized what his brothers did to their women. He carefully cupped your right breast and teased your nipple with his thumb, caressing it gently. He watched in awe as your body reacted to his touch, your nipple hardening before him. His hands got down your body, rubbing your skin so kindly like he feared he would break you. You sighed softly at the feeling of his warm palms, encouraging him.

“You’re doing well, my love. But I’m not made of glass, you can go harder and faster, I won’t break.” You teased him, pinching his hip.

“I want to try something.” He murmured.

You grinned, relaxing your entire body and put your hands above your head in sign of submission. “My body is all yours, do anything you want with it.”

The determinate look came back as his mouth crooked in a mischievous smile. “Are you sure is it what you want? I’ve got so many ideas running through my mind for your glorious body, some of them could be… dangerous.” His eyes turned to yours, eyeing your reaction.

“I’m ready to try all your wicked ideas.” You smirked, biting your lips.

He kissed you, clearly pleased with your answer. “It will have to wait for the next time, tonight I just want to discover your body.” He talked between kisses.

You moaned in response, wrapping your arms around his neck. He began to trace a trail of open mouth kisses, taking his time to suck your neck and your breast, sucking even harder when your soft moans rang out in his ears. When he passed your stomach, you understood his intention, automatically opening your legs for him. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and stared at your womanhood. You blushed and wondered if something was wrong with this part of your body, his heavy stare seemed shocked.

“Ivar…” He looked up at you, completely lost and worried, his eyes pleading you to guide him.

You brushed his hair in an attempt to calm him. Then, you brought your hand between your legs as his eyes followed your every move.

“The first thing you must know is that everything is highly sensible here, so no biting.” You wanted to specify it; Ivar had a tendency to bite every part of you his mouth could reach. “Everything you will touch will bring me pleasure, but there’s a magic spot, a spot some men often forget. If you know how to treat it properly, I’ll certainly scream in a short amount of time.”

Ivar bit your inner thigh, eager to learn. “Show me where is that magic spot.”

You slid your hand between your folds, spreading them. Your finger slithered over your clit, making you sighed. “Right there.” You moaned.

Ivar watched, amazed. “Touch yourself.” He commanded, “I want to see how you do it.”

You brought another finger to your clit and began to move them in circle motion. His face was so close; you could feel his hot breath fanning over your entrance. You stared at his lips, wet and swollen, wishing he would just remove your hand and feast on you. But you had to be patient and it was harder and harder to be. He brought two fingers slowly to the area you just showed him and pushed your hand as he started rubbing your nub, copying your movement.

“Yes, just here. Can you feel it?” Your breath became more and more erratic.

He nodded and frowned in concentration as he rubbed it quicker to see your reaction.

Your head flew back, a moan leaving your throat, “Yes, that’s it, that’s the magic spot. It feels so good Ivar…”

You gasped loudly when a sudden wet sensation hit your clit. You lifted your head to see Ivar, eyes closed, working his tongue on you. Your hips rose immediately, desperately searching for more friction. He grunted and stopped, making you whine. He gripped your hips roughly, and pinned you to the mattress.

“Let me do my work, woman.” He grunted at you before turning his attention back between your legs.

He was greedy; his tongue lapping your entrance like he was starving, his lips sucking your folds and your clit. It wasn’t long before you felt that warm familiar feeling growing in your lower stomach. You couldn’t control your moans anymore; they filled the room, growing louder with every stroke of his tongue. You clung to his hair, applying pressure to press his face even closer. You were scared that he would stop before you reached your climax.

“Don’t stop, please, you’re doing so good, you’re going to make me come so hard, Ivar.” You wailed out of breath, your eyes fixed on him.

He purred in response, sending delicious vibrations right to your core. You wrapped your legs around his head as they began to shake.

“Your fingers, add your fingers. Curl them into me.” You instructed.

He brought two fingers to your opening, sliding them easily in you thanks to your wetness. He slowly pulled them in and out a few times before curling them, applying pressure in different spot, searching for the right place. A guttural moan escaped your mouth and you pulled his hair.

“Yes, yes, right here!” It was impossible not to move now, your back rose from the mattress and your heels dug in his back.

It was all too much, his tongue still working on your clit and his fingers brushing that delicious spot in you. You came hard, pleasure running over your entire body as you cried out his name.

He rode out your orgasm until you pushed his head away from you. He frowned at your sudden movement.

“Too… sensible.” You managed to say between raspy breaths.

He nodded and crawled up your body, using his arms to hold himself above you, eyeing you carefully as you still quivered.

“Did you like it?” He asked, uncertain.

You laughed at him, “What do you think?”

He grinned darkly, clearly proud of himself. You grabbed his neck and pulled him to you, kissing him hard.

Your hands caressed his bare chest, heading for his breeches. As you undid the laces, Ivar broke the kiss and close his eyes, lowering his head. He seemed to fight with himself, one side of him screaming that he should stop you and the other begging to let you take his pants off.

“Ivar.” You called softly, sending him a loving smile when his eyes opened. “Everything is fine. Trust me.” You murmured.

He bit his lip in worry and nodded.

You cupped his cheek, rubbing it with your thumb. “Get on your back.”

He landed next to you heavily and took a deep breath, trying to calm the pace of his heart. You sat next to him, removing the last knot and pulled his pants down his legs carefully. You heard him exhale sharply. His legs were bony and his skin seemed very thin but you didn’t find them repulsive at all and that’s not what caught your attention. His cock rested on his toned stomach, thick and hard, begging to be touched and you had to hold yourself back from wrapping your hand around it. Looking up, you saw his handsome face twisted in fear, eyes closed tightly. You wanted to make him comfortable so badly, you wanted him to forget his fear. So you did the first thing that came up in your mind; you kissed both his legs, beginning from his calf and going up until his hip. You felt him tense when your mouth touched his delicate skin but he relaxed with every kiss as he contemplated you in admiration.

“I don’t find them repulsive.” You whispered against his thigh. “And look,” You pointed his shaft with your chin, “It works perfectly fine.”

His face lit up, melting your heart. You wanted to taste him but you knew that he probably wouldn’t last long and wouldn’t be able to refrain his orgasm. This will have to wait for the next time. Ivar stared at you, waiting for your next move. You crept up his chest on all four and kissed him.

“Next time, I will take you in my mouth. But now, I’m aching; I just want to feel you inside me. Is that ok?” You muttered.

“Yes. Let me be on top, please.” He almost begged, surprising you. You never heard him using this tone and you found out that you liked it very much.

“Of course, anything for my prince.” You smiled cheekily and rolled over.

Ivar placed his body between your legs and gripped the headboard to help him support his weight as one of his hands took his cock and lined it at your entrance. He looked in your eyes, searching for your approbation.

You gave him another reassurance smile, “Please.” You shivered in anticipation; his slowness was really driving you crazy.

And then you finally felt him, slowly stretching your walls as you welcomed him entirely. Your mouth opened wide at the feeling you’ve been craving for so long. Ivar sucked on a breath, staring at your face as his mouth copied yours. Once he reached the very end of you, he froze, eyes closed.

“So warm and tight…” He whispered.

“I swear to Odin, if you keep going that slow I’m going to lose my mind. Please, move.” You moaned helplessly, trying to buck your hips against his to gain some friction, but his body was pinning you to the mattress.

His eyes flew open; wildness slowly taking over his shyness. He rumbled and withdrew from you only to bury himself once more in a hard thrust.

“Yes, just like this!” You encircled his hips with your legs, pushing him closer.

There was nothing to stop him then, his pace increased after your encouraging words, only giving you deep and rough thrusts. He couldn’t contain his raspy moans, getting louder. Yours matched his; high-pitched cries came out every time he managed to angle himself just right. His features were twisted in deep pleasure, it became your favorite expression on him; mouth open, eyes shut, brows furrowed and hair locks falling on his face. You brought your hand to his neck and pushed his head towards yours. Your lips crashed in a sloppy kiss but Ivar was too far in his pleasure to focus on kissing you properly. Suddenly, he ripped away and looked at you, panicked, without stopping his delicious movements. He tried to talk but only incomprehensible sounds came out. But you understood what he meant; you felt and saw every muscle in him tense.

“You can let go, my love. Everything is fine.” You soothed him with your most gentle smile, softly scratching his scalp.

His biceps contracted when he dove his fingers in the sheets, bending his head as a loud growl roared from his throat. You felt him spill inside you, his seed dripping out of your womanhood. He dropped on you, trapping your body below his. His weight crushed you but you didn’t care. His skin was burning and shone with sweat. His face laid on your breast, eyed closed as he tried to control his breath still unsteady. You stroked his back with one hand while the other fondled his hair.

“I’m-I’m sorry. You didn’t even come.” He stuttered quietly, ashamed.

“There is no reason to be sorry, Ivar. It’s normal. With practice you’ll be able to hold it longer. And you’re wrong; I came, thanks to your mouth and fingers. I told you, it is enough to make me satisfied.” You kissed the top of his head.

He turned his head to look at you and kissed his way to your mouth. “Next time, I’ll make you scream even louder, and I’ll make you come for me a countless times.” He said boldly.

You laughed at his sudden assurance, “A countless times? I’ll probably pass out before we reach four.”

“That’s something I want to do; how many times can I make you come before you faint?” He smiled deviously and you shivered at the thought.

You murmured against his lips, “Yes, that’s something we can do.”

Ivar always came up with wicked ideas, his fascination for blood and control was very well known, and you were sure that he would use his wit to push your boundaries in bed. And you couldn’t wait for it.

this is the golden age (of something good and right and real)

♡♡♡ for the lovely @jackiemoreno, the brightest star in my sky ♡♡♡

also on ao3

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, darling.“ Lena answers right away, accent thicker than usual despite the fact she’s been back in Ireland for so little time. “Just two more days until I’m back home.”

Kara presses the phone closer to her ear, closing her eyes and concentrating until she can hear the steady rhythm of Lena’s heartbeat. She sighs for what feels like the thousandth time since her girlfriend has been gone, never mind the fact it’s only the fifth day of their week long separation - her heart aches as if they’ve been apart for months.

Keep reading

Extroverted vs Introverted Functions

Te vs Ti

What they have in common: Logic.

Extroverted Thinking (Te): I want proof. I strive for self-evident achievement - awards, public recognition, money. I need to show you I’m right in a way everyone can understand. There’s no time for theory; we need a plan of action. What good is it if it doesn’t solve the problem? If hard science can disprove my claim, then I’m wrong. I think logic is more or less universal, therefore right and wrong are very clear.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): I want knowledge. I strive for personal understanding - satisfaction, collecting odd tidbits, feeling like an expert. I only need to know that I’m right, even if I don’t show it. There’s no need for practicality; we need to make sure this is conceptually sound. What good is it if it doesn’t have internal consistency? If you can show me logically that I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. I don’t need proof. I think logic is highly personal, therefore right and wrong are often a matter of opinion.

Fe vs Fi

What they have in common: Morality.

Extroverted Feeling (Fe): I want harmony. I strive for public approval - appreciation, respect, admiration. I need the atmosphere to be pleasant and appropriate for everyone. I’m willing to hide my true opinions if they would upset others; what they think of me is more important than what I want to say. Everyone is more or less the same; it’s easy for me to put myself in someone else’s shoes.

Introverted Feeling (Fi): I want authenticity. I strive for self-approval - knowing I did the right thing, that I was honorable, just, and fair. I need the atmosphere to be pleasant and comfortable for me. I’m willing to displease people if I need to express what I truly believe; what I want to say is more important than what they think of me. Everyone is unique and incomparable; it’s necessary for me to understand where someone is coming from before I can empathize.

Se vs Si

What they have in common: Fact.

Extroverted Sensing (Se): I want stimulation. I strive for things that are pleasing to my senses - food, drink, sports, luxury. I need to be surrounded by a physically appealing atmosphere. I am constantly aware of what is going on around me, whether it is changes in a person’s expression or the passing scenery. I notice all the details. It matters less to me whether something is familiar than whether it is aesthetically pleasing.

Introverted Sensing (Si): I want familiarity. I strive for things that remind me of my past - souvenirs, stories, traditions, our old home. I need to be surrounded by a physically comfortable atmosphere. I am constantly aware of the difference between my current environment and the way it used to be, whether it is the new corner store or my daily routine. I compare all the details to my internal ‘database.’ It matters less to me whether something is aesthetically pleasing than whether it is familiar.

Ne vs Ni

What they have in common: Abstraction.

Extroverted Intuition (Ne): I want novelty. I strive for possibility - ideas, potential, things that sound good in my head. I need to have lots of information to explore. I have a ‘mental playground’ of facts extrapolated from things I have experienced or read. I am constantly aware of what things could be. My thoughts often feel like they lack structure because they branch out in ways that are hard to explain. There are essentially many ways to look at an issue, and many possible solutions.

Introverted Intuition (Ni): I want vision. I strive for insight - the universal truth, the goal, the central meaning. I need to have information relevant to my interests to explore. I have an organized mental space wherein I’m highly aware of what I should be doing to reach the next step. My thoughts often feel like they are pointing in one direction, even if I can’t explain this direction. There are essentially a few ways to look at an issue, which can be narrowed down to one solution.

When you two kiss for the first time

Thank you for requesting! I’m really happy because this is my first NCT request! >u< I really enjoyed writing this, tell me if you wanted something different! ^^

donghyuck is such a cutie and a savage evil boy at the same time like whaaaat and oh god can i talk about how much he has grown since i first got into nct like ??? boy ???? you used to be this smol little kid ?????

Words: 1118

Fluff yo guys this is so cute i cannot ಥ‿ಥ

Requested by Moon anon ♥

Originally posted by honeyxxxmoon

“Don’t roast her,” Donghyuck said to Yuta who was having a playful diss battle with you.

“Why?” he asked, turning around. “You do it all the time.”

“That’s because it’s my privilege,” he said and pushed you out of the dorm’s door.

You chuckled once you two were out. “Yuta is so funny.”

“Uh huh,” he gave you a look and started walking down the stairs.

You had dropped by at NCT’s dorm since you and Donghyuck had agreed to hang out. You two had become close through a friend of yours who worked at SM. At first, you had been quite awkward around each other – especially if you were left alone – but you became closer pretty quickly. Now you two were best friends and you had developed a crush on him.

“I’ll never get used to that look,” you said, looking at his face that was covered by a mask. He had a cap on and he had pulled his hoodie’s hood over it.

“Same,” he sighed, opening the building’s door and going out. “I’d love to show everyone my beautiful face but what can you do? I’m too famous.”

You rolled your eyes. “I see your personality hasn’t changed. Anyway, how was your week?”

“The usual,” he answered. “The promotions are ending soon so I’m just trying to enjoy all the stages. You?”

“The usual,” you copied him. “I have tons of stuff to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” he arched an eyebrow and looked at you.

“Mm hmm,” you nodded. “Normal people stuff, you know.”

He laughed a little.

You both sat down on a bench in the park. Why were you in a park? Because that’s where you ended up. It’s not like you intended to go to the park but that was the least bothersome thing to do at the moment. So, you two were now in the park nearest to their dorm, sitting on a bench.

“Not to be rude or anything,” Donghyuck started.

“It’s going to sound rude no matter what you say,” you gave him a look.

“Your hair looks really weird,” he continued without hesitation, looking at your hair.

“What about yours then?” you fired back, pointing at his head that was covered with the cap and hood. “It’s like dried grass.”

“Don’t you dare diss my hair!” he looked offended. “I didn’t get to choose how many times they bleached and dyed it.”

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled at his weird expression. “Sorry, I went a little too far.”

You two enjoyed teasing and dissing each other. You both thought it was fun since you never meant the things you said and never went too far with it. The other members usually stayed away from you two when you were together, not wanting to get roasted by you two.

“By the way,” he moved on fast. “Do you remember the last time you stopped by our practice room?”

You thought about it for a bit. “Two weeks ago, was it?”

He nodded. “That’s when you fell on your butt while trying to use my hoverboard.”

“It was really hard!” you nudged him.

“That’s why only experts,” he pointed at himself. “Can ride them.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You looked hilarious while falling,” he chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?”

“You were like,” he stood up and acted like he was falling in slow motion. His expressions were so funny that even though you tried, you couldn’t keep in your laughter.

“See?” he sat back down, laughing. “You looked hilarious.”

“I didn’t look like that,” you looked and him while giggling.

He froze when you looked at him. You didn’t notice it until you stopped giggling.

“What?” you asked.

Donghyuck didn’t respond. He looked at you and his heart beat like there was no tomorrow. Am I really about to do this? he asked himself while glancing at your lips. He was worried that if he hesitated now he would miss his chance and would have to wait for another week, just like what had happened a week earlier.

He lowered his mask and leaned closer to you. All you could do was close your eyes. Your heart fluttered when his lips touched yours.

Is this really happening? What if he hears my heartbeat? Stop beating so loudly!

The moment was over before you even knew it and you looked at each other, both a little taken aback.

“Did we just kiss?” he asked.

“I think so,” you answered.

There was a silence between you two and you just stared at each other, both blushing. You both asked yourselves if that really just happened.

“Ah, sorry,” he suddenly turned away, scratching his head with and awkward smile. “I shouldn’t have done that. You probably don’t like me anyway, so that was probably really weird.”

“No!” you shook your head. “I don’t mind at all! It was nice, I’m really happy you did that!”

He turned to look at you. You blushed even harder than you already were and this time you turned away.

“Sorry, that must have sounded weird.”

“It didn’t,” he said. “It’s… reassuring to hear something like that.”

“Really?” you looked at him. “You don’t mind me liking you?”

“You do remember me just kissing you, don’t you?” he gave you an are-you-kidding-me? look.

“Well excuse me for not knowing how to react to my longtime crush saying and doing stuff like that!”

“You have had a crush on me for a long time already?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he shook his head.

There was a brief silence.

“Do you l-like me?” you couldn’t help but stutter.

“Yes,” he said. “I thought it was obvious since I just kissed you.”

Again, a silence.

“What?” you asked.

“What?” he asked.

You stared at him. “What?”

“This conversation isn’t going anywhere _____,” he stated.

“But like… what?”

“I like you,” he emphasized every word. “Is it a hard sentence for you to understand?”

You just kept staring at him.

“This is your reaction to finding out your crush likes you?” he asked, amused.

“But it’s…” you paused, struggling to find a word that fit the situation. “Weird?”

“You don’t like it?”

“Why wouldn’t I like it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“But I do like it. I just never expected you to like me back.”

He chuckled. “Me neither.”

“How long have you liked me?” you blurted out.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I started liking you shortly after we met. You?”

“I don’t remember when it started,” you answered. “I just realized it one day. ‘Ah… I guess I like that idiot’.”

He chuckled and so did you.

“This couldn’t have gone better,” he said.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“The Hippogriff is native to Europe, though now found worldwide. It was he head of a giant eagle and the body of a horse. It can be tamed, though this should be attempted only by experts.”

~Newt and His Creatures Moodboards (1-) 

jeff-the-killer  asked:

That raises a good question: If gunshot wounds are equally lethal all across the body, why are military personnel instructed to aim for the chest or head? Or is that another myth?

I didn’t say that all gunshot wounds are equally lethal. My point was that all gunshot wounds have the potential to be life threatening. A bullet to the heart and a bullet to the pinky have very different odds ratios of killing the victim, but either can be deadly.

Military personnel are aimed to shoot for the chest because it’s the largest area to aim for, easiest to hit, slowest to move, and has the highest likelihood (outside the head) of disabling or killing your opponent. Police are trained this way, military are trained this way, and they do so because it works.

Headshots are very difficult to pull off, because the head can move and is much smaller than the chest. However, they are almost universally either lethal or permanently disabling.

For more information about firearms and tactics, I highly recommend our Script Family Friend blog @howtofightwrite , who are experts in not only combat, but in translating that combat into nuggets that writers can snap up like treats.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty


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Elorcan Werewolf AU part 8

If you haven’t read the previous 7 installments, I highly recommend you read those first in order as this series is chronological based. My masterlist is here. Also, I have no idea if this part makes any sense at all, so please give me your thoughts. It’s also quite long. I think there may be only two or three parts left, actually! On the bright side, the angst is over. Or at least I think so.

Yuputka the phantom sensation of something crawling on one’s skin

Elorcan Werwolf 8


Elide drank from the heavy cup of bitterness and spat out the viscous liquid of forgiveness. She lost track of time and sense in the sodden cell, and found paths of bruises and sores lining her body. She gave up on hope towards the light and retained resentment towards what laid on the other side of her prison.

All was dark. Dark was all.

Her hair hung matted as a rat’s nest, perspiration running down her skin, cracked and peeling. Her lips bled frequently, her ankle more mangled than she could remember.

Pain replaced her loneliness. Regret was a mere notion she entertained of what could have been. Suffering served her reality.

Sleep was simultaneous torture. Nightmares of the day’s assault and night’s cold swept through every crevice. The first stay in the cell, Vernon had tore her clothes into tatters, fangs tearing at her skin. Elide had screamed and thrashed until those teeth had bit down on her throat, threatening to tear out her neck.

I conquer,” was all her Uncle had said before she’d screamed out in pain, blackness slashing across her vision. Aches had throbbed in parts of her body where she had waited for her mate, waited to be respected, waited to be worshipped.

At first, tears had persisted, the tang of salt cracking her lips. Now she cried no more, for the seconds she knew were filled with the consistency of raw anguish. It was just her own shaking, shredded skin and devastating poor excuse of family that haunted her.

The chains became her tether, lest she slip away into the next life or what awaited. Her ankle became a figment of a reminder in her story, of living with a disability, to a euphoric type of enmity in true healing, to a shattered piece of her inked soul.

For all she knew, the seconds had passed to minutes to pass to hours to pass to days and perhaps months. For all she knew, her presence was a forgotten whisper of dust between the burning and burnt stars. For all she knew, her life was declared deceased, her mate with another, her legacy into ashes, her pack free of an invalid.

And perhaps it was better that way.

She could not fathom how the Lycans could have fought for eons, loosing themselves in the raging battlefield, in the horrid torture chambers, in the unescapable sea of blood.

But perhaps they had never been caged, for this was a different war.

This was a battle to live, persist, endure. This was torture in every sense. This was an ocean of loneliness, pain, and belittlement.

She did not want this to be another facet written within her pages.

For Aelin she would not dwell in darkness, but in light.

For Manon she would not toil in coldness, but in warmth.

For Lorcan she would not waver in passiveness, but in aggression.

Her story was not of loneliness and sorrow, but of hope and affinity.

The cell doors rattled open, and the shadow of the Morath Alpha lurked in.

Predatory eyes met her own bleary ones.

“Hello, Elide,” Uncle Vernon said. “Sleeping well?”

When she didn’t answer, he slapped her cheek, the sound richotechting across the walls. When she didn’t bat an eye, he kicked her in the stomach, her teeth grating across one another. When she didn’t flinch, he jerked the chain on her ankle, the scraping scratching the barren floor.

She supposed she should thank her uncle for teaching her to befriend pain.

“I have special news,” Vernon sneered. “Regarding your friends.”

A momentary thread of anticipation tore through her. She kept her face blank under Vernon’s scrutinizing gaze. Her heart did not beat faster, for she had learned that any component of hope was an offering from the devil.

And any dance with the devil ended in the purest sense of hopelessness.

Finally, he said, “I’m moving you to a more secure location.”


Hands gripped the chains against the wall, and a key clicked several times. The pull of the metal and steel slammed against the floor, Elide’s knees following suit. She hissed as Vernon wrapped the chains around her, and dragged her about by her hair, her roots harshly yanked and protesting in pain.

The cell was a ghost, surrounding and haunting and cursing her. As soon as her body passed through the doors, elation poured over her, the flickers of pain seeming to subside.


“What do they see in a frail, worthless invalid?” Vernon said as her body was limply hauled across stones, the dripping of droplets digging into her cuts and scrapes.

The damp hallways seemed an eternity’s walk, Vernon’s nails digging into her scalp. Little lines of blood ran down her neck and face, her heart twisting and turning.

He tossed her onto the curve pathway of stones, and kicked her ankle. She curled into herself, her withered and emaciated body already tired from movement, her muscles faded away into complete atrophy. Her bones seemed to rattle as coldness prickled at her skin.

“Look up,” Vernon commanded.

Elide looked up.

“Look left,” Vernon ordered.

Elide looked left.

“Move,” Vernon sneered.

Elide looked down—and then looked up at the first step of the many stones that spiraled up into an ascension of a new fatigue. All hope dissipated as a lit candle in a storm. The cuts on her knees and shins flared. Her ankle collapsed and twisted and flared with pain.

This was beyond her limits, and her Uncle knew it.

Vernon yanked the chain around her neck. One harsh tug forward, tossing her against the fragmented stones, leaving her gasping for breath, cutting off her circulation.

Dry coughs filled the air as she blinked away the dizziness and clouds fogging her vision. Manon would have fought back with that sheer strength of hers. Aelin had have snapped back with that vicious tongue of hers. Lorcan would not have been in this situation in the first place with his clear brutality.

She was the weak link. The disabled. The handicapped. The misfit.

She struggled to lift herself onto her knees. Her palms hit the damp stones, the crescending slope a mockery of how far she’d descended.  

“If you have all the time in the world, Elide, then perhaps I should entertain myself.”

Her nails dug into the cracks as she forced her head to slowly turn around, her neck aching, the ghost of fingers choking her.

Her heart sunk.

Vernon slowly unbuttoned his collared shirt, and slid the belt off his pants. With expert grace only mastered by practice, he brought the whip down in a single strike across her back. Her body splintered against the base, and her hands desperately reached up to scrabble for purchase.

“You little slut,” Vernon grinned, a maniacal hint tinging the smirk. His fingers went to the hem of his pants. “You want another round, don’t you?”

His eyes raked over her body, her exposed skin, her brokenness.

She turned her head back towards the slope of the slanted stones, cold determination fixing within her.

Biting harshly down on her peeled lip enough to draw slivers of blood, Elide Lochan, true heir to the Morath Pack, slowly began the rise of a climb up.

Three Weeks Ago

“What do you mean you don’t know where she is?” the dark-haired male snarled.

Trend carefully, her mate had warned, when Lorcan had first arrived, beaten and battered and the borders of her pack.

Standing in front of the Alpha of the Fireheart Pack was a Lycan coated from head-to-toe in blood. Standing in front of the Alpha Lycan’s mate was the commander, oozing a stench of something darker and wild.

Standing in front of Aelin Galanthysius was Lorcan Salvaterre, the one who broke Elide Lochan and was broken by Elide Lochan.

Aelin swallowed. As Alpha, she felt each string of connection to her pack members. But a week ago, after her trip to the royal castle, Elide’s familiar and warm presence had disappeared.


Without a trace.

“You’re a shit excuse of an Alpha,” Lorcan swallowed, but she held her stance, finding a soothing in the blades pressed against her skin.

An hour ago, this male had held too-many deaths within his palm. An hour ago, this male had realized that Elide was fully missing. An hour ago, this male had not sensed his mate anywhere within the safe parameters of all the packs.

Yesterday, the onyx-eyed male had snapped her elbow. Yesterday, the male had executed a flawless punch towards her eye. Yesterday, the commander had her ears ringing with his infuriated roaring.

She had merely pointed out that he had been temporarily suspended from his own pack until he resolved the issue with his missing mate.

A week ago, Aelin had lost connection to Elide. A week ago, she had scoured through every book in search of reestablishing the link. A week ago, her pack had been victim to rogue attacks.

A week since Elide’s disappearance, Lorcan had gained full control back of his body, demanding to see his mate.

Only to find that his mate had dissipated if she were nothing but a faded passing.

His rage had destroyed fundamental tenements many omegas depended on. His fury had ceased the fields of crops and plants many werewolves depended on. His enmity had caused the execution of many females connected to the Shadow Market.

She had watched the after-effects of losing scent and connection to his mate drive Lorcan to his knees.  

She had watched the dark-haired male wreck up his guts into the bucket for the thousandth time today. She had lost count as her Pack Doctor, Yrene Towers, had replaced each bin with another, dutifully monitoring the impossible male that would have given her own mate, Alpha of the Lycans, a run.

Lorcan gazed at her with a dark look in his eyes.

Aelin braced herself for another attack, but the male merely painfully closed his eyes, and croaked out, “I miss her.”


Aelin let the dagger fall back into her sleeve, and looked over the commander of the Lycan’s armies.

Sweat and grime painted the heaving male’s skin, those ghastly eyes cracked and shattered. He was shivering, fists clenched against the rim of the bucket. His had lost his voice frequently, only to have the sound rasp out into a guttural scraping.

Aelin loosed a breath. “What did Sorscha say?”

Flinging open the heavy, steel door with all her might from that fateful day in visiting the castle, walking down the damp and dark hallway, Aelin had seen Lorcan convulsing on a bed of spikes and bones.

No Elide.

No connection.

Only a feral Lycan bringing down the castle from its very roots, shattering the entire southern complex.

It had taken three hours and the rest of the cadre in order to restrain Lorcan against the heaviest chains of silver, surrounded by circles of wolfsbane.

But Lorcan’s feral side still remained, roaring and hissing and screaming for his mate. Sweat and a thick, glowing green liquid had oozed out of his skin for hours until the commander had gained clear consciousness.

“Yellowleg’s Death,” Lorcan said so softly Aelin almost missed it.

Her heart skipped a beat. The manipulative, slow-working concoction created by the blessing of a witch’s spell, only found within the depths of the Shadow Market.

Manon stood next to them, and watched without emotion as Lorcan leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead. The half-Lycan, half-witch had spent her evenings and mornings looking for their pack’s apprentice healer, her afternoons honing her already skilled abilities with the blade.

A hole had emerged within her pack. A wide, gaping emptiness.

The Fireheart beta let out a dry laugh. “The poison worked.”

Aelin coughed, and muttered out, “Obviously.”

Lorcan didn’t budge from his spot against the wall, a look of concentration and fatigue holding his focus.

“Yellowleg’s Death grants the creator full access over the victim’s body for an hour. It can usurp power from the victim whenever and wherever. It can take years or months to occur.” Manon tapped a nail against the sheath of her blade. “All it took was an hour to break Elide from Lorcan, to spur a rejection, to foster a wound to deep to be mended.”

To seize Elide Lochan, true heir to the Morath Pack and second-Pack Doctor to the Fireheart Pack, away from them all.

Aelin looked at Lorcan. “That’s why you destroyed the Shadow Market, and executed all those connected to the drug.”

A curt nod, and the female Alpha could see the acceptance of the drug settling between the granite-hewn face.

Temporarily expelled from his pack, Lorcan Salvaterre had taken refuge in her pack, where Yrene coaxed the final remains of the poison out.

Where Lorcan had wallowed in self-pity, disappointment and regret drowned him.

Aelin had watched the beta to the Alpha Lycan fade away into a shell, and realized that Rowan Whitethorn had been right: A Lycan would rather die than hurt his mate.

And Lorcan Salvaterre, although slowly being freed of Yellowleg’s poison, would die if he did not have his mate near him.

One Month Ago

Lorcan watched as the spines of the guards snapped with a surety to rival death’s inevitable appearance himself. The darkness wrecked havoc, de-rooting trees around the castle grounds and slamming into entrances. An ominous wind screeched along the fading sunlight, those managing to near him collapsing to the ground, thick rivers of blood pouring out of their ears.

A massacre of those in his bloodlust.

A divine retribution for daring to cast him out.

A welcome for Hellas’s realm.

With a glance towards the newly installed barricaded, Lorcan pushed his will of shadowed obscurity into the silver force. Large dents imprinted onto the wall, and seconds later, the ground shuddered as the barrier collapsed against the marbled floor.

Lorcan stepped through the rubble, stalking towards the center meeting room. Here, the Lycans hung back, heads bowed and eyes cast down. A warning had been issued, and they would obey.

His hand violently jerked the golden knob to the side and pushed the hardened door forward. Silence sagged across the immaculate room as soon as he stepped in.

Five pairs of eyes landed on him, the Alpha Lycan rigidly sitting at the head of the chair. Fenrhys sprawled lazily at the left side, goblets of wine surrounding him. A flicker of something deeper with wronged remembrance flickered through Lorcan’s head, but he dismissed the amiss feeling and flexed his aching back muscles.

“I’m leaving for Morath,” Lorcan said abruptly, striding to the right, empty seat—his spot—at the head of the table. He did not sit down, but calmly gazed at the Prince Rowan Whitethorn with a menace that would have cowed a lesser man.

Fenrhys choked on his wine, Gavriel crossing his arms. Vaughan merely arched a brow, Connal’s face pinching slightly.

“Your ban does not end until you can prove to my mate that you are in control.” Rowan’s words echoed across the room. His hands clenched, and Lorcan knew he was restraining the order to further his banishment.

“Having half of her pack members end up in the infirmary and killing our guards probably isn’t the best way to do it,” Fenrhys chimed in.

“Wrecking Sollomere into a ground of ashes hardly demonstrates control,” Vaughan added.

“You also broke the covenant searching for Elide Lochan,” Gavriel observed.

Rowan’s eyes twitched, his resolve slowly chipping away. Lorcan warily threw up his shields, ignoring the tension wading through the air.

“That’s why you’re travelling to Morath,” Connal mused. “To find your mate.”

Lorcan didn’t bother to object to his pack members. Today marked a month in which Elide Lochan, his mate, had disappeared. A month of futile, ceaseless searching, of unending longing and loneliness. A month of wandering through a parallel trail of sorrows and agony, restless wishes never answered.

The Alpha Lycan shook his head. “You destroyed the Shadow Market. Our connections there have ceased.”

“And what if the chance that Yellowlegs poison harmed your mate?” Lorcan growled. “In which you had no control over?”

No control.

The Lycan’s worst fear.

Whether losing control to their feral wolf side or having dark magic posses them, Lycans eluded any poison, liquid, or scenario that would test their control.

Because absolute control meant absolute power.

To control others, Lycans had to control themselves.

And Lorcan had not been in control one month ago.

Rowan Whitethorn released a burdensome sigh and exhaled quickly. “I revoke your suspension. I grant you full privileges and rights to travel to Morath and do what business you need to do.”

Full control.

His friend, the Alpha, the King—Rowan Whitethorn was giving him full control and access to his actions and the extent of the consequences.

For his mate, for the other half of his soul, for Elide Lochan.

Lorcan bowed his head in acknowledgement, the only recognition and expression of gratitude the Lycan Alpha would receive. When Rowan held out his hand, Lorcan clasped it.

Gavriel cautiously looked between the Prince and the Commander. Finally, he said, “I suppose you need a few nuclear arms, silver covers, and a shit ton of wolfsbane?”

Fenrhys gave them a wolfish grin. “Imagine the terror on Morath’s face when they see the cadre united.”

Connal slowly smiled. “Morath’s time has come to an end.”

Avoidance of the Pack that had violently sucked the former ruling off the throne, had notoriously experimented on the supernatural, had utilized brutal tactics to remain their power didn’t reach for from the Lycans.

Ultimatum after ultimatum, the Morath Pack had ignored the cadre’s warnings.

Now that a direct threat to one of their own had been issued, Morath could burn. Legally within the borders of the covenant, annihilating the pack appealed to the Lycan on another level.

Yet—before more plans could stipulate, Lorcan slammed his shield into the iron table, the hollowing sound causing the five pairs of eyes to once again land on him.

“I go alone,” he firmly stated.

Silence. Then—

“Absolutely absurd,” Vaughun snarled. “You’ll die. Morath broke Maeve’s legions. What do you stand a chance?”

Cold froze through the air at the mention of the former Lycan queen’s name. A curse, an abomination, an infamy. The stinging of lashes whispered in haunting strokes across his back, the silver cell of insanity unfolding within Lorcan’s mind.

The true savagery—

Connal snarled, a thunderous growl building leaking out. “Say the bitch’s name one more time, and I’ll tear out your throat.”

Fenrhys teleported next to his brother, and laid a hand against Vaughun’s chest.

Rowan loosed a bark, and Connal slouched against his seat in submission. The Alpha turned towards his commander, an unfathomable look sketched across his face.

“We have every reason to be concerned. Especially when it concerns another’s welfare. We do not know what lurks in Morath, save for death.”

Lorcan stared at his pack with eyes of the soulless. He had already wasted too much valuable time loitering. The darkness summoned an abstraction into reality, Hellas’s raw power pulsing around him. Lorcan swung the convened hatchet in his hand, the craving for his mate ushering senseless violence through his veins.

Rowan raised a brow at the burst of power emanating from Lorcan.

Before the Prince of Lycans could speak, Lorcan answered the call of darkness webbing through him, his onyx eyes perceiving more than he’d ever before.

“What—” Gavriel started.

“When your gift is Death, you no longer fear him.” Hellas’ might flowed to him.

Lorcan welcomed the sheer control pulsating through every inch and cell.

His voice sounded far away as he spoke with an ancient, long-feared and worshipped guttural tone. “Death is my ally. Mine to control.”


Death had always belong to him.

It was life instead that slipped through his fingers, the facets and faces of true existence evading him.

An integral part of living would not escape him one more time: his mate.

Elide Lochan.

Lorcan stalked out of the castle, the darkness cascading through him and around him in large streams and flares.

Two Months Ago

Lorcan laid in his bed, breathing heavily.

Pain lanced through every pore. Grogginess laced his vision. Lead settled in every muscle.

His wolf roared at him to visit his mate—that he would be content and pliant if he could just settle his eyes on her lithe form or soak in her scent even from afar. Her presence, if utilized correctly, would be the worst type of military tactic used against him. She would be his downfall, and she would not know.

His fingers brushed against papyrus scrawled with loops of elegant curls and spirals, a golden and flaming embroider filling the edges. In another realm, perhaps he could have been the prince charming, showing up to the ball completely unannounced with his finest clothes, locking eyes with Elide, and asking her for the first dance.

He would have kissed the top of her hand and charmed his way into her heart; she would return his affections, and they would have their lives carried out by fate as perfect mates.

But he was Death’s Right Hand.

And she was a living Angel.

This was not a fairytale in which the maiden lived happily ever.

This was reality in which the maiden either was massacred from the vices through violence or was forged into the sculpture created by the monsters.

This lie was that if the maiden followed her mind, then she would not follow love.

The truth was that if the maiden followed her heart, then she would lose her mind.

He lived with forgotten violence and remembered cruelty brimming from every surface. She lived with colored perceptions and warm neutrals on a floating canvas.

His thoughts were polluted with fabrications that belonged to the Devil’s Mind, hers a beautiful universe waiting to be seen.

A creak broke his melancholy.

The doorknob slowly twisted in a torturously slow manner, and Lorcan grimaced in pain as he glanced towards the entrance. If Fenrhys was about to mock the misery of a state he was in just one more time—

A soft, ever-familiar voice filled the room, the sound almost hesitant.


Lorcan hissed in response. The scent that did not belong to his mate seeped into the room. It was an unwelcomed scent, one he constantly regretted and condoned, one he believed better off in the grave, even if royalty. It was a persistent scent that lingered in front of his doors and followed him through the hallways, one that drove his wolf into insanity.

A doe-eyed female leaned in the doorway, eyes sweeping through the darkness. Those gentle orbs locked in his direction when he loosed a grunt, his chest heaving with pain.

“Get out,” he rasped. “You are unwelcome here.”

Lorcan winced in the cover of darkness and and snarled lowly as the quiet padding of footsteps filled his room.

She did not listen.

A soft glow lit his room, the burning wax chasing away the deep shadows. He closed his eyes with the sweeping light, his nose twitching from the candle’s aroma.

The female trespassing into his room stirred the bloodthirsty side of him. She either him as his canines slide out or wished to die as growl thundered in the base of his throat.

A hand caressed his forehead, and Lorcan flinched.

“I said. Get. Out.” Warnings after warnings, and she still paid no heed.

The tips of her fingers touched his lips, and she clucked her tongue once. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.”

He had once thought she knew the line between his animalistic needs and her loose fantasies. She had been nothing more than a body to satiate the Lycan’s feral side, nothing less than a body to use and manipulate. Not a friend, not a lover, not his mate. Nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

The intruding female brushed back her hair, revealing the pale column of her throat, and gracefully settled herself onto his duvet sheets. “You need to relax, Lorcan Salvaterre. You’ve been through so much. I can help you.”

“You know nothing.” He knew the way she said his name was meant to entice him. He knew the purr in her lilt was meant to arouse him. She knew that he was in a vulnerable state.

His eyes managed to catch the flash of a quick smile she flashed.

“I know you have a mate.” She stroked his chest, coaxing his shirt’s buttons apart. His arms were full of inflexible lead to stop her. His mind seemed to seep into an abyss of murkiness no stroke or kick could save. “And that she does not want you. But I do.”

All the dates Elide had accepted. All the males that had pawed at her. All the stares lusting after her. The flowers and smiles endowed towards her. The invisible blood on his hands—is that what she saw? What his history to full of gruesome atrocities that she would not consider the future?

Lorcan’s body laid rigid and paralyzed as the other female’s nails raked across his hardened skin, each strike a burning sensation. He didn’t know if it was because his wolf side was rejecting her touch or because his body was still coping with his mate’s loss.

He wanted Elide Lochan. He wanted her without her cold eyes that chipped him away slowly, with her inviting ones that made him feel worth more than destruction. He wanted her with warm smiles that drove away the darkness, without her frowns that made him fall to his knees. He wanted her with open arms, without her closed walls.

He did not want this woman in his room and her unwarranted advances. Eons later from when they had first met within the forest, and he still did not want her. The one female he wanted and needed, desired to cherish and protect, hold and soothe—did not want him. The path in waging wars had kept him forbid him from entertaining any facet of the elation life had to offer. Yet when he had laid eyes upon Elide, even through the dark night as she had raced through the trees, expertly wielded the car, saw the fierce determination of hope and compassion in those reflections, Lorcan had known that Elide Lochan was the most beautiful, untouched piece of art his eyes had ever laid upon. There would be expensive, lavish masterpieces, but there would not be the kind-hearted, impossible Elide Lochan, a beacon to him.

His mate.

So he managed to stare at the doe-eyed female with coldness centuries had crafted, a glance full of censure.

“You forget that I do not want you.” He struggled to keep his eyes open, the phantom hand of sleep lulling him into another realm.

“So you’ve said,” the royal female said. Lorcan could make out the form of a goblet in her hand, her lips pressed against the edge. “And I respect that.”

“Do you now?” He did not have the energy to raise a brow or move an arm to break her neck.

A sharp, curt nod. “So I propose one last toast. To what we had. To what past we shared. To us.”

Lorcan warily eyed the goblet, and then the princess Lycan that had pursued him for an eternity. He could have said that they had nothing, their past worthless, that there was no ‘us’. But his tongue was ash in his mouth and his bones were tired. Of fighting physically and sparring verbally.

“Is that all?” he managed to scrape out.

The princess twirled a strand of her hair, and sat on his lap. “Yes.”

They had toasted often, during galas and balls and masquerades. She had always plucked flutes of champagne for him, saying he needed to work on his image. The royal had always clinked her glass against his in a possessive way, Lorcan always brushing her off.

Drinking was nothing new. But the glint in her eyes—that was something new.

“Do you swear to cease your advancements towards me and my mate? To allow us to find peace between us? To raise no harm against Elide Lochan?”

The she-wolf raised a dainty brow, and pressed the ruby-studded goblet into his clammy hand. “I, Essar, in the name of the Bright Lady, swear to fulfill the promise.”

The princess Lycan held her back straight and watched as Lorcan gripped the base of the goblet. Essar slowly brought his hand to his lips as his arm remained unwilling, his wolf snarling in protest.

Before he could leash in his feral side or question his wolf’s sudden thrashing, Essar tipped the goblet into his slightly parted mouth, shoving the steaming liquid down his throat. Lorcan gagged, and felt the marks of where she had scratched him respond with searing pain. His body convulsed as the princess Lycan shoved a hand around his throat, forcing every drop down.

His wolf quieted, and his body flared with pain for several seconds until a blurred daze fell across him. He could consciously hear purring, and feel a warm body pressed against his. There was an itching at the back of his mind, something holding him back. An irking of sorts scratched at him, but nonsensical thoughts like cotton clogged his brain.

There was something wrong, something forcing him still and compliant. His mind struggled to cut down every barrier, but there was a hint of dark magic that had his will recoil.

Something tepid pressed against his lips, a hand fingering the hair at the nape of his neck. There was a sound of creaking, and then a scent appeared that had the cotton in his head blowing away.

His eyes snapped open. He turned his head towards the door.

Lorcan knew then by the figure in his lap and the figure at the door he had irrevocably fucked up.

And that by the flash of betrayal and hurt contorting across his mate’s face, he had broken the maiden. And that by the whisper of her scent that fled from the room and the familiar sound of bones cracking and howling, he had sculpted the maiden into a monster.

And from there, the poison of Yellowleg’s Death, bewitched with dark magic and control remained stagnant within his veins, swirling through every notch and crevice, an invasion of his mind and will and muscle.