The throne room was a massacre. The throne room was where Prythian ended and a new force began. Feyre stood, her sword barely gripped in her right hand, blood slowly rolling down her skin.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she looked around the carnage that surrounded her. The High Lord of the Dawn Court was pinned to the wall, his mouth still open, his skin still glimmering. Feyre watched that light fade.
His wife and chosen soldiers decorated the floor with their golden blood, which carefully slithered across the floor. The Lady of the Dawn Court’s eyes were open, the golden orbs staring into space.
Feyre had never learned their names.
Kallias was lying down motionless, the blade in his back frozen over. His bright blue eyes seemed dull in comparison to a color Feyre once knew. His fingers were digging into the ice that painted the ground. In the process of crawling away from a force you can not out run: Death.
On top of him, as if in the last moments of her life she was determined to guard him, a female rested. Her back was arched, her own jagged blade sinking into her sternum. White blood stained her lips, her fingers curled helplessly around the metal.
Their own warriors were discarded and ruined around them, white and gold blood slowly swimming together, mixing like they were made to. It created a marble design, and slowly it swam to Helion.
Hellion’s golden tunic was stained with a vibrant red, brighter than any red Feyre had ever seen. She would have loved to paint with such a bright color. His beaded head piece was tossed from his head, laying on the ground, far away from the High Lord. If Feyre didn’t know any better, the High Lord could have just been sleeping. He still looked magnificent.
His wife lay beside him, those deep brown eyes forever unseeing. Her mouth opened in a scream the world would never hear again. The fiercest battle cry she had ever witnessed. Her crown still rested on her head, as if it knew it belonged there, even in death. Blood ran down her deep brown skin, and Feyre thought it was the most beautiful horror she had ever seen.
Warriors of the Day were thrown and destroyed around their High Lord and Lady, their bright red blood crawling across the throne room floor, until it met with the white and gold. Their deaths were brutal, yet undeniably stunning.
The blade fell from Feyre’s fingers, clattering against the ground, when her eyes saw Tarquin. Young, brave, fearless Tarquin. She should have let him alone after she had betrayed him in his own Court. She should have never involved him in this.
Tarquin’s white hair was matted with blood, his eyes peacefully closed. He was crumpled on his side, his body broken in several ways. Of all of them, he had fought the hardest. Feyre wished his eyes were open, so she could see that blue one last time.
A male warrior had fallen on top of Tarquin, his body resting over the High Lord’s long legs. His left arm was reaching out, only a few inches from Tarquin’s unmoving fingertips.
In their last seconds, the lovers had reached for one another. Feyre saw Varian and Cresseida amongst the Summer Court Fae who had fought bravely. Blood swam down Cresseida’s arms, her eyes glazed over. Varian’s own sword had betrayed him in the end, lodged in the Fae’s chest.
She nearly staggered to the side when she saw Lucien’s bright red hair.
His good eye was closed, his scarred eye staring at the far wall. Feyre had a sick feeling that Lucien could still see with that eye, even as he lay there, stone still. He was horrible to look at. Her friend, dead, gone, brave, but gone.
Unnamed Autumn Court warriors had died by their High Lord’s side. Had accepted him as their rightful High Lord, had given her friend love, compassion, strength, everything she could not. And Feyre couldn’t even bother to learn their names. Faes with dark skin, natural tans, or olive undertones had died for Lucien, for a ray of hope. Their red hair, brown hair, golden hair, all soaked in blood; their blood. And all of their veins, empty of that raging fire. They had given that power up the moment they fell to the ground.
The ends of Tamlin’s golden air was soaked in his own blood. Feyre stared at him, blood slowly trailing down her face, sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her nose. She knew she was covered in it. White, blue, red, and other colors alike.
He looked peaceful.
Like he was waiting for someone.
Feyre’s knees began to tremble as she looked closer to her. The bodies created a path, a path to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat when she saw Elain and Nesta. Nesta with her burned hands, Elain with her tranquil face.
Feyre wanted to collapse when she saw Azriel. His wings were bent against his back, a siphon cracked and broken, scattered across the floor, never to hum and glow again.
Feyre looked at her friend, someone she would have called a brother, someone who would never breathe again. Cladded in Illyrian leathers, Azriel had gone down with a fight, Feyre knew that much.
And so had his brother. Cassian, collapsed by Azriel’s side, motionless. His wings were gone from his back, once again. Feyre knew one thing. In death, Cassian deserved his wings more than anyone else. Fate was a cruel, wicked thing. His siphons were also cracked, broken, and gone.
Another male she would never be able to call brother.
Female Illyrians surrounded the two warriors. Wings. A sea of wings, all broken, tattered, torn, or simply gone. It was a sea of destruction, a sea of pain. Feyre blinked, and she saw another blonde head.
Blood still seeped from Mor’s stomach and Feyre pressed a shaky hand against her mouth. Her blonde hair was pressed against her face, her brown eyes open, positioned on Azriel. He was the last thing she saw.
Amren, her firedrake friend, their last hope in the seemingly impossible war, was just as dead as the rest of them. Silver blood still poured from her neck, her silver eyes on the ceiling. Silver painted her and Feyre thought it was fitting. She sparkled like one of her beloved gems.
She hoped her friend was back home, back with those who she loved and loved her.
Feyre’s eyes drooped closed, then she forced them to open. She forced herself to look at the body at her feet. Her heart laid bare before her, crushed and broken, never to beat again.
Her mate, her husband, her High Lord. His violet eyes so dark, not nearly as light and glowing as she remembered them. Her everything, her salvation; the one she saved, the one who had saved her. Broken and dead.
The realization hit her hard. Rhysand was dead. Feyre finally fell, her head hitting the smooth floor. She moved one last time, determined to hold Rhysand’s hand. Determined never to die alone again.
Her fingers clasped around his and Feyre looked up, letting loose a shuddering breath as she saw the King, skewered on his throne. His head thrown back, his body lifeless, all that power, gone.
Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade - that is the cycle. Like calls to like. The Book of Breathings had warned her. The Book had warned her of the price. The Book had told her she was the princess of carrion. If only she had listened, truly listened.
For something to be Unmade then Made, something had to be Made then Unmade. For Feyre to hold the power of all the High Lords, it was fitting they should all be destroyed. Her eyes fluttered and the King wavered in her vision, as the Cauldron toppled over.
The water raced across the floor, washing away blood in its wake, drowning the Fae in its cold grasp. It swam closer and closer to her, seemingly hissing and cackling. Soon, it soaked her, head to toe, along with her mate and her friends.
Together, the deaths of the High Lords, they had Unmade Prythian. Feyre saw a figure in the doorway, their bare feet slick with the Cauldron’s water. The water began to shimmer, carrying the seven High Lord’s magic as well as the King’s through the liquid.
Feyre heard a faint thumping, as if the figure had fled. Her eyes finally closed, she finally slipped away. She could only hope the Cauldron had chosen correctly; chosen someone to end this cycle.
She would be the last to be Made.
And with her, Prythian would be the last to be Unmade.
An Explanation: Last night I was sketching some designs for a tattoo I want to get; the Unfettered symbol from Fialleril’s Tattooine Slave Culture inside the Rebel Alliance symbol, when I had the thought that the Rebel Alliance symbol kind of looks like a stylized dragon with the Unfettered symbol at its heart. Then this happened. I hope you like it and that I didn’t accidentally misrepresent anything…
This is the story of the First Unfettered child of Ar-Amu, and how the Krayt Dragon acquired a new heart.
So, this took me a while to write(whoops), mostly because I was trying to figure out how to do a fight scene. I’m still trying to figure that kind of thing out, but hey, it’s my first time. So, sorry, it’s not the best. I tried. Enjoy, y’all. I might write a part 4. eventually.
Word count: 1520
Tags: Lance whump, Langst?, violence, Lance gets beat up, like bad, Keith cares.
Lance runs as he watches as the cannon power up, the light pulsing a glowing pink. The energy expands and dashes forward, reminding Lance of a scene from an old movie about space he had watched with his family when he was younger. As the light grows and begins to cover Lance’s field of vision, the hairs on his arms prick up.
The world is spinning. It feels like an old ride from a carnival his family went to when he was younger. A ride that spun round and round, glueing him to the wall. Small pieces of detritus ram into his body as he’s tossed and thrown. Lance feels the wind blasting against his face as well as chunks of dirt before he crashes into what he thinks is one of the buildings on the perimeter of the square. The remains of the razed building seem to blow inwards with him and everything stills as it falls to the ground.
His body is throbbing stronger now. The waves of pain beginning in his chest and rolling outwards through his limbs. The cacophony of pain is felt through every individual injury, sharp as a whip. The ringing in his ears fades away to coughing and moaning through the wrecked square.
Static blares in his ear as Keith’s voice filters in right next to him. “Lance? Lance! I need you to answer me.” Oh, when did Keith get here? He’s pulling a beam off of Lance and tossing it to the side before rushing in to help.
He manages to roll over into his hands and knees, the pain peaking momentarily before dulling, slightly. Keith is right there, crouching down, waiting to help if needed. The tumble of rubble sounds out as the debris settles around him.
“I think I’m good.” Lance is almost shocked at how rough his voice sounds. It’s rough like he ate a cinder block. “Just a little banged up.” That is, if ‘just a little banged up’ was code for ‘my limbs feel kind of tingly, my head is spinning, and I feel like an elephant decided I was its chair’.
“Lance.” It’s said tersely, in a way of Keith warning Lance to stay down for now. But, he just simply ignores it.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
Lance manages to brush off the rest of the rubble, with Keith’s help, to peer around the smoking remains of the Jiang square. It looks as if some of the officials were hit by pieces of flying debris, as they lay scattered around intemingled with the broken remnants of the buildings. Allura seems to have escaped the carnage. She supports one of the diplomats, the village chief, he thinks, as she struggles to get to her feet. Their eyes meet across the square as she walks towards them, seeming to ask the same question without the need for words. “Are you okay?”
“You’ve got more ships headed towards you.” Shiro calls over the coms. Great. “We’re on our way to help, but it’s going to be a few dobashes.”
“Then, we’ll just have knock ‘em out ourselves,” Lance quips. Shouldn’t be too hard. Right? All they had to do was keep the attention on them and protect Allura and the villagers. “How long until they get here?”
“Thirty ticks at most.”
Huffing out a breath of air, Lance stumbles to his feet. All the while, trying his best to avoid the looks he’s getting from Keith. They need to focus on the mission. He hands Allura the relic and sends her back to the other villagers to do the ceremony before turning to Keith, to silence his protests. “Keith, I’m fine. We need to focus on the mission and keep people safe. Let’s get back to our Lions and stop the next wave.”
They barely get their Lions up in the air by the time the first fighter can be seen. They fly out to meet the ship away from the village, to prevent any further damage. Lance and Keith set to work, taking down the ships speedily. Lance can feel the tingling getting worse. I guess being blown through a wall will have that effect. His mind is running on autopilot, with major support from Blue keeping him present enough to press a few buttons here and there, but it’s getting harder to concentrate. The waves of pain are back now, radiating from his chest to his finger tips and toes, up to his head. With every jolting blast near Blue, the pain spikes before returning to the level before.
Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge are here now. Lance only registers flashes of Green, Yellow, and Black across his vision, intermingled with blasts and explosions. Waves of concern are coming from Blue, as well as a calm feeling that brings a moment of clarity to Lance’s swirling head. A moment to see a stray plane headed back towards the village. A stray plane, almost like the one with the canon. No one else seems to have noticed it. Lance turns Blue towards the village, speeding after the lone fighter plane.
Lance shoots from the tail laser, pinpointing the plane, yet only chipping it. The plane spiral before crashing just short of the village. The pilot crawls out of the cockpit right as Lance gets there with Blue.
“Lance, where are you? We’re almost done with the fleet of fighters,” Hunk asks as Lance begins to exit Blue. He draws out his bayard as he nears the fallen pilot, aiming the barrel of the gun at him.
“I went after a ship that was headed towards the village. I’ve got it covered, you guys clean up.” He tries to hide the roughness and pain of his voice, and, when no one pushes to comment on it, assumes the attempt was at least partly successful.
As he nears, the grounded pilot is rising to his feet, wiping blood from a cut above his eye. It’s not even a tick before the fighter lets out a growl and lurches forward to tackle Lance. His bayard goes off, firing a shot into the sky before Lance’s body smacks into the ground, head first. A fist plows into Lance’s face.He can feel the bruise forming on his cheekbone. Lance raises the gun enough to smack it back into the head of the Galran, knocking him off of Lance and to the side. The Galran rams back into Lance, reaching for the bayard. He grabs a hold of the gun in an attempt to pull it from Lance’s grasp. He the fighter brings it back down, right into his left eye. A hand flies up on instinct to cover the eye, allowing the Galran to tug the bayard out of his grasp. The fighter rises, keeping a foot on Lance’s chest to keep him down. Lance is staring down the barrel of the gun. Bringing a leg up, Lance wraps it up and around the pilot’s hips, pushing back. The effect is instantaneous as him and the gun fall backwards. Effectively tossing his bayard far out of reach. Lance jumps forward, attempting to hold his foe down. Both roll on the ground, grappling to be on top. To be in control of the fight. But, they roll apart.
It’s only a moment before both fighters are back on their feet, jumping into fighting stances. His head is starting to throb. His limbs are tingling again. All he has to do, is take down this guy. Then, he can get in a healing pod. He knows that he’s tilting slightly. He knows that his opponent has probably also noticed it.
Taking advantage of Lance’s injured state, the Galran moves forward, bringing a leg up in a roundhouse kick. He doesn’t even feel the impact of the blow. He feels the hard dirt underneath his body.
The world is swirling around him as he looks at the sky. Sound fades in and out as his vision comes in and out of focus. He hears a grunt of pain above him, and a thud as a body hits the ground.
“Lance?” Is that Keith? “Shiro, Lance is down.”
A blurry form enters his vision, which he thinks is Keith, judging by the outline of the mullet. He looks worried. He arms around his back and under his legs, and then the ground is gone.
“Hang in, Lance. We’re going to get you to a pod.” The sky disappears and is replaced by a glowing red. What happened to the sky? Maybe it’s night time. Time to sleep. He’s so sleepy.
He opens his eyes. The world is shaking. Why is it shaking? “Lance, you need to stay awake. You did a good job, but we’re not done yet.” Keith sounds so serious and worried. That means he must be pouting. He can see it. The pouty eyes, downturned lips, and mullet to tie it together. The angsty combo. He doesn’t like that look on Keith.
“Hmm, w’did a g’d job,” he slurs. “W’r a good team.” He feels himself go limp as the darkness creeps in.
The vest is too tight, and Steve is sure this is an omen, a sign that this exercise can only end badly.
He looks over to the other team, where Peggy chats quietly with Thor, swinging the oversized gun on its string like it’s nothing. Her hair is tightly braided, as always, and the vest sits perfectly on her shoulders like it’s part of her normal uniform.
“Okay, team,” Tony says, calling Steve’s attention back to the huddle comprised of half of the Avengers. “Cap’s team has been undefeated for years, but that streak ends today! You all know Agent 13, of course.”
Steve nods at the team, each of whom is wearing a similar vest and toting a laser gun like his own.
“Steve here is our secret weapon,” Tony continues, goatee twitching as he smirks. “His mission is to keep Cap out of the way while we wreak havoc on the rest of the team. After the last time, we decided that removing her from the equation was our best hope.”
yoongi x reader. angst, drama, attack on titan!au. 12.5 k words. warning for cursing and depiction of violence/gore. yeha i’m back ppl. this story is only loosely based off of the world in attack on titan, the events written are not the same to the anime/manga.
as long as humanity can remember, they have lived in the confines of
three great walls—the outermost ring, Wall Maria; the middle ring, Wall
Rose; and the innermost ring, Wall Sina—and feast on the false pretense
of peace the government has given them. They turn ignorant to the giant
man eating beasts—titans—lurking on the other side of the wall that acts
as their barrier, and surrender to a cowardly life where they refuse to
fight back for their freedom.
Though so, there exist the
remaining of humanity that refuses to bow down to the false reality they
live in. And among these few people, lies The Survey Corps, one of the
three military branches that tasks brave soldiers with the fate of
humanity’s freedom: venturing outside the walls, slaughtering and
discovering ways to exterminate these titans once and for all. But in
the process of reclaiming their freedom back from a terrible threat,
some of these soldiers are forced to turn their sanity over for the sake
There has only ever been a thirst for blood.
The thirst for it singes her veins, crackles the bones in every uncontrolled and vicious movements, sparks the fire in lifeless eyes, dictates and shapes her very being.
It’s far better to be guided by bloodthirst than despair, or pointless anger, or ridiculous hope, or even courage in a world as bleak as this. That’s how she sees it.
And for that reason, she is raised to thirst for carnage and blood and death, to become an uncontrollable force of weapon, a demon to fear.
She sobbed as the propane butt plug filled her belly with volatile gas, the tightening orb growing too big for her shirt. No matter how much she tugged at the canister, it wouldn’t budge, the nozzle having flared outwards to latch onto her tight, sensitive tunnel. Giving in to her fate, she leaned against a wall, rubbing her belly as it ripened further, sobbing as her skin turned red, stretchmarks snaking across it. As muffled pops echoed out from within, she cried out, the over pressurized vessel of a belly becoming too much for her intestines, rupturing them every foot. Hugging her fully ripened belly as a last resort, she screamed at the top of her lungs, closing her eyes as she arched her back. Her belly tore apart, meaty chunks exploding outwards in every direction. As she slumped to the ground, growing weak, she heard a faint click, the canister detonating, blowing her ass apart, sending a leg in opposite directions.
Bulge after bulge, alien embryos were pumped down her throat by the predalien. She was too heavy to run away, having been heavily pregnant with twins. Tears ran down her cheeks as the alien monstrosity left, her hands gently rubbing her belly for comfort. The unknown didn’t last long, as a terrible feeling quickly grew in her belly. Both hands hugged her belly tighter, trying to convince herself that she didn’t feel movement from within. Slowly but surely, her belly quaked faster and faster, the dormant embryos having woken up. Her chest heaved, heart beating almost fast enough to burst, sweat dripping down her tan, smooth skin. Bulges pushed out from deep within her belly, working quickly at eating and scratching away her flesh. She couldn’t help but gaze at the toothy maws as they pushed dangerously far out, miraculously not tearing her apart right then and there. All she could do was writhe and scream, the pain so intense that caring belly rubs did nothing to soothe the raging beasts in her belly. With a sudden surge, she cried out at the top of her lungs and arched her back into the comfy bed. The fully ripened, deeply red quaking form ruptured, splashing blood all around her. Multiple snake like aliens announced their birth, shrieking into the dark bedroom. As shock and weakness filled her, her head turned, eyes going blank, expiring as she gave her life to bring others to the world.
There was no way she could have known when she sat down on the toilet. Without warning, a thick, slimy tentacle exploded out of the water, forcing its way up her tight ass. It wasted no time in surging deep inside, making her belly puffy out and writhe. All she could do was grip the rim of the toilet, her knuckles turning white from the tight embrace. When she looked to be in an early pregnancy from being stuffed full of tentacled goodness, their entire length began pulsating. Thick bulges were pumped up through the tentacle, tearing her ass apart as they forced their way in. The once visible, writhing tentacle under her skin disappeared as slime filled her up. She couldn’t believe what was happening, screaming as she placed a hand on her swelling belly. Faster and heavier the bulges became, growing her belly even quicker. It only took one minute to look heavily pregnant. Pain and fear grew as her once soft, tanned belly grew tight and red, ripening perfectly. Just when she thought her belly was about to give out, the tentacle stopped pulsating. Before she could sigh in relief, it started up again, more powerful than ever. The toilet under her creaked, straining to send the final, giant bulge through the piping. She might not have been able to see it, but when the thick bulge pressed against her battered ass, she hugged her belly to hold on for dear life. Screaming at the top of her lungs, the last load of slime worked itself into her, rupturing her intestines. Just as the lost drop deposited itself, the tight, ripened orb detonated, splashing meaty chunks all over the once nice bathroom. Her head slumped, gazing at the carnage that ravaged her belly.
She had watched her lover explode in a gory mess right as they climaxed, splashing their volatile blood all over her. As the matured lust serum seeped into her veins, she felt intense heat build in no time at all, concentrating right between her legs. Knowing that pleasuring herself would spell her doom, she tried to resist as long as she could. Her throbbing clit begged to be tended to, heating up to almost be painful. With pain and heat growing too much to bear, she lost control of her hands, both tearing her clothes off of her thick, curvy body in record time. She screamed and moaned with fear and ecstasy, her fingers working her clit like she was starting a fire for survival. Much like her lover, her own belly puffed out quickly as she drew near orgasm, making it seem like an alien had impregnated her. Unable to pry her fingers free from the pleasure nub detonator, her belly fully ripened in only a minute, turning angry red and rumbling. As her legs quaked and belly tensed, she screamed at the top of her lungs, a final rough stroke sending her over the edge. Right as her pussy exploded into orgasm, it sent an overdose of orgasmic energy into her belly. The tight, rumbling form exploded outwards like a bomb, surely registering as an earthquake on a richter scale nearby. Even as she expired from the grave, gaping wound in her body, she savored the last moments of her intense climax.
“Oh god yes!” She screamed as she sunk both long, thick needles deep into her pink, puffy nipples. Pushing down on the plungers, she injected both luscious mounds with an overdose of hormones, kicking her milk production into overdrive. Throwing the needles away, she couldn’t help but fall back onto the bed, fondling her tender breasts without care. It didn’t take long for the soft, sensitive mounds to grow hot, beads of sweat forming to turn them slick. As she writhed and moaned in pleasure, she felt every last bit of growth. Tugging on her nipples harder and harder, hot, creamy milk sprayed all over, coating her smooth, tan skin in a thick layer. The milking didn’t slow her growth one bit, the hormones becoming more potent over time. Her already magnificent bosom doubled in size, both mounds remaining perky and soft. Growing too hot, the delectable cream began boiling deep within, turning once tanned skin red and hot. Pinching her nipples as hard as she could, sealing off the little bit of pressure relief she had, she screamed out as rumbling shook her bust. In a hot, creamy explosion, not a single inch of her bedroom was spared from the sweet substance as her breasts tore apart gloriously.
Having finished sucking a busty woman’s heart dry, a giant mosquito heavy with eggs searched for the perfect host. It spotted a curvy woman who was sun tanning on a blanket in her backyard, completely unaware of the buzzing monstrosity. The insect dove onto her backside, its heavy body holding her down. With only a bikini protecting her delicate body, the mosquito had no trouble in forcing its thick, slimy appendage deep inside of her ass. She screamed as bulges were quickly pumped deeper and deeper into her, packing in tight along her intestines. Only managing to lift herself up onto hands and knees, she watched as her belly swelled underneath her, its surface writhing as bulges shifted around. When the final cluster was deposited inside, the mosquito fell off of her, dead. Too heavy to move, she rolled onto her back, stroking her belly in hopes of soothing the tight mass. Fear and dread escalated as the eggs hatched, her belly undulating with teeming life. Small pulsating vein-like tunnels spread out from her belly, making their way towards her heavy breasts, thick thighs, and round ass. As larva spread out and burrowed into her most delicate areas, eating away at her juicy fats, writhing and pressure increased as every part of her swelled. Her screaming stopped when her belly stopped moving suddenly, but before she could rest, a final surge blasted her belly away. She gazed at the carnage, feeling as thousands of larva slithered around her skin. Soon after, her breasts, thighs, and ass joined her belly’s fate, rupturing as the larva were born.
After getting her urethra glued shut with a thick glob of super glue, she was forced to drink enough water to nearly burst her stomach. With it swollen and tight, bulging out from under her shirt and over her shorts, it quickly worked through her system. In only minutes, her bladder swelled immensely to hold as much as it could. As her belly shrunk through sweat dripping down her body, a noticeable bulge grew in her lower belly. Despite being released by her captives, there was nothing she could do, stumbling around as she sobbed. Pressure grew as her swelling bladder pressed hard against her short’s button, making it strain. Too tight to unbutton it herself, it exploded free, shooting off into the distance as her bladder found more room to grow. With pain setting in she sat in a chair, sending a hand inside of her underwear to soothe her tight bulge. Further it grew, the surface turning red with snaking stretchmarks. Crying out suddenly, she watched as her lower belly exploded outwards, sending her bladder’s contents all over. Her head slumped, blurred vision gazing at her gaping wound.
She thought she had found the love of her life, but that all changed after he unloaded his hot, creamy cum into her. It didn’t take long for her belly to quickly puff out right before her eyes, stretching her skin thin and tight. Writhing and screaming on the bed, she rubbed her belly to help the pain go away. In only ten seconds, her belly reached full term, ready to bring new life to the world. Through the slick layer of sweat dripping down the fully ripened form, she watched as a red X etched itself into her skin. Screaming and arching her naked body into the bed, her belly split open, blooming like a crimson red rose. As she weakened, vision going blurry, she looked upon her alien child as it rolled out of her.
A skilled ninja worked her way up a mountain, scouting for highly coveted dragon eggs. Miraculously, she found a completely unguarded nest, with one giant egg in it. With no way to easily carry it, she dropped her silky pants and lowered her body over the egg. She moaned as the thick object pushed up into her, nearly tearing her in half. After ten minutes of intense stress and exertion, she managed to cram the entire thing up inside of her, leaving her looking halfway through a pregnancy. Pulling her pants back up, she sluggishly worked her way back down the mountain. By time she made it to the bottom, her belly felt fuller than it had been, her hand giving it a few rubs to soothe it. Slowly hobbling through a thick forest, she looked down in time to watch as her belly visibly swelled. Freaking out, she tore her pants back off and attempted to push the egg back out. It only managed to drop an inch past her cervix before it grew too big, slipping back up inside. The growth sped up, making her slouch against a tree. Her belly puffed out between her legs, growing red and tight, angry stretchmarks snaking across it. As a giant bolt of pain rocked her to the core, she slammed her head back into the tree and screamed at the top of her lungs. In a violent splash of blood, her belly ripped apart, the giant dragon egg rolling to safety. Even with shock settling in and vision going blurry, her last moments were spent watching as a dragon swooped down, picking her egg up in a claw.
Having enjoyed doing them before, Amber the futa Regeneratrix decided to combine two of her favorite sessions she had done with Jeff. With her hard, throbbing cock in one hand and a tube of superglue in the other, she injected a thick glob into her urethra. As it dried, she stepped into the shower and unhooked the hose. Taking a deep breath, she slid the end between her round cheeks, gasping when it touched her tight entrance. Using all her strength to cram it deep into herself, she cried out as it split her ass wide open. Ensuring it was in good and tight, she turned the water on until a warm, heavy flow of water surged into her. Laying down in the tub, she slowly stroked her thick cock in one hand, while rubbing her swelling belly with the other. She moaned and writhed the whole time, anticipating the moment that everything exploded on her body. As her belly neared full term, it turned dark red while angry stretchmarks snaked out along the surface. Letting go of her sealed dick, she hugged her quaking, gurgling belly on both sides, feeling as her intestines popped within. Crying out at the top of her lungs, the fully ripened belly exploded, sending a wave of bloody water towards the drain. Focusing her mind, she convulsed as torn flesh began mending back together. A powerful climax hit her instantly, sending her pussy and cock into a raging orgasm. With her cock sealed shut, cum backed up inside of it, denying her pent up, cum-producing balls their much needed release. Unable to blast out hot, creamy cum, her cock and balls swelled dangerously fast. Even as she continued to writhe in the pool of bloody water, her hands managed to cup her tight, ripening balls that neared the size of grapefruit. Crying out once more, a final, intense pump of cum blasted her swollen organs to pieces. With so much cum, blood, and meaty chunks all over the place, it was a miracle the drain didn’t clog.
Mentosie couldn’t believe she found herself in bed with a Sodie Poppie girl. Moaning wildly, her rough, pale white body was being brutally pounded by the brown, fizzy girl. Arching her back in ecstasy, her legs wrapped around her lover, bringing them even deeper into her. Her pulsating, candy coated pussy sent the sweet beverage girl over the edge as their bottle shaped cock prepared to pop open. Unable to contain the carbonation any longer, syrup and fizzy water was pumped out of their respective balls, mixing together within the pulsating cock. So much pressure had been building up that the initial surge of soda blasted right through Mentosie’s candy drop cervix. It didn’t take long for her mentos encrusted womb to fill, and the reaction was nearly instantaneous. Looking down in shock suddenly, she watched her belly puff out at an unbelievable rate, like as if a candymorph had impregnated her. The Sodie Poppie girl held her cock in, ensuring enough pure, fresh soda was added to the volatile concoction. Thick, bubbly foam blasted out of Mentosie’s candy pussy around the bottle cock like a waterfall, but it just wasn’t enough relief. Right as her belly reached the look of a candy girl in her 9th month of candy making, she hugged it tenderly, hoping to delay the inevitable. With a final pained scream, her belly exploded in a blast of sticky, foamy, sweet goodness, coating the gingerbread house’s walls. She now knew why her parents warned her to stay away from Sodie Poppie girls.
She sat on a couch, back pressed back into the cushion, exposed chest heaving with deep breaths. Deep inside, her heart pounded away, swelling and shrinking with each hot pump of blood. No matter how badly she tried to calm herself, her quaking organ just would not slow down. With chest feeling tighter, she glanced down into her plump cleavage, eyes going wide with what she saw. Pushing out from between the luscious mounds was a bulge, looking like an alien had recently hugged her face and forced something between her wet lips and down her tight throat. The bulge not only pulsed from the heavily beating heart underneath, but slowly expanded. Further it went, forcing her breasts apart and straining her already tight shirt. The despair only added to the workload of her heart, making it pump even faster. As she squirmed in her seat, sweat poured down her smooth skin, faint sounds of bones cracking slowly intensifying. Pain quickly built within her chest, radiating outwards into her tender breasts. Gripping the couch with white knuckles while screaming at the top of her lungs, her sternum blew outwards as her overtaxed heart burst like a bomb.
Hello everyone! My blog reached 1,000 followers over the weekend, and I wanted to thank everyone for making this blog what it is and continuing to enable me in my Venom madness. To celebrate, I wanted to share with you all the bulk of my very disorganized Venom collection. All of this is the equivalent of many years of collecting and contains items from lava lamps, paddles, cups, backpacks, Funko Pops, hats, masks, giant erasers, you name it. The top photo is what I have on display and what I like to call the “Symbiote Shelves.” Thank you very much everyone for all the support. I’ll save posters, wall decor, books, trading cards, and comics for a later date! See you then, Venomites!
days 6 and 7 of the 30 day gemstone challenge: create a cracked gemstone/create two gemstones of the same type but different hues (click for better quality)
winza sapphire used to be the prophet of all prophets–constant visions, able to account for changing variables unlike modern sapphires. that is, until she was cracked. now she cant see her visions unless shes asleep, but her memorys been shattered as well. she cant remember much of anything, let alone visions. but she manages to keep up a cheery mood and is a joy to be around
amethys 9xG and 10xG emerged at the same time at the prime kindergarten and have been inseparable ever since. they both work at the human zoo currently but they one day hope to fly away through the stars together to live freely and love each other freely (i feel like. any kind of personal connection outside of work based fusion is at least frowned upon–homeworld seems like the type of society to shun smthn like the concept of love, cross gem type or not, so thats what im goin w)
red pearl is the assistant of a bixbite, a war medic. she was there, on the battlefields on earth during the rebellion. at first, she was incredibly anti crystal gems, anti earth liberation–homeworld was their home, the diamonds created and maintained order for good reason. but throughout the years, the horrors of war started to get to her. she was done picking sides, she just wanted the carnage to stop, the countless deaths to stop. gems died in her arms, hallucinations haunted her. shes been living w horrible anxiety and ptsd ever since
green pearl has literally zero(x0) characteristics/story besides shes v snarky behind others backs lmao
winza and red pearl were the only ones w backstories id actually thought abt in some manner (red pearls had a story for longer than winza, which is y her desc is longer). the amethysts i thought of on the spot, and green pearls i dont feel like thinkin of rn bc its almost 1am and im sick, which is also y the ames and pearls r only sketched rather than lined
also im just now realizing that i have all the alexandrite components here EXCEPT a ruby bc i. completely forgot rubies existed. maybe ill draw her tomorrow idk but in the meantime, shes just a run of the mill ruby, like the ones in sapphires little patrol in the answer
I was thrown to the ground as the world gave a shudder—as it trembled as if it were fighting…fighting like we were against the power of the Cauldron. Like it was slowly being bent to the will of another—and it was losing.
Above the din of battle, I could hear him, Rhys’s shouting—a talon of blackness and panic ripping through the hallways between our minds. FEYRE. I trembled again as the power surged once more, and frantically called back.
I’m fine. I’m with Mor and Amren—
Mor. Amren. I struggled to turn to them, shoving an Illyrian soldier out of my way, his wings and eyes spread wide with alarm, my heavy breathing turning to gasps. I searched the crowds, a writhing mass of armor and blood and flesh, desperately seeking a glimpse of Mor’s golden locks, Amren’s silver eyes—my sisters. My sisters…if this power was Hybern’s final play, then I…I needed them. Needed them here, with me, if this was to be the end, if it was all to end because we hadn’t had the time we needed to find that damn Cauldron—
Rhys, I called down the bond, not bothering to hide my fear as it poured from me to him. Rhys…
A final plea, as the world rocked breath my feet once more. There was a grunt and a cough, and I jerked my head upward as Azriel grasped my arm, his hazel eyes wide and gaunt—I knew it wasn’t just from blood loss. Because if this was to be it…if this was to be the end…I rallied my power, feeling the magic surge and then splutter in my veins. I was going to be with my family, if this was the end to my impossibly short immortal life. I was going to stand with the dreamers when it came, and when it was over, I would go to that place of darkness where I had hung on to Rhys all those months ago.
And we would find our places in the stars, side by side with all of the dreamers who had lived and died before us. Lived and died and hoped, and were now responding to the wishes—who were now the stars…the stars who listened.
Cassian was there suddenly, a pale-faced Nesta beside him, though she was wearing her mask of steel and fire, her chin raised as she faced the Death that we had all known she would conquer one day—pillage, even. And Elain…sweet Elain, now trembling like a fawn, the flowers in her eyes closing their buds and dropping their petals as she took in the battlefield, the blood, carnage. As she became aware of what she didn’t need Fae senses to know—this was it.
I felt him before I saw him—the lovely darkness that I needed to be seen, the night to my star, now murmuring down the bond, I love you, Feyre Archeron.
It brought tears to my eyes, that voice, those thoughts. The ones that I had not had nearly enough time with, the male who deserved to wake up every day to a smile and friends and love, who had spent fifty years waking up to hate and lies and…
And before I could even turn around, before I could even look at his face one last time, the world gave a final shudder and split itself open.
I was a single step away from my mate when the world was cleaved in two. Her back was facing me, hair that I had run my hands through too few times tumbled down her shoulders, the Illyrian blade in her hand shining with blood. Unhurt, tired but unhurt, and beautiful. A star amongst candles, my mate.
And I had nearly reached her when it happened.
When the sky snapped in two, and became an open hole of blackness that had no end and no beginning, no stars to speak of, no pinpricks of light. Just a great, sucking mouth, ready to inhale our land, the people I loved.
Not the Cauldron—this was a force far beyond that. Something greater than just Prythian, than Hybern and all of them.
It roared and raged and trembled, and soldiers everywhere fell to their knees, voices hoarse as they shouted and screamed the injustice. Hybern and Prythian alike, nothing mattered, no court lines, no boundaries were strong enough to withstand this—
And then it stopped.
And I felt my body freeze entirely as I watched the mouth—it wasn’t here to eat us, but rather…
To spit something out.
Three impossibly massive scaled bodies, streaks of armor and death, dipped from the clouds, triangular heads large enough to snap one of the resting boats in half. The claws that equipped each of the creatures’ four feet were not so much talons as they were spears, curved and glittering, as if they yearned to be red-coated once more. Long, barbed tails whipped, air whistling as they shredded clouds and parted the storm itself. But the wings—the wings could have been the curtains of giants.
And I knew then…that Hybern had not created these behemoths. The Cauldron was not responsible for these death-bringers, as it had not been responsible for Amren’s great and terrible power, as it had not been responsible for the Bone Carver, for the Weaver and Bryaxis. They were things that had come before, long, long before. And if they were here to kill us all, they could. They would.
The world would rise and fall to the dragons that emerged from the hole in the sky.
It could have—were it not for their concern for something…for someone else. For a figure that seemed very small as it appeared in his line of sight was clinging to the back of the dragon in the lead—slightly smaller, I realized, than the other two, it was a beast of green, emerald tendrils of flame escaping from its massive jaws. But the dragon twisted through the air, light and elegant, despite the size.
It dodged arrows sent by foolish archers, shredded through a line of shining light sent up by Helion, Illyrians and Peregrynes alike dodging out of its way.
As it cleared a path for the rider atop its back.
Who raised a hand—still too far away for him to see whether it was male or female or…other—and made a gesture. A gesture that sent the other two dragons, one with scales the color of blood and ruby and fire, the other with a hide of the deep blue found in only the purest water, spinning around. Not—not toward the troops of gathered Prythian soldiers, but in the direction of the Hybern ones. The Hybern soldiers raised their spears, their swords, their shields, began to scream to one another, to the dragons and their rider, to the Mother…
None of it made a damn difference as the figure on top of the green dragon said in a projected voice that rattled around the valley, a voice that was made of starlight and moondust and death, “Ignis.”
And the world erupted again as blue and red flame met and crashed into the Hybern army.
I was still having trouble believing it—and I wasn’t the only one. A wordless exclamation flew from Feyre’s lips, and I immediately lunged forward, grabbing her, holding her as the dragons snaked through the air and poured the fire from their jaws.
The stillness did not last for much longer—Hybern’s armies reacted, their own Made beasts screaming and howling in anger and pain as they shot into the sky, claws spread wide, aiming for the necks, the bellies of the dragons—
Red and blue swarmed the sky as the dragons flapped in unison, rising over the battle, their massive wings carrying them high above Hybern’s creatures…and then the wind parted as they tucked in and speared into a straight dive, jaws open—
Blood rained from the sky as the dragons twisted and snapped the Hybern creatures clean in half, muscle and bone snapping with fury and agony as the creatures wailed and shrieked. Their screams were silenced soon enough as the dragons pulled back up, bringing that vengeful fire down upon the army.
And I felt Feyre, my mate in my arms, begin to shake as she cried, the tears streaming down her face. My body shuddered with the need—that desire to take her far, far away from all of this death, to take her to a place of shadows and night where her stars would not only shine, but live…a future made real by those creatures, and their rider.
Cassian and Azriel knew what I was thinking before I could give the order—they lunged back into the crowd, their Illyrian blades gleaming as their Siphons raged…blue and red, I thought just like the dragons.
“Go,” whispered Feyre, her own attention returning to the Cauldron, to the task before her. I looked down at my mate, free and strong in my arms, her eyes a collection of stars that she had gathered and made into a constellation for herself…for us.
I kissed her once, not for long enough, but with enough love to tell her that it would soon be over. The outcome…that remained to be determined, but we both knew that, one way or another, this war would not last forever.
And for my mate, for my friends and the family that had broadened to include Nesta and Elain and perhaps, one day, Lucien…I thrust myself back into the battle, reaching into the now-depleted reserve of magic that sighed in the bottom of my essence as it fizzled away, and went to look for the rider of a jade-colored dragon—both of whom had somehow, impossibly, disappeared.
And, of course, to kill as many Hybern bastards as I could rip my talons into.
“What,” snarled Helion sometime later as he slammed a beam of vicious light into the face of a Hybern soldier, “the hell was that?” Golden armor gleamed with every thrust and parry the lord made, blood coating his weapon, hands, skin—
I supposed I wasn’t faring much better, my guttural darkness snarling in exhaustion every time I threw out a net of shadows and death. But we still had yet to find the dragon that had disappeared. Or its rider, whose voice…there was still something about it that I could not quite place. Something familiar and yet completely foreign—the last time I had felt like that, I had been grasping onto faded thoughts and images that had been pushed to me from across the stars…a warren of rabbits, an elegant hand, a wardrobe painted with stars and night…
I shook my head at Helion as I drove my own sword through the neck of a Hybern commander, internally cursing the energy that it took to make the blow. “If I knew,” I growled in reply, misting a cluster of soldiers armed with crossbows, “I would have summoned them myself long ago.”
A shout rose above the clamor of the battle, and I cast my power out, desperate to see, to make certain it wasn’t…
Tarquin stood at the top of a small rise, his sword drenched with blood, armor flecked with gore and flesh, a halo of rippling blue light shining around him. And to his side, cloaked in black armor, face hidden by a helm of nightmares and death, was the rider, its green dragon already winging away to join the blue and red, who were now locked in a vicious battle on the ground, their massive limbs twisting with more grace than I would have thought possible for beasts of their size—
The rider didn’t even acknowledge the High Lord of Summer, seemed too busy addressing the battle, armed with two blades shimmering like stars and sunlight. And I wondered about that same familiar tug when the rider spun the swords, gave Tarquin a slight nod, and dove into the carnage.
But when the Night came, enveloped the rider, turned the field to stars and darkness, it took all I had to keep from kneeling to the ground, dropping there…
Because there was all of one person that kind of power could have come from, one person who would seem so familiar and yet foreign, who would seem trustworthy even from this distance, with this little information…someone I hadn’t imagined I would ever see again.
Laurel grinned as she watched her lover, of over a thousand years, rip into another pretty young thing, draining her dry to try and quench his ravenous hunger; not that these…children would ever satisfy him. Oh no, it would take villages and villages to sate Mick’s nearly unquenchable thrist.
Tilting her head back, a tinkle of laughter slipped from her parted lips as her eyes flashed a dark blood, red as she let her mind wonder to the carnage she and Mick would rain down on those that had imprisoned them all those years ago.
It was so good to be back among the living once again, she thought as turned to her own meal at the moment. Regarding the young man before her, Laurel let her lips curve into a wicked looking smirk before she moved at inhuman speeds, ripping into his throat.