Every rising sign has a reason to celebrate. Each of you has a distinct look that is beautiful in the eyes of another. Inspired by an anon on @disneystrologie account who mentioned that “the risings aren’t really appearance. It’s more so the vibe that you give out that enhances your genes”. I think, whoever you are, that was a very sagacious observation on your part. Hope you don’t mind me elaborating some more.
Aries | Loud and proud, you won’t miss these individuals in a room. They ooze life out of them as if the next big race is about to begin. When you look at them you see someone who knows where they are trying to go. Direction and drive is thrilling to watch. It’s beautiful to be a part of so there’s no shortage of individuals clamoring for an Aries rising’s attention.
Taurus | Old school beauty in a new package. What is old school depends on your heritage. Taurus rising’s know where they’ve come from and have the willpower to expand on the comforts of their past. You see it in how they carry themselves. It’s as if royalty from all walks of life have graced you with their presence. Make sure not to hit your head as you bow down.
Gemini | Lively individuals with a fairy like disposition. Lithe, young movements. It’s like watching your childhood crush race you to the river. It’s like watching your brother’s older friend tease you mercilessly. Gemini rising have a youthful beauty that makes you think anything is possible.
Cancer | The watery vibe of cancer risings is like a siren call. Coy is
what you think of when you see a cancer rising. There is something
beneath the surface with them. The changeable nature of a cancer rising
lends itself well to human nature’s constantly fluctuating desires.
Leo | It’s hard to deal with the voluptuous quality of a Leo rising, but thankfully we all manage. Something about them is bigger and better. Each Leo rising works that quality like there’s no tomorrow. They are larger than life. A cinema masterpiece you are willing to watch over and over.
Virgo | Where Gemini rising is youthful and lively, Virgo risings are youthful and somber. There is an energy about them that is contradictory. You know they are calm, yet a restless spirit hides within them. A knowing smirk is a common characteristic for these rising signs and they wear it so well. It could make the most hardened minds curious as to what they know.
Libra | So charming, it’s honestly hard to be around them. You feel like you would do anything for them. In fact you truly want them to like you! If a beautiful creature such as this likes you, surely you’ve done something right. Lovely, full features.
Scorpio | It doesn’t matter if you consider them cute,
sexy, beautiful. Hell you could actually think they might be ugly, but
the enticing nature of a Scorpio rising is hard to miss. Their actual
genetics are enhance by pluto’s glow and penetrating stare. You really
can’t help but look at them. You won’t ever want to look away once they
are done with you.
Sagittarius | Nothing can go wrong with these individuals around. Didn’t you know that Jupiter watches out for his own? They are brass and loud and so much fun from a single glance. You know that you’re in for a good time when you encounter a Sagittarius rising. Do it big or go home and that includes their appearances. They take up space with their shining light
Capricorn | Sharp or strong features are common with this rising. Even without the features they are known for, there’s something commanding in the way that they move. Something about that screams power to those around them. Power is beauty in the eyes of many.
Aquarius | Trendsetters who know no bounds. Aren’t we lucky we have them? There’s something about them that’s different. Different is good because who else would we base our art off of? Who else would inspire us. An Aquarius rising knows and understands this. Even if they aren’t conventional, they certainly have a way of making us fall for them.
Pisces| A soothing wave over your soul, you’ll feel like you’re drowing in the touch of a Pisces. It is hard to get them out of your head. Their energy is elusive, yet endearing. We as humans want to figure out what makes other works which is why Pisces risings cause so much obsession. What is going on with that beautiful vibe?
Here’s the Soulmate!AU collab@rickandmortygetschwifty and I did together! :) It was so awesome to work on this with you; you’re so amazing <3
Please, read @rickandmortygetschwifty ‘s part of the collab right here, under the cut!! (The comic will make more sense, after you’ve read it) Prepare to weep! The fic is long and heart-wrenchingly beautiful!!
For longer than you’ve known, you never truly understood
what a soulmate was.
Your first memory was of your mother hovering over you,
inspecting the reddening bruise that was blossoming over your knee. She was
looking over at you in disapproval, tutting as she tried to hush your sobs.You
couldn’t help the tears that ran down your cheeks as you cradled your leg and
begged your mother to make it stop hurting.The pain you felt was unlike
anything you experienced before. And so you cried and cried, hoping that your
screams would drown out the unpleasant sensations.
Your mother simply picked you up, whispering sweet things
into your ear as she bandaged you up.
“Oh, you poor little thing,” she cooed, flicking you
playfully on the nose. “Rick, you need to be more careful, or you’ll make your
soulmate sad too.
So I just found out that Voltron season 1 had vietnamese
sub. Needless to say I was ecstastic
In episode 6, Keith’s Iconic line was executed perfectly and ten
times cuter than the original line. The meaning is still the same, tho, but
One of the cutest things the translators did is that they change
the pronouns of Keith while talking to Lance. Normally, they use” tôi (I)”
and “cậu (you)” for common situation. They are formal, could use for both
gender (mostly man, tho), for friend, acquaintane, someone you just met,
etc,etc..(but only use it if both user were in a same age , dont use it with
someone older, VNese has a lot of pronouns, follow a set of stange rules
involves age and social rank, pretty confusing ) We dont use this quite often
in real life tho, because they give off a cold vibe and create a distance
between the speaker and the listener
This kind of pronounssuits Keith, as he’s pretty close-off and
not really on a same level of friendship and closeness to the Garrison trio. But
in that “I cradles you in my arm” line, Keith used “ Tớ”(I) to talk about him , which are more commonly used among people in a same age range, also sounds softer, cuter and sweeter, indicating a close level of friendship between two users. Using this type of pronouns make the user
seems friendlier and easy to talk to
Also, they translated the world “cradled” to “nâng niu” which
was hilarious cause that word is use for holding, cradling, protecting
something small, fragile and absoloutely precious to the speaker. Can you feel
the gay oozing out of KeithXD
The sub made Keith
desperately want Lance to acknowledge their bonding moment and offer an olive
brand for a new friendship that he changed his way of speaking to somewhat
friendly and soft. Also he refer Lance as someone precious to him and in need
of protecting. Someone give this dork a
pat please he pines so hard
The Klance game is so
fucking strong I cant help but laughing like an idiot
You wear your heart on your sleeve not in sensitivity, but with bravery. You come as you are; always ready to fight for what you love.
In the 2nd: Dionysus
The melody in your heart oozes out of you as a siren song, taking pleasure in all you feel in your heart. You let the richness take over your very being.
In the 3rd: The Hummingbird
Ever-flitting, ever-flying; so envied and admired. You move impossibly fast, it takes focus to see your wings oh but we hear the beautiful music they make as you pass us by with your jeweled feathers.
In the 4th: The Envelope
Your lover is your letter, you the envelope. You carry them safely to their destination, recognizing precious words and beauty as the truth. Oh but how easily battered you can be, please bubble-wrap your loving heart.
In the 5th: The Leather Jacket
You wear your heart as a coat, whether worn or new or real or fake. You exist as a symbol of yourself you create out of your own fabric. Expression is your savior, savor it.
In the 6th: The Furrowed Brow
The worrier, the servant, the loyal. You do not let it all show, you stand poised and sure but that one little crease, that only little wrinkle expresses it all. You do not have to stand impossibly tall, sit down. It’s okay.
In the 7th: The Nymph
Either fairy or seductress, you walk lightly and nervously about. You are sweet, whispered nothings in the sunset fields; whether they mean something or not…
In the 8th: The Taxidermist
You sculpt around you in stillness and a resistance to trust and to allowing the world to move around you. Your taboo necromancy is intense and even scary, but if they looked beneath they’d see that you simply create out of what is before you.
In the 9th: The Wanderer
The free spirit full of self-destructive flightiness, unwilling to fully let go for what else is out there? You feel yourself on the precipice, not sure whether to let go and fall down down down into the wind or continue to resist.
In the 10th: The Willow
The wise beauty of movement and stillness wrapped together in harmony with all around you. That surprising snap and wit lurking in your calming vines, it haunts and provides all at once.
In the 11th: The Amphibian
Master of water and land, you can go in and out with ease, but can’t quite seem to choose which you truly want. Perhaps the company around you is enough, but maybe if you dive down deeper or climb up higher you’ll find something better than you recognize.
In the 12th: The Saved
They fall into the hot spring in the middle of the night with you, sipping wine and sharing kisses and admissions of vulnerability that drift into the night. But don’t let them drown, for they so easily can if they are not wary.
Drabble Game Prompt 96. “Here, let me.” with badboy/jock!jeongguk
→ badboy football jk (warning: overstimulation, cumplay, fluff, and fuckingjeonjungkook) → 1.4k words prequel part 01 | 02
A/N: i have no idea where this came from, my hand sort of slipped, jfc what have i done
UPDATE: added the highly-requested prequel as a thank you for 1k+ notes :) make sure to check out Give and Take! It’s a similar AU to this one!
“There you go, yes, you can do it babe,” Jeongguk encourages, as you bite down on your lip.
He grins up at you as you move your hips slowly against his, finding the way you squeeze your eyes shut tightly the cutest thing ever.
“J-jeongguk I-I can’t–” you stutter, arms clutching at his bare shoulders as your movements stutter and begin to slow down. But you whimper instead at the loss of friction between your legs and begin to cry tears of frustration as you don’t know whether to continue grinding against him and chase after another orgasm or to stop completely.
He just laughs huskily from beneath you, and wipes a tear from your cheek and presses a quick peck to your chin as you make up your mind and your movements continue. His head dips down to press open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, painting the skin there in blossoms of red and pink. “Shh,” he grates against your neck, a gentle hand coming up to stroke down your spine and settling on the curve of your hip to firmly help guide you up and down his cock. “you got this.”
He’s in awe as he watches you desperately move against him, your soft breasts and nipples brushing up against his hard chest and melting him on the spot. It’s been years since he’s met you and only a few months since the both of you finally started having sex, but he’s secretly delighted at how sensitive you are and how desperate you are to pleasure the both of you. He wants to spread you out and fuck you with his fingers and tongue and make you cum over and over until you’re screaming hoarsely or tie you down onto the bed and tease you for hours until you’re begging for him, but he smiles as he relishes in actually convincing you to top him for once.
Cause this time he’s being a little selfish and pushing the boundaries on how far he can take you because he’s currently coaxing your through your third orgasm and is harder than he’s ever been in his life as he watches you in tears because you’re desperate to reach the peak once again.
You muffle your cries in in his neck and thread your fingers in his hair as you feel the wave approaching again. “Jeongguk, ‘m gonna come,” you murmur breathlessly, making his dick clench at how fucking submissive you sound to him right now. He whispers sooth encouragements into your ear and moves his hips up to meet yours just right and grazes the spot inside of you that has you cringing and sighing into his neck as he grunts when you clamp down on him and bite gently into his shoulder to muffle your cries.
The orgasm is stronger than the last two he brought you to with his fingers and his mouth, respectively, as the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips and the sheer rawness of his length brushing your walls makes you clamp down on his girth harder than you’ve ever come before. You cry out and clench your teeth and you’re going through your third intense wave of your orgasm when suddenly he flips the both of you over and pins your hips to his bed and begins to pound into you desperately.
His voice is strained and his hairline slick with sweat as he props himself up above you and glares determinedly into your face thats scrunched up in pleasure, moving his hips against you until he reaches his own peak. You feel his dick twitch once before he’s letting out a loud groan and a strangled cry of your name before his chest pulses for a moment and then he slumps down onto you.
The both of you are spent and you’re still crying from the overwhelming feeling of being coaxed through three orgasms, with the third being the most intense you’ve ever felt in your life, and your chest heaves from the effort it took. Jeongguk is no better, as he pulls out of you with a groan and kneels between your legs.
Taking advantage of your slumped and exhausted state, he pushes up a thigh and leans down a bit to see how his cum leaks out of your slit and grasps his cock that hasn’t softened yet with a groan. He gently holds the base of his sensitive member and collects the cum that’s already oozed out onto your thigh with his tip before pushing it back into you.
You let out a strangled cry, a hand coming up to your mouth so you can muffle your cries, and another desperately clutching onto the wrist holding onto your thigh. He pauses, glancing up at your expression and waiting for you to push him away, but a slight movement of your wrist draws your thigh higher up and his hips a bit closer to you. Grinning, he grasps his softening cock once again and drags his tip from your upper thigh back into your slit, massaging his own cum into your center.
When he’s completely limp and cringing himself from the overstimulation of pushing himself back into your pussy, he drops your thigh and climbs back up, whispering sweet things into your ear.
“Baby, you were so good,” he coos, smoothing back your hair and wiping leftover tears. “You deserved that, you were so hot. Here, let me,” he gets a warm towel from the restroom and wipes down your thighs and core before dressing you in his t-shirt (a sight which he’ll never admit he absolutely loves) and pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his chest.
“I loved it.”
You hiccup, breath short from the sensitivity but also from your tears. “You did?”
And he thinks its the damned cutest thing ever, how even if you were an innocent girl he’d never thought he’d date, you suddenly turned into a sex starved shyer version of yourself because of him, and then returned back to the sweet blushing one he’d fallen in love with even after hours of rough sex and the dirtiest things. It absolutely fucking thrills him and makes his dick so hard whenever he brings you to too many orgasms, when you reach the point where you dont know whether to stop or continue, or to cry or kiss him. He’s had his fair share of flings and sexcapades, but he knows that the only girl who’s ever made him so whipped, the only girl who’s gotten Jeon Jeongguk wrapped around her tiny little finger, is you.
You who he began to tease and flirt with as a joke, but ended up falling so damn hard for you after just a partner project where you ended up sympathizing with him and treating him like a real fucking human being, and not the football athlete that everyone worshipped and expected so much out of. You who always looked at him, past his body and face and extracurriculars, and into his soul and really truly understood who he was at the core. You who drunkenly kissed him one night underneath the stars and you who’s cheeks went furiously red when he kissed you again in front of the entire school. You who weren’t afraid of telling him when he was being too cocky or just a dick, and made sure to keep him in check, to the point that his teammates were commenting on what a kind softie he was becoming.
And finally, you who he found himself hopelessly irrevocably in love with.
And he looks down at you, with your bare face that’s not really anything special. Eyes, nose, and lips that are average, hair that’s common, and a body that others will say they’ve seen better. But its the way you look at him with your eyes that makes him love you. The way you press your nose against his neck when you cuddle with him and the way you shyly move your soft lips against him when you kiss him goodbye. It’s the way your hair feels like absolute silk underneath his fingers when he runs his hands through them when you’re asleep, and the way your entire body literally lights up and bends at his will and his only.
Those are the things, amongst many, that made the high and mighty bad boy Jeon Jeongguk fall in love with you.
So he cups your face and smiles as he pecks against your lips, peppering your face with them until you giggle and shriek against his attack. Laughing, he draws you close.
INGREDIENTS 2 large white onions 3–4 slices mozzarella cheese 2 cups flour 5 eggs 2 cups bread crumbs Oil, for frying Marinara sauce
INSTRUCTIONS Peel and cut onions into 1-centimeter rings, then separate the rings.
Slice the mozzarella into 4 even strips, and place a smaller onion ring in the center of a larger one. Fill the gap between the rings with strips of mozzarella. Repeat with remaining onion rings and freeze them for 1 hour.
Place the flour, eggs, and bread crumbs into three separate bowls. Dip each prepared ring into the flour, then the egg, then the breadcrumbs, then back into the egg, and one last time into the bread crumbs. Repeat with the remaining onion rings.
Heat the oil in a pot over high heat. Fry the rings until golden brown, being careful not to fry them for too long as the cheese may ooze out completely.
Summary: Dean’s hit with a strong case of curiosity. Pure,
uncontrollable curiosity that leads to him finding a treasure trove of nasty little things.
Paring: Sam/Reader, Dean/Reader (kinda), Implied
Sam/Reader/Dean at the end
Word Count: ~2.5K
Warnings:FILTH. At this point it’d be easier to
name what’s not in this fic, but I’ll
name a few that are; smut (obvy), dirty text, nudey pics, sex videos
of Sam/Reader, masturbation, anal play, anal sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk,
copious amounts of semen, Sam’s a big fan of creampies (both of the butt and
vag variety), more masturbation, voyeurism, NSFW gifs just to really mess y'all
up :) a/n: aight don’t judge me but I only have one fic to post today bc school’s got me fucked up and has literally sucked my soul from my body. I’m still working on some of the requests you guys have sent in and other WIP’s as the mood/will to do anything but cry in a corner hits me (lol but I’m fine tho I swear) I hope you guys enjoy my contribution for Smut Appreciation Day 2017!
The first time Dean “snoops"—it’s by
Sam had lent him his phone after Dean’s had been
compromised on the hunt that they had just finished. Long story short; phone in
pocket plus getting pushed into pool by werewolf equals no bueno. Dean pulled up the messaging app to shoot the hunter that
been helping them out a text to let him know that everything had been squared away, but when
Dean went to tap compose message, his thumb took a sharp left and ended up
pulling up the messages between you and Sam.
Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.
He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.
He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.
“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”
Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot – next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.
He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.
“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”
Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.
“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.
“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”
Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.
“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing usto keep you around, do you realize that?”
Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.
“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.
“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.
“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.
Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.
When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.
“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”
“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.
“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.
Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”
Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.
“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”
Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”
“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”
Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”
He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.
“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.
He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.
Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.
He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.
He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.
He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.
He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.
He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.
It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.
Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.
Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you.Got this. Got here first.
The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.
He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.
What if Mark did fake his death and the Butler and Cook are in on it hence the little late-night chat about their trustworthiness with the Detective and the Butler giving up so fast after the Detective vetoed the idea of calling the cops and this is some sort of test for the Mayor and the Colonel who may or may not be Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache but then who the hell is the District Attorney and why did the Butler tell us anything and what is Mark’s goal but what if this whole thing is some kind of fever dream murder mystery cooked up by the Host who is currently laughing at all of us as he narrates the story to some unseen radio audience because boy that would sure explain a lot but then is he doing it out of malice or boredom is he trying to kill all of us or maybe none of us or maybe just them and he created the District Attorney character deliberately to give us a way to watch and participate and what does Amy’s reflection in the bedside clock mean I mean does it mean anything or is it an accident also are the two Jims we see reporting on the murder the same Jims we saw in Markiplier TV or are they two new Jims and if so how many Jims are there I mean they have their own TV network apparently so maybe there’s an army of identical men all named Jim running the weirdest channel ever also are the sportscaster Jims canon and are they also their own Jims or are all Jims the same two Jims filling all the roles and is investigative reporter Jim dead now or what he better not be or at least not permanently but then again Googleplier was basically dead and the Author and Darkiplier were both shot and left for dead and they’re all okay now more or less I mean even Mark died thanks to Wilford and he’s alive at least I think he’s alive he could be faking his death to fuck with Mayor Maybe-Dark and Colonel Maybe-Warfstache and
Sorry, for making you guys wait for so long, but to make it up to you I think this is the longest imagine I have ever written. I hope you’ll enjoy. I also combined two reqests for this one. I hope that’s okay.
Request: Could you write an imagine about Ivar getting wounded in battle and the reader takes care of him? Thank you.
Request: Are you taking requests at all? If so could you do one where the reader takes control in bed and Ivar has to sit back and take it?
Warning: This contains smut and blood, the essentials of the Ivar fandom.
You pulled your sword back and the
soldier in front of you dropped to the ground. You turned, looking for your
next opponent but no one was there. It took you a moment to realize that there
was no one left. The battle was over. The last few survivors of the once large
hostile army were fleeing to save their lives. All around you the warriors
started to cheer in triumph, you would have joined in but for some reason you
didn’t feel joyful at all. You were still panting but the rush of the battle
slowly died down. And as the adrenalin left you, the strange feeling that
something was wrong only grew bigger. You tried to tell yourself that you were
only worried because Ivar wasn’t beside you like usually. He always stayed
close to you in battle and you were used to fight side by side with him, often
even riding in his chariot with him. But today you had somehow been separated.
In the immediate rush of battle you hadn’t thought much about it but now that
you were calming down you felt worry sneaking into your heart. You looked
around, hoping to spot Ivar somewhere.
You could see Hvitserk with a small
group of warriors not far from you. They were still cheering and slapping each
other’s shoulders. Ivar was nowhere to be seen, so you went over to his
“Y/N.” He greeted, a wide smile on
his face. “Good to see you in one piece.”
You nodded. ”You too. Have you seen
“Not since before the battle. Was he
not with you?”
“He was, but we got separated.”
Hvitserk must have noticed your
worried tone. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m sure he is okay. It takes more than a few
Saxons to kill him.”
You gave him a half-hearted smile.
“You’re probably right. See you later at the camp.”
With that you turned to look for
Ivar again. You climbed up a small hill so that you could overlook the other
side of the battlefield that was lying behind it. When you made it to the top
you gasped in shock. You could see Ivar’s chariot, the white horse was covered
in blood and had started to graze between the fallen warriors but Ivar was
nowhere to be seen. You felt your stomach twist with fear. As you hurried
towards the empty chariot you heard someone call your name. You turned to see
Ubbe running up to you. By the look on his face you could tell that something
“Where is Ivar?” You asked him, your
voice sounding strange and high pitched.
“He was wounded. We already brought
him back to the camp.”
Panic shot through you and you felt
your legs start to tremble. “I have to see him.” You said, your voice shaking.
Although you weren’t sure you could trust your legs to support you, you started
to stride towards camp. As you walked past Ubbe he caught you in his arms.
“Y/N, wait. Calm down. It is not
that bad. I’m sure he will be fine.”
“I have to see him.” You repeated
stubbornly and tried to wind yourself out of his arms.
Ubbe looked at you with pitying eyes
for a moment, but then let go of you. “Alright, I will come with you.”
You stormed into the tent where the
wounded were treated and searched the rows of bleeding warriors. When your eyes
fell upon Ivar you felt like your heart stopped for a moment. He was lying on
his back with his eyes closed. As you got closer you could see that a long cut
had gone through his armor. Blood was oozing out of it and running down his
side. Cold fear began to rise inside you, but with it came a stubborn
determination. You would not lose him.
“Why is no one tending to him?” Your
voice was fierce and demanding.
At the sound of your voice Ivar
opened his eyes. He looked tired and was a little pale but he smiled at you.
You ran to his side and dropped to your knees, clutching to him as if your life
depended on it.
He chuckled. “Are you trying to
squeeze all the blood out of me, woman?”
You softened your grip around him.
“I was so worried. When Ubbe said you had been wounded…”
“Shhh. There’s no need to worry.
Seeing all the blood that covered
his chest and ran down his side, you weren’t fully convinced by his words.
Ivar’s eyes had followed your gaze.
“I said there’s no need to worry. Most of that blood isn’t mine anyways.”
You ignored him and rose to your
feet to stop one of the women that were hurrying along the rows of the wounded.
Most of the women that did not fight in the shieldwall were assigned to take
care of those who were wounded in battle.
“Why is no one tending to him?” You
repeated your question from earlier.
“Because his wound isn’t that deep.
We have much more serious cases to deal with first, so even a prince will have
to wait.” With that she shoved you out of the way and scurried off.
You thought about calling her back
when heard Ivar chuckle.
“I told you it is nothing. Do you
believe me now?”
“No.” You said stubbornly and turned
to Ubbe who was still standing close to the entrance, trying his best not to be
in the way. “Can you help me bring him to our tent?”
“Why do want to bring him there?”
“I will take care of his wounds
myself. Now come help me.”
You could see a pleased smirk grow
on Ivar’s face, he seemed to like the thought of you tending to him instead of
some old woman.
It was quite a struggle to get Ivar
into your tent with him wounded and only Ubbe to help you, but you finally
managed to lay him down on your bed.
You gave Ubbe a thankful smile.
“Do you need any more help?”
“No, thank you.” You said and he
left the tent.
You turned back to Ivar and
carefully opened the strings that held his armor together. Then you helped him
to sit up to get it off him. As the hard leather scraped over his wound, his
face twisted with pain but he didn’t make a sound. You took out your knife and
simply cut open his tunic in order to spare him from having to move even more. You
loudly sucked in a breath at what you saw. The cut went from his left shoulder
almost to the middle of his chest. You examined it closely and were relieved to
find that the woman had been right, it wasn’t too deep. What worried you was
that it hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. It would clearly need stitches.
You rummaged through your things to
find what you needed. Ivar hadn’t said a word since you had brought him here.
He just kept watching you, seeming quite relaxed, a small smile on his face,
almost as if he was enjoying himself.
“Why are you smiling?” You asked him
as you stepped back to the bed.
“I just like to be the center of all
“You won’t like it as much anymore
once I stick that needle into you.”
He just shrugged and followed your
movements with his eyes as started to carefully clean the wound. You were quite
consumed with your work when you felt Ivar’s hand slide under your shirt. First
you tried to ignore it and kept working but that got more and more difficult as
his hand slowly slid up your belly and his fingertips ghosted across your
breasts. You ignored the warm feeling that spread through you and fiercely
grabbed his arm and pulled it out from under your shirt.
“Ivar, this is really not the right
time. Please let me patch you up first.”
He grinned at you, full of mischief
but placed his hand back on the bed, while you fumbled with the needle.
“Does it hurt much?” You asked him
as you had made the first few stitches.
He shrugged. “I’m used to pain.”
You nodded, unable to stop your eyes
from wandering to his legs. If Ivar had noticed, he ignored it. You forced
yourself to concentrate on your work.
As you were almost finished you
could feel his hand on your hip again, fingers caressing your stomach. He
hooked two fingers into the waistband of your pants and let them slide along it
until he found the lacing.
“Ivar, this is really not the time,
you should rest.” You said as he started to fumble to unlace your pants.
He gave you a dark grin. “You asked
me to let you patch me up first. That I did. Now it is my turn.”
“You have lost a lot of blood. You
“I can’t. You look to irresistible
like this.” He whispered and slid his hand into your pants. First you didn’t
know what he meant but then realized that you were still as much covered in
blood as he was.
You opened your mouth to protest and
tell him that he really needed to rest, but that moment his fingers slid over
your folds and the words caught in your throat. Ivar noticed your reaction and
smirked, knowing that he had already won that battle. His hand cupped your sex
and one his fingers sneaked between your folds stroking up and down. You moaned
and couldn’t stop your body from moving against his hand. His skilled fingers
found your sweet little knob and he started to circle his thumb around it. You
moaned out his name at the exquisite feeling. As he felt your wetness spreading
under his fingers, Ivar let out a pleased little groan. Your whole body was
trembling as you pressed yourself against his hand. Much too soon for your
liking Ivar retrieved his had from your pants. Since he couldn’t use his left
arm terribly much he to break contact to slide his right arm around your waist
and pull you into the bed. As soon as he had you pressed to his chest, his lips
crashed onto yours. Without breaking the kiss his hand sneaked back into your
pants. He drew a few more circles around your clit before he pushed one finger
inside of you. Your head fell backwards as you let out a pleasured sigh. He
started to move in and out of you, his pace slowly increasing. You moaned out
loudly and rocked our hips to meet his movements, already feeling the heat building
up inside of you. But all of a sudden he stopped. With his head he gestured towards
“Take that off.”
You did as he had said and he sighed
as your breasts fell free from the fabric. He started to move his hand again
and at the same time his mouth found one of your breasts. He was taking turns
in sucking at your nipple and letting his tongue swirl around it. Soon he added
another finger and thrusted them inside you more forcefully than before. Your
moans got louder and louder and you could feel the heat spread from between
your legs through your whole body. He let go of your breast and looked at you,
a devilish grin on his face. Then he curled his fingers upward while keeping up
his pace. Stars exploded in front of your eyes. He was hitting exactly the
right spot. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer.
“Ivar.” You panted between your moans.
“I… I’m about to…”
“That’s right.” He cooed. “Come for
Hearing his words you let go and let
yourself become consumed by the pleasure he was giving you. He kept moving his
hand until you were coming down form your high. As the trembling of your body
subsided he pulled you on top of him. You rested your head on his chest,
careful not to bring any pressure on the fresh stitches. You lay like this for
a while and he stroked your hair. As you shifted your body to get more
comfortable, you felt his erection press against you. You looked up to him
almost in surprise.
“After you have lost so much blood?”
He shrugged and gave you a crooked
grin. “It’s what you do to me.”
You smirked back at him and moved to
open his pants and pull them off his legs. You gave the top of his cock a
teasing lick and then moved back up to kiss him again. Very slowly you worked
your way back down, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck and down his chest.
Ivar followed each of your movements, looking at you in awe. When you were back
down you gave his cock a long lick from base to top and Ivar let out a long
sigh. You gave him one last playful smile before you took his member into your
mouth and softly started sucking while stroking its base with your hand. Ivar
let out low growling noises and tangled his hand into your hair.
You were surprised as he tugged your
head upwards after a while.
“Enough.” He said, his voice was
thick with lust but it still had a commanding tone. “I need to be inside you.”
You bit your lip and moved back up
to straddle him. You positioned yourself over his tip and moved your hips so
that your folds were brushing over him making just the tiniest bit of contact.
Ivar narrowed his eyes at you. “Stop
the teasing, woman. You know I’m not a patient man.”
He put his hands on your hips, as if
he was ready to pull you down on him at any second.
You shook your head at him and
pressed his arms back to the bed. “You still have to go easy. You lost a lot of
blood today, so relax and let me do the work.”
He gave you frustrated growl and you
chuckled. “I think have already suffered enough today.” You decided and
slowly began to let yourself sick down on him.
You closed your eyes and relished
the feeling of his thickness stretching you out. As your hips met his he filled
you completely and you took a moment to adjust before you slowly started to
move. You rocked your hips against his and moaned at the feeling of him sliding
in and out of you. Ivar’s hands moved up your sides to play with your breasts,
while he watched you bounce up and down on top of him. As you started pick up
more pace he seemed unable to control himself any longer. His hands closed
around your waist and he pushed you to the side in order to get on top of you.
You clicked your tongue disapprovingly and shook our head, while you fought to
push him back down on his back.
“I said I will do the work,
otherwise I will leave and let you rest like you should.”
You knew it was an empty threat, for
you wanted this as much as he did, but it seemed to work. He gave you an annoyed
growl, but relaxed and looked up to you expectantly. You smiled and nodded,
almost in disbelief that he had obeyed you. You placed your hands on his broad
chest and started to rock your hips again. Ivar’s hands moved to your hips
again but he left you in control. You kept moving your hips against his and
leaned down to kiss him. But before your lips touched his he slightly turned
his head and licked over your cheek. Then he kissed you deeply and you could
taste the blood he had licked off your skin.
“You taste like the goddess of war.”
He breathed against your lips.
As you sat back up to pick up a
little more pace, Ivar dipped his fingers into the small drops of blood that
were still dripping out between the stitches you had made on his chest and drew
a line from your throat over one breast down to your navel. Then he repeated
his actions on the other side. When he was done he looked at you, seemingly
pleased with his work before his hands went to your hips again, steadying your
movements. You moved faster and faster while moaning out his name. The heated
knot in your stomach was growing fast. Ivar’s grip on your hips became tighter
and he roughly thrusted upwards to meet your movements. You could feel yourself
tighten around him as you fell over the edge. You whole body spasmed for the second
time that night, while Ivar’s strong arms held you in place as he kept pounding
into you. You were still riding out your orgasm as he gave one last forceful
thrust and then pulled you down on him, burying himself deep inside you while
he spilled his seed.
Totally out of breath you collapsed
on top him. You lay like this for a while, both of you panting heavily.
I feel like resting.” Ivar rasped as he wrapped his arms around you.
[WARNING: SUICIDE AND SELF HARM ARE MENTIONED IN THIS POST, PLEASE AVOID IF THIS WILL MAKE YOU UPSET.]
Context: The party was in a room made with reflective, crystalline substance, but an invisible barrier blocked their progress. They discovered that on one side of the room, their reflection was sentient, and used their reflection to get through an obstacle course so they could leave the room. The tiefling rogue’s reflection made to the other side first. This happened when they tried to leave.
DM (me): You hear a banging from the crystal mirror on the opposite side of the room.
Ranger, OOC: Oh, god…
DM: You see that it is your reflection, [TR], and it has a terrified look on it’s face.
TR: (annoyed) What?
DM: It mouths to you, “Don’t leave me.”
TR: Ah, you’ll be fine!
DM: In a series of gestures, it signals to you that when you leave the room, it will cease to exist.
Cleric, OOC: Oh, god!
TR: Nah, you’ll be fine! There’s no afterlife anyway, you’ll just be gone.
DM: Do you want to roll to persuade?
TR, OOC: No, I want to intimidate that fucker.
DM: Uh, okay, roll for it.
[He succeeds the intimidation check.]
DM: Alright, he is no longer-
TR, OOC: I wanna see him kill himself!
TR: I wanna see you slit your wrists!
Various party members and I: Holy shit!
DM: Um, okay, he’s doing it. You see yourself pull out a dagger and slit your own wrists. Instead of just dying, he dissolves and an ooze leaks out of the mirror.
TR: Hell yeah!
Half Elf Rogue: Oooh! Can I collect it?
DM: Yeah, okay, sure. You collect the ooze. It smells like [TR].
Barbarian, OOC: You’re just picking up this ooze?
HR: I’ll find a use for it!
[The party proceeds, psychologically worse for wear.]
❝ After your art professor notices your ardor towards nudeness in arts, he sends you to apprentice under his old friend, the Korean painter Byun Baekhyun who’s infamous for his erotic pieces and cocky demeanor. Rumors surrounded Baekhyun at any second and women who had been with him described him as “an unforgiving lover of bodies”. What happens when you find him taking a liking to you–and your body? ❞
♕ Reader x Painter!Baekhyun
♕ !Smut in later chapters; mentions of nude bodies and sexuality.
You don’t know if it was the sound of your paintbrush hitting the floor or the sudden boom of your professor’s voice that startled you more. You lifted your dazed, admiring eyes up from your own piece, into the amused, brown eyes of your professor. He chuckled as he bent down to pick up your paintbrush before giving it to you. Thanking him, you glanced down to the floor, cheeks flushed while he scanned your piece. The theme had been secrets– and if you were being honest you hadn’t been more satisfied with a given theme before.