would you look at all that rage

not. badass.

I gotta come clean with you. I keep hearing the phrase “badass” bandied about and applied to me. I am not a badass. I play one on TV.

We are shooting a television show and I need to have certain abilities that do not come naturally to me, so I am working and pretending with guns and violence. One of my trainers, a man whose radiant power is eclipsed only by his radiant kindness, began teaching us disarming techniques. He held a toy rubber gun, the color of a bath ducky. It was the most cheerful decoy weapon on the planet. The moment he pointed it at me, I burst into tears.

On set, the first scene I had to employ a firearm at an oncoming threat, my body froze and I couldn’t pull the trigger. I screwed the shot because I was shaking. (It did turn out that the gun was wonky as well, but I knew I had been unable to do it.) It was pretend, but my body didn’t know that. I didn’t react from my mind. I reacted like me.

The first time the monsters rushed out of the haze into my eyeline, I scampered like a bunny. “Cut! Kim, you have to take the shot before you run!” Right. Right. Sure. I knew that. The sweet human inside of the costume would check in with me between every take. He knew I was terrified and was taking care of me. I needed reassurance it was fake and I was safe. I needed reminding that he wasn’t really a monster. Every. Five. Minutes.

I am not a badass. I’m coming clean with you so you know that if, on your off days or in your daily life you are scared and might look to some of us for inspiration, I am just like you. I whither under scorn, I struggle to make myself understood, and I nearly piss myself facing shit that can’t possibly hurt me. That’s just how I’m made. And that’s okay.

When I went out to my first weapons-training date a couple of months ago, I had a mini panic attack in the car. I called Matt Cohen. He is a personal muse of mine. Kind and wise, with a current of rage running under his being that he suppresses on a daily basis. I relate so deeply to this. I knew he would help me.

“What’s up?”

“Matt, I’m going to train with guns and I’m scared.”

He knows my story. He knows why. “Yeah,” he answered. “Guns are scary. But here’s the thing… you have a job to do and you don’t have the information you need to do the job. Go let knowledge take the place of fear.”

I have a job to do that is my life. We all do. I look at people who seem fearless and I envy them. But I look at myself, my tiny little mountains I climb, and I am proud of my tiny little wins. I am proud when I can choose to let knowledge take the place of terror.

I offer you this: I am not fearless. But I can be brave. So can you.

Okay so seeing Wonder Woman was literally eye-opening for me. I always knew that movies, action movies in particular, are really sexist towards women. I just didn’t realize how bad it was until I saw a superhero movie directed by a woman.

In almost every movie I’ve seen, the woman was always the damsel in distress or just some lousy love interest. And in action movies, mainly superhero movies, the camera is always focused on the woman’s boobs while she’s fighting. Yes, I’m mainly talking about Black Widow in the Avengers movies.

But in Wonder Woman, there were no close-up shots of her boobs while she was fighting. In fact, I don’t think that any woman even showed her cleavage, at all. They weren’t sexualized in any way. 

And all of the women looked like real people. There were women with big muscles, women with scars, there were women with thick thighs and arms that would jiggle when they were fighting, there were dark skinned women. They didn’t just all look like the stereotypical super thin white girls that you usually see in big movies.

The flirting was also very minimal. There were almost no romantic scenes at all.

And none of the men tried to undermine or belittle the women, and when they did Diana would just start talking about how she could do things better than them.

And the fight scenes. They were so amazing. They didn’t try to make the women look super pretty while doing it. No, they were full on fighting. Nasty, brutal, screams-of-pure-rage fighting.

But she always had a reason for fighting, and she always did it because she genuinely believes in hope and peace and protecting innocent people and people who can’t fight for themselves.

This movie sends out so many great messages for little girls, saying that you can fight for what you believe in and even if you don’t succeed the first time, not to give up because it is always worth it in the end.

Like I was thinking about it in the movie theater. For some little girls, Wonder Woman is their first superhero. There are little girls who will grow up with this movie and cherish it because it is the first and only movie with a lead female superhero. There are little girls who will grow up thinking that they want to do some good in this world, just like she did. I almost cried during several parts in the movie just thinking about that.

So please, for the love of all things good, please go see this movie. Not only is it a huge deal for women and girls now, it will be for generations to come. 

Know what these pictures bring to mind?

Super mountain man author Derek living in the middle of the woods, keeps to himself because brooding writer stereotypes and also people are the worst. So he’s legit like in the mountains somewhere, a ridiculously long way away from everything and it’s quiet and peaceful, and he can shift and go running without running into campers or people going skiing. He chops wood, he drinks coffee on his porch overlooking the valley, he writes—it’s peaceful and it’s quiet and he loves it.

And then one morning, he’s sitting on his porch, drinking his coffee and minding his own business, and a fucking serial killer wanders out of the woods. Dingy hat with a huge beard, looking like some crazy libertarian nutjob who lives in a tent to avoid the government taking his guns.

He’s a werewolf, but Derek doesn’t mess with serial killers, so he freezes and stares and hopes that if he doesn’t move, the serial killer just won’t see him. The guy looks a little rough around the edges, to say the least. It could happen.

Except the serial killer does eventually notice him, and he also freezes and stares, and seems to be…scared of him? Of the guy wearing flannel and drinking coffee with a book on his own front porch?

Turns out the serial killer is actually Stiles, out in the wilderness looking for his best friend Scott, who went on a camping trip with a couple college friends and hasn’t been heard from since. And Stiles is not actually a serial killer, just a really unequipped college kid roaming the woods, pretty damn lost, with a Tracking for Dummies book jammed in the bottom of his backpack.

And I mean living off trail mix and beef jerky levels of unequipped.

Like, the second this kid heard the rangers even start to suggest that they’d exhausted their resources, he said, “fuck you, I’ll find him myself” and took off into the mountains with his college backpack and the cheapest tent he could find.

So once Derek realizes that the not-serial killer is even more freaked out than he is, all he sees is a really pathetic, sore, and exhausted ball of rage and determination and offers him coffee. And actual food. And a shower because all he can smell is beef jerky.

Stiles is understandably weirded out because this dude offering him food definitely looks like a mountain man serial killer who cut himself off from society so no one would hear his victims’ screams.

There’s a lot of appearance-based assumptions all around.

Keep reading

What’s Mine

An Alpha!Bucky One Shot

Character Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Female Omega!Reader

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT! Oral (female receiving), face sitting, fingering, sexual penetration, A/B/O dynamics, knotting during a heat, dirty talk, language, a NSFW gif, some mild violence, hostage situation, angst and fluff. Whew.

A/N: I like Loki… I just needed a villian. 

You stole from me.

So, I stole from you.

Time is ticking.

Her clock stops at midnight.

Bucky let the cell phone drop from his hands. He heard the screen shatter when it hit the pavement. He looked down at the glass shards that scattered across his boots. They blurred in his vision.

Rage warmed his blood as fear chilled his bones.

His Omega.

The feral howl that ripped from his chest echoed through the morning fog surrounding the cabin.


Keep reading

  • Hanzo: What is this?
  • Soldier 76: Oh. This is an old team picture of Overwatch, I'd say around 7 years ago.
  • Hanzo: I thought Genji had joined Overwatch at that time.
  • 76: No no. He was part of Blackwatch with Gabriel and McCree. Here. This is the old Blackwatch team.
  • Hanzo: ...Genji looks.
  • 76: Very pissed off. Yes.
  • Genji: It was a phase.
  • 76: You almost killed most of your team.
  • Genji: It was an angry phase...I am not that person anymore.
  • Hanzo: Hmpf. If you had been more like this the clan would not have ordered me to kill you.
  • Genji: If we had met then I would have killed you.
  • Hanzo: Ok Genji. You can-
  • Genji: I mean no contest. My enhancements and rage would have utterly annihilated you.
  • Hanzo: Genji.
  • Genji: There were times I would dream of slicing you into pieces. Starting with each arm. Then I would shoved all your arrows up-
  • ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  • Hanzo: Zenyatta.
  • Zenyatta: Yes?
  • Hanzo: I don't think I have fully expressed my thanks for being a good teacher to my brother.
  • Zenyatta: He told you the murder dreams did he?
  • Hanzo: In great detail. Yes.
  • Zenyatta: I am sorry. I told him to be more open with you.
2

BnHA Portrait #2: Bakugou

Artist: JBadgr

________________________________

God I love this rage bucket. All grease painty and nasty after, I don’t know, yelling at small children or something.

Feel free to leave character requests for the series! So far, based on your asks, it looks like Todoroki and Mina are next~ whom else would you like to see?

<33 Jess

________________________________

BnHa Portrait Series: #1 Uravity #3 Midoriya #4 Todoroki #5 Tokoyami #6 Kirishima #7 Kaminari #8 Mina #9 Special Edition JEANS!Bakugou

4

‘‘I want this to stop, I don’t want to accept this anymore.’’

David Lee Childress was 14 years old when he and his neighbour, 13-year old Jimmy Hartmangruber, killed David’s mother. David had been sexually abused by his mother since he was very young, but when he got older and refused to perform sexual acts on her, the abuse turned physical. His father mentally and physically abused him by repeatedly telling him how stupid he was, throwing chairs at him and hitting him.

When Jimmy was hanging out at David’s house on the 22nd of September 2004, David’s mother stormed into the room and started yelling at David and hitting him. When she left, Jimmy looked at David and said: ‘‘She does that a lot… You should do something about it.’’ David asked what he could do and Jimmy answered: ‘‘You could kill her, that would put a stop to it forever.’’ and so they came up with a plan.

‘‘I picked up a pipe from the alleyway next to the apartment and I thought it would be quick, relatively painless and easy to just ‘bam’, that’s it. She was sleeping when I came into the room and when I was about to do it, I was trying to build up the rage. But all the thoughts of what was going on stopped my hands and that’s when the disgust of myself and what I was going to do took over. I said to myself 'I can’t do it.’ That’s when Jimmy said: 'You’re a pussy, stop being a pussy. Get in there and do it.’ just like my father always told me. So subconsciously that might have spurred me. I went in there and she jumped out of her bed and she said: 'Where is the phone?! I’m calling the police and your father!’ so I tripped her and I started hitting her with my fists and for the first time in my life she told me: 'I love you, why are you doing this? Stop doing this.’ and I told her she was lying to try and save herself. That’s when I hit her a few more times and I was kinda queezy at the prospect of scattering brain matter. So I kind of didn’t put too much power into it. I hit her and she went unconscious, she was still breathing, though. But I was tired, so I put my belt around her neck and I said: 'Okay Jimmy, I can’t do this anymore.’ So I walked out of the room and when I came back about 5 minutes later, he had choked her to death.’’

David Lee Childress was sentenced to 40 years in prison.

Angel in the Darkness (M) pt.4

Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (masturbating, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use……(alot of smut comes in later) This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5



“You’re a mistake! You should have never even been born!” the group of nine-year old’s like yourself, taunted you.

You were mindlessly walking outside during recess, until a group of kids from your class cornered you. They formed a circle around you, deciding to remind you of what kind of blasphemy you were.

“Just leave me alone!” you screeched back at them, just wanting to distance yourself. You tried to leave, but there was no escape, as they would just push you back into the middle of the circle.

“Where are you going you little bitch?” a boy who was a bit taller than you mocks.

When you glare at him to try to push past, he shoves you roughly back, making you fall on the cold cement. You cringe when you skid against the ground, layers of skin from your elbows and hands being ripped off.

Each of them laugh at you, as you just sit still on the ground, not daring to look up at them. Why did this always have to happen to you?

Keep reading

Get the Girl [Klaus Mikaelson x Reader]

Requested: no

Summary: (Y/n) Salvatore is kidnapped by Klaus while Elena is kidnapped by Rebekah. The Salvatore must choose between which of the two lives and comes back while the other dies. They pick Elena and (Y/n) feels betrayed. Klaus takes pity on her and spares her life on the condition that she live with Mikaelsons. She accepts and bonds with the family, especially with Klaus.

Word count: 3358

Warnings: swearing, Salvatores being jerks

Request HERE.

Originally posted by malachaisangel

You walked down the stairs of the Salvatore boarding house in your pajamas to find your brothers and their friends scheming.

You rolled your eyes, there was always something wrong in Mystic Falls, and the people in the living room were always involved somehow, “What is it this time?” you asked, sitting down beside Damon.

“We may or may not have pissed of Klaus Mikaelson by killing his big brother Finn.” Your brother, Stefan said, “And we’re trying to anticipate what he is going to do in return.” Damon finished.

“Really, you guys? I have an idea! Let’s piss off the Original fucking Hybrid by killing his Original brother. That will not at all have negative side effect that could kill us all!” you raised your hands in the air and looked at your raven-haired brother skeptically, “And you just had to kill Finn, of all of them. The least dangerous one to us! Why not someone Rebekah? She’s much more of a threat! And she’s closer to Klaus. You can’t even do something stupid correctly!” You put your head in your hands, “I can to this right now, I need a drink, or drinks.” You said before getting up and making coffee, adding a hint of alcohol in the mug.

You walked back to them and spoke again, “Well, since you’re already in this shit, I might as well help you guys.”

“No, you aren’t. You are staying very calmly in this house, not going out until we are done with this Mikaelson situation.” Damon said, Stefan nodded behind him.

You threw them a shocked and annoyed look, “Are you guys serious? I know I was turned a bit later than you but I’m still a 160 years old vampire. I’m pretty sure I have as much a capacity to defend myself than Matty-boy over there.” You nodded your head towards the blue-eyed boy.

“Fine, then you can defend yourself here.” Damon replied.

You knew that your brother was stubborn but you were too, “But-”

“No buts, (Y/n). You are staying here, end of story!” Stefan intervened.

Once Stefan entered the fight, it was over, two against one, victory was impossible for you, “Fine!” you yelled, admitting defeat. You stormed back up the stairs, furious.

You decided that, since you couldn’t do anything, you would eavesdrop on their plan. They were going to… use Caroline as bait for Klaus and… verify if they were from his bloodline… You couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rest due to rage against your brothers not letting you go with them. Although, you heard that Elena had also been placed under house arrest, your brother, as much as you loved them, were a real pain in the ass.

You heard them all leave and you ran down the stairs, grabbing your jean jacket when a figure stood before you, “Just the one I was looking for.” He smirked.

Your eyes widened, not expecting this, “Niklaus Mikaelson, I presume? Elena and her protection squad just left. You can go find them elsewhere, I really need to go so, excuse me.” You said before trying to move past him.

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path, “You are not afraid, interesting.” You looked at him straight in the eye, “My dear sister Rebekah is… taking care of Elena. I, on the other hand, am here for you.” Your eyebrows raised in confusion, “I am sorry but, I have to do this.” He said before planting a vervain-filled needle in your neck. You yelled in pain before blacking out.

Your eyes opened, your blurry vision clearing up little by little. You groaned, you tried to move your arms but they were tied behind your chair by a vervain-laced rope, as well as your feet. You were sitting in a wooden chair, in an unfamiliar house. Paintings decorated the walls, you were face to face with a large fireplace, your chair was on a red carpet with an abstract pattern on it. You thought hard about where you could possibly be when your memories of your encounter with the Original Hybrid came to your mind.

“That little shit.” you groaned.

“Ah! You’re awake, love. Good, Bekah and I were about to call your brothers.” You swiveled your head to the right when the British accent spoke.

“Niklaus.” You whispered, “What do you want with me?” you asked.

“You are a what I love the most: revenge.” He grinned maliciously.

“I’m kinda lost here, you know? I’m not a mind reader. What are you going do? What is the great Originals’ evil plan?” you asked.

He laughed at your unwavering snarky personality, “I might as well tell you to pass the time. He shrugged, “Once upon a time, two vampire brothers and his friends decided to annoy a very strong vampire-werewolf hybrid by killing his vampire brother.” You rolled your eyes at how he decided to tell his ‘tale’, “This hybrid and his sister, another vampire, agreed to take their revenge. They knew that the best way to hurt them was to hurt the ones they love.” He continued, leaning towards you, “Their sister and the girl they both loved. Each sibling kidnapped one of the girls and took them somewhere no one could find unless the location was given to them. Both siblings were going to call one brother at the same time, telling them that they had one of their loved ones. They would torture the girls over the phone and force them to pick one.” He grinned, while you were struggling to get out of your chair, “They would be given the location of the girl they would choose and the other one would be kept, or killed.”

When he was done, his phone beeped, signaling that he had received a text, he looked up at you, smiling and stood up, “It’s time, little one.”

He dialed a number and nearly immediately, Damon’s voice could be heard, “Where are they!?” you heard him yell into the phone.

“Calm down mate. Is your brother with you?” he asked, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Yes.” He grunted.

“He should be on the phone right now. Put yours on speaker.” Klaus ordered.

“Why?” Damon asked.

“Because, I have your sister and a stake in my hand.” He wasn’t lying, he held a large piece of wood in his right hand.

You heard your brother making a sound of discontent before the sound of his phone being put down and being on speaker phone, Klaus did the same, allowing you to hear everything more clearly, without having to strain your vampire hearing.

“Hello Nik.” Rebekah’s voice said.

“Hello Bex. Do you think we should explain to the Salvatore brother what is going on?” he asked her.

“Yes, good idea brother, they must be so lost. I must say boys, placing your loved ones under house arrest made the whole kidnapping thing so much easier.” You could practically hear her grinning.

You brothers tried to intervene but Klaus tutted them, “You do not understand, you are not in charge in this situation. Don’t speak unless spoken to. So, here’s what’s going to happen, Salvatores.” He started. Afterwards, he told them what he had just told you. He finished his story too dramatically in your opinion, “So, Salvatores, who’s it going to be? Elena Gilbert, the girl loved by both, or (Y/n) Salvatore, the sister?”

Damon didn’t completely believe him, “You’re bluffing, you won’t hurt Elena, she’s the only way you can make hybrids, Klaus.”

Klaus laughed, “Her body has enough blood to make quite a few more hybrids. If I drain her whole body of blood, and my hybrids survive long enough, I’ll have the time to find the new doppelgänger and use her blood.

Silence. “Sister, I think we should give them a little…” he paused, walking towards you, “encouragement.” He finished before stabbing you in the thigh.

You yelled in pain, blood dripping down your jeans. Your brothers called your name but were interrupted by Elena’s scream of pain and she caught his attention, they kept asking her if she was okay and what had happened.

You realized what was going to happen, tears started streaming down your face while Klaus spoke again, “Pick. You have five seconds until they both die.”

You could feel your brothers’ doubt and whispered, “I get it guys, always get the girl, no matter the price, right?” Knowing that your brothers could hear you.

“We’re sorry (Y/n).” Stefan said before announcing Elena’s name.

You let out a sob. Klaus hung up and walked towards you. You raised to tear-stained face and your (e/c) orbs met his dark ones, if you were going to die, you were going to do it with dignity, “Well, Niklaus Mikaelson, here comes the time when death comes back after I cheated it. I die without anything left but my pride.” You closed your eyes, waiting for death to come.

“I have a few things to ask first.” He said, your eyes opened, “Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Okay…” you said, having nothing to lose, “Well, I was 7 years old when Stefan and Damon were turned, my mother died when I was two years old. I had a friend who was a vampire and, when I got consumption, she fed me her blood to ease the pain. There was no more space in my hospital so the doctors decided to ‘terminate’ the terminal patients and I was killed, with her blood in my system. Thus, began my life of vampirism.” You continued, telling him about everything like how you reunited with Damon when you were thrown in the Augustine prison, they had moved you to another facility and how you escaped. You had returned to Mystic Falls after hearing about the animal attack and saw your brothers again. You spilled everything about yourself to the man who was going to kill you.

In return, you learned the whole tale of the big bad Original Hybrid, Klaus Mikaelson. “You are the only one in the world to know my whole story, (Y/n). Please, do not share it with anyone.” He smiled, genuine, kind smile.

You looked at him, confusion in your eyes, “I won’t be able if you kill me.”

“Did you know that you’re the only person other than my family who calls me by my full name?” he asked.

Why wasn’t he answering you? Why did he ask you that?

“No, I didn’t.” you replied, wondering where this conversation was going.

“I like it. But, I must admit,” he leaned towards you, untying your arms and legs from the chair, “I’d rather you call me Nik when we’re alone.”

You had no idea what he was doing or what was happening.

“I have to admit Nikl-” he raised his eyebrows at you, “Nik” you corrected yourself, “I don’t completely understand what is happening right now.”

“I’m not killing you, love.” Relief flushed over you. He lifted his index finger, “On one condition.” You nodded, “You stay with us. I like you and you did not deserve to be treated as such by your own family. I am sure you will get along with the rest of my family, especially Rebekah. We could be your new family, if you’d like. Also, you wouldn’t be able to go out here in Mystic Falls, I can’t lose my reputation of being a man of my word when it comes to threats.”

You got up and grinned, “Don’t worry, I completely understand. Anyways, I don’t want to see any of them.”

You were talking with Klaus. Suddenly, the door opened, you listened the clicking of heels until a blonde-haired form stood in front of you. “Really, Nik? You couldn’t kill her?” Rebekah asked her brother.

“Oh, don’t worry Bekah, I sure you will find her quite fun to be around. I’ll leave you two alone, don’t kill her.” He stood up and left the room.

“So…” Rebekah started. The conversation was small talk at first but, then you got into the good stuff and grew close. Bonding about how annoying being the little sister was.

______________

You kept your promise to Klaus, you had been staying with the Mikaelsons for over three months getting along well with all of them. You had just come back from a shopping spree in the town next door with Rebekah and dropped off your bags in your room. You were headed to the living room when you passed an open door. You had always seen it closed during your time here. Curious, you pushed it open and found a room full of canvasses, some covered in paint, others partly and the rest blank, untouched. You walked around the room amazed by their beauty, you noticed that the style was similar to that of the paintings that hung in the living room.

You heard footsteps coming from behind you. You turned around and saw the Original Hybrid leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, “Did you paint these?” you asked, gesturing to the canvasses surrounding you, “They’re absolutely marvelous.”

He smiled, “Thank you, love. I find that painting calms me. It has been my hobby for quite some time now.” You smiled back at him, “Well, my arrival doesn’t stop you from looking around darling, go on.” He urged. You blushed slightly and walked around the large room.

“Are you really so arrogant that you just have to hang your own paintings in the house?” you said, returning to your snarky self.

Klaus laughed, “And the moment is officially ruined, love.”

“Firstly, what moment? Secondly, what did I tell you about calling me love and darling? I am not Caroline or any of Damon’s and Stefan’s friends.” You said, still walking around the room.

Your eyes fell upon a painting covered by a white sheet. Interested, your reached towards the sheet.

Meanwhile, Klaus spoke again, “Fine, (Y/n). I won’t call you by anything else than your name are you happy?”

“Yes, quite.” You replied. You grabbed the sheet and pulled it, revealing the painting. Behind you, Klaus’s eyes widened as he ran towards you, but it was too late, you were already staring at it.

It was a portrait on a white background. The painting was a girl with (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. Your mouth opened slightly in realization. Klaus had painted you. It was beautiful, bringing out your more significant traits, the white background giving you an angelic look. He had managed to represent you perfectly, it felt like watching yourself in a mirror.

You turned around to the Original, “You painted me.” You said, still in shock.

“Yes, I did. Quite obvious, isn’t it?” He said, taking a step towards you.

You didn’t move, “Why did you paint me?” you asked.

“You’re beautiful, (Y/n). How could I not paint you? And, when you decide to leave us for your true family, I’ll have something to remember you by.” This time, it was your turn to look up at him. You were nearly touching.

You looked up at him and cupped his cheek with one of your hands, “It’s a lovely painting, Niklaus. But, you’ll never have a use for it ‘cause I’ll be with you until the end of time.”

You leaned towards him and he did the same. Your lips touched and fireworks exploded on your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you draped your arms around his shoulders. Both your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle. You pulled away, a smile etched on your face. He grinned at you. Your arms still wrapped against each other.

“What you say about a date, Nik?” you asked.

“I would like that very much.” He replied.

“Now aren’t you glad that you were a creep and painted me?” you joked.

“This is what I mean by ‘ruining the moment’, love.” He said, kissing the top of your head.

“Well, I’ve got to go, I have to see Rebekah about her newest crush Matt.” You told, pecking his lips and leaving a smitten Klaus Mikaelson alone in the room.

______________

You and Klaus had been dating for a month and a half and your relationship was still going strong. Everything had been going great until Tyler formed a rebellion of unsired hybrids and Klaus killed all twelve of them. Tyler had run away before Klaus had managed to kill him so, as revenge, your boyfriend killed his mother and the mayor: Carol Lockwood.

You knew that your ex-friends would want to avenge their friend’s mother, you just didn’t know what they would do in return. You hadn’t expected that they would attack the Mikaelson household. Unfortunately, the Originals had business in another town and had left for the weekend, they had left you at the house.

Which brings you to now.

You were watching a tv show with your headphones on in your room. So, when the band of vampires and humans came into the mansion, you didn’t hear a thing. It was only when they had scoured the whole bottom floor and came up the stairs that you had heard them. You didn’t think anything of it, probably Klaus and Rebekah coming home early.

“(Y/n)?” a voice spoke, not a Mikaelson one.

You turned around from your seat and your eyes met bright blue ones.

“Damon.” You sneered.

“Y-you’re alive.” He stuttered.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

His friends finished checking the house and had come up to the only other source of sound. They all piled into your room. You looked at them; Stefan, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, Jeremy and Matt.

“Wow, you guys really went all out for a plan that didn’t work out.” You said, not bothered by stunned people in front of you.

Your other brother was the next to come out of his trance, “How are you still alive?” he asked.

“Straight to the point, right big bro?” You said.

Damon rolled his eyes, “You haven’t changed at least. Now answer the damn question.”

“Fine.” You huffed, “Well, after the two of you left me to die.” They all looked at their feet in guilt, earning a grin from you, “Klaus asked me my ‘story’. I told him how it wasn’t the first the two of you left me to fend for myself, how I turned into a vampire yada, yada… And he told me his whole story in return. After, he made me a deal: he’d let me live if I stayed with them. So, I, caring for my life unlike you two assholes,” you pointed your fingers, “accepted. And thus, began my friendship with the Mikaelson family. They treated me well, I went shopping Rebekah and had fun chats with Elijah. And that’s the story.” You finished.

There was a long silence before Elena spoke up, “Come home with us, we’ll protect you.”

You grinned, “Well, you see Elena, I like the freedom I have with the Mikaelsons. I also think that any of your friends” you gestured to the rest of the people, “wouldn’t hesitate to pick you over me another time, especially my brothers. And, finally, you can stay with your boyfriends, I’ll stay with mine.” When you finished talking, you saw some jaws drop and some eyes widen which, in turn, made you grin even more, “Oh, right! You don’t know, meet my new boyfriend,” you gestured to the figure behind them, “Klaus Mikaelson.”

You had sent a text with your phone behind your back that was complete gibberish to your boyfriend, knowing that he would worry and come back. You were right.

“Hello, love.” He walked over, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Are these people bothering you?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied, “I’d like them to leave.”

“Anything for the person I love, especially if the people I’m about to attack broke her heart not that long ago.” He grinned.

Realization crept on their faces and they sent you pleading looks, “Being stabbed in the back hurts, doesn’t it.” You looked at your brother, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Flesh.

AU! — Alpha!Ivar x Omega!Reader.

so, this is going to some A/B/O AU’s i’m gonna be making for vikings. a lot of people liked the idea, apparently, so, of course the first one is going to be Ivar. 

let’s see if i can do the smut again guys. it’s been years since i’ve written anything this detailed. hopefully this turns out okay.

i’m so sorry for the damage anyone gets from reading this. i am nasty as hell. despite being a virgin like. just start calling me super freak.

i really need to go to church after this.

tags: @siren-kitten-his @bloodyivar @tiredofthisgeneration

this has absolutely no plot. none. i wanted to make it that way, but i knew if i did i’d make another series and no one wants that right now. i know all you dirty bastards want is sex. i know i do.

warnings(prepare this is a long list i just wanna be thorough): sex, cunnilingus, rutting, multiple orgasms, rimming, slight!anal, fingering, oral(giving/receiving), dub/sub, dub-con, slight blood, biting, slapping, kind of abuse, deep throating, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), talk of impregnation, breeding kink, REALLY ROUGH a lot of kinks okay? just all together really fucking filthy raunchy fuck me running smut. i really wouldn’t advise reading this unless you need mental help like i do. please



A fool.

A hopeless, helpless, absolutely fucking pathetic fool. But oh, did playing the fool pleasure you in various ways, words not having the glory to ever come close to explaining. 

How he would look at you, a single glance searching through a crowd of people and your lungs would constrict, drowning in his raging ocean. A flick of his wrist, a feathery touch of his talented knives. A single word from his sharp tongue, rolling like thunder to your ears would have you on your knees in a matter of seconds. You were a fool each time for following his careful gaze; when his expression would be light, calling in a frightened animal to his jaws, comforting as he would ghost his fingers over the skin of your neck. His trap was laid out clear, not covered by any disguise, and you would kneel into it every time with open arms.

How could you not?

 It was simply nature, you’d like to tell yourself, a false hope on the wings of a flightless bird. He held power, so much power in his tanned hands, and it was not an option to follow your Alpha’s command  — or any for that matter. It was etched into your soul, your very core that dripped with slick down your thighs as you inhaled deeply, his rough fingers gripping your hair tighter, guiding your head downwards. There was no need to command you, you were all too willing to spread your legs for Ivar the Boneless, no matter the condition, but he was sick, enjoying it when you put up a little resistance as though you could actually think for yourself.

There was nothing too it, and yet, it was everything you lived for, your nose digging into his pelvic done as your forced your head down, your skull pounding under his grip. You couldn’t help but whimper just at the scent of him, how it surrounded you, ate you like a wild beast in the night, and with every passing noise that escaped your mouth, he would only laugh. He knew, of course he knew, opening your jaw as wide as you could, glancing up at his sharp features through your lashes, there was nothing but lust in his expression as his nostrils flared and your hips rutted against the air. 

You were disgusting, you knew, groaning in pleasure as he wrapped a hand around his cock, wiping the head of it around your swollen lips and tapping it along your outstretched tongue. “Fuck, just look at you..” Just his voice caused your eyes to roll in the back of his head, and the way you thighs quaked you could of come undone as he slid into your watering mouth. You wasted no time, whinning around his taste, never getting enough of his smell as you began working on him; bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue and sucking on him like your life depended on it. “That’s right, little lamb, just like that…” Ivar praised, a growl resonating in his bare chest, and you sneaked a peak up, watching his muscles jerk as her moved.

Despite the hot saliva dripping down your chin, you met his gaze and held it as you continued to take him deeper and deeper   — a dangerous move, connecting eyes with an Alpha, but the curl of his lips, mixing with a snarl only egged you further. He loved it when you watched him, when he could see into your soul as you swallowed him down, as you choked on him. “So beautiful. Gods, I trained you so well..” And he pushed deeper, forcing you to do just that, water building in the corner of your eyes as he held himself there, listening to your struggled gasps and gurgling around him. 

Holding your life in his hands was his ultimate pleasure. 

“Take it all, you whore.”

You keened, curling in on yourself as his pulled back, allowing yourself to breath for only a moment and a damn inside of you broke, your juices flooding the floor around you before he began fucking himself into your mouth. Ivar laughed, thrusting up with harsh, deep movements, keeping a slow pace and holding himself deep for several seconds at a time. Just that one word rolling form his mouth, and he knew all of your secrets, your fantasies that you had shared with him. “Did you cum already? How boring — you filthy fucking Omega.” 

There was nothing that excited you more than listening to him degrade you, put you down, and own you like you were nothing. “Almost useless,” He hissed, yanking you off his slick cock, forcing you to arch you neck at the angle he held you. Mouthing hanging open, you listening to him groan and his neck crack, looking at the pre-cum and spit that rested all around your mouth. “Maybe I should throw you to my brothers, just like this and see just how many times you can cum…” The snarl on his mouth was cruel, and his hand moved from your hair to your cheeks, squeezing them together and pulling your forward by your face. “Would you like that, you little slut? For me to toss you on your hands and knees, all needy and drenched in your slick, your scent attracting my brothers as they used you liked animals one by one until you were nothing but a cum soaked disaster?”

You were drowning, and there was nothing to save you, but your skin was burning as fire licked at every inch of you. You body jerked, quivering at the thought, only moans falling between your lips as you opened them to answer him, knowing Ivar loved it when you used your little voice. When you whined, and begged, told him everything you were thinking and feeling. Everything you wished he would do, only to have him punish you for ordering him around.  But tonight, oh tonight, it failed you. There was no pleasure or amusement in him now, his head pulling back before jerking forward, and something warm splattered on your cheek where bruises would surly show soon. “What was that, bitch? Use your words.”

“N-no..” You whimpered, keeping your hands on your thighs obediently, digging your nails into the thick flesh there, wanting nothing more than you reach out and touch him  — to remind him that he was all you wanted, all you had, all you ever needed. 

No?” Ivar echoed, quirking his brow and the corner of his mouth twitched up, the dimples displaying a false innocence in his smile.

You shook your head the best you could despite his vice grip, another whine erupting from you, your legs slowly spreading out as you began to rut against the air. Your back arched, baring yourself to him, submitting once more and he loosened up, allowing you to speak. “O-only you, Alpha. Want only you, only your cock..”

He hummed for a moment, his tongue darting out over thick lips, head tilting to the side as he kept a cap on his hormones, despite the clenching you could see the quivering of his muscles, and you knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Prove it.”

Shock came over your features, and for some reason, you could feel pain erupt within your body. It was no secret that Ivar did not trust anyone, but you? You had given him everything you had, and more if possible. You would give him the world on it’s knees if you had the strength to do so. “What?” Came a dumb reply, your eyes widening.

“Are you deaf?” Exhaling sharply, like a dry laugh, he let go of your face completely, confusing you thoroughly until you were tossed to the side, a burning sensation creeping across your face and tears welled up in your eyes. But if only, it seemed to fuel the slick dirtying your body and the lust pooled in you belly. “If you make me repeat myself one more time tonight, bitch, you will be sleeping outside with the real dogs.”

Reaching down, you whined at his threat and the new grip he had on your hair, pulling you up and forward until you were on your sore knees, the wood work causing them to scrape and bleed. Again to night, you were at his face, but he only hissed at you, bringing up his free hand to stab his finger against your skull. “Since you are obviously too fucking stupid to understand…” Came his snarl, causing you to flinch as his breath ran over your nose and more slick leaked down your legs. “I want you to prove to me that I am the only one.”

Never would you admit it out-loud, but for a split-second, the tone in his voice changed as did the look in his eye, causing a part of you to fall further under his spell and soften, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and he was ready to snap again. “Anything, Alpha  — anything you want.”

“If you are true to me  —  if  —  you will bare my mark…” He murmured, running the tips of his fingers on his free hand across the mating gland that rested on your neck, but it trailed down past your hardened nipples, to your womb. “And my pups.”

Honestly, just the thought of those two things could of had you cumming and rutting on his leg right there, which you did a little bit, causing him to grin, his hand flying down to your dripping center. Ivar wasted no time in pressing two fingers into your dripping cunt and curling them, causing you to howl in pleasure, grinding down against them, pushing them deeper. “Hmm, something tells me you’d be more than happy too.”

“Y-yes! Alpha, please, I — “

Pulling his fingers out, he did not remove them from your slick womanhood, only seeming to pet your cunt while he whispered a praise in your ear, listening to you come undone for the second time that night. “Such a good, good little Omega for me..”

You nodded, whimpering as he practically picked you up in his arms, your body curling around his warmth and he turned on the bed, tossing you under him, and you caught a slight glimpse of your slick glistening on his abs and arms. Resting his weight on one arm, Ivar brought up the hand that had currently been pleasing you in front of his face, his nostril flaring as he inhaled deeply, black exploding over the blue in his eyes. “You smell so fucking good…” He moaned obscenely, seemingly having trouble not sucking your juices off. Instead, he peered down at you, offering his hand out to you. “Tell me, little lamb, does it taste sweet?

Obediently, and oh so good, your mouth opened once more, your tongue rolling forth and waiting for him. They descended with a chuckle, until your lips wrapped around the two fingers and you began to suck, swirling your tongue around them with disgusting noises vibrating against his flesh. He left them still, burning his gaze into your as you drug your head back, your teeth slightly scraping his skin and you popped of them, a string of saliva connecting you. “Not as good as you,” Your voice cracked slightly as you purred, letting your eyes droop at him.

“I can’t wait.” Watching as he continued to smile at you, confusion ran through your brain until the world around you shift with a gasp   — you were once again on your knees, supporting yourself with your forearms, and his hands were spreading your legs painfully a part. Skin met skin and you squealed, surging forward until blunt fingers dug into your burning ass. “Do not let that ass drop until I tell you.”

There was no chance to reply when you mouth fell open, a scream erupted from your lips as he began to feast on your succulent cunt, drinking the nectar that poured from you, only for him to drink. But you were burning, sweat slicking your skin as you quivered and shook, your fingers clutching onto the soft furs below you for your life. You could not help the gush of slick that came from your core quickly. He had done so much to you already, teased you, plucked at you, explored you, those things he would say to you. But you had to bury your face forward and shove your back to keep it from falling to the bed, wanting nothing more than to please him. But one orgasm would not stop him from eating like a starving man, despite how sensitive you became. 

How he managed to hold out so long, you would never know, but all of the frustration that he would allow to build up, would have you fucked limp by the time he was done with you.

The sloppy sounds of his mouth on your cunt only pushed you on, especially when he pulled back and inhaled shakily, his fingers digging into your flesh to pull you a part even more, causing a slight pain as the skin around your womanhood stretched. “So fucking delicious, little lamb  — could have me cumming before I even get to split you open…” And he continued, once more, his hands exploring every part of your lower body again, even pressing the tip of his thumb against the tight hole right above his destination, letting out a horrific chuckle as you squealed and almost jerked away.

Twice more, he pulled back, and despite how worn you were, your body shaking like an earth-quake, your vision shifting, you looked back over your shoulder to see him caressing your thighs. His face was drenched in your slick, but his tongue just didn’t stop licking the area around his lips. Ivar leaned forward, pressing his hands flat beside your body, and his slick chest slid perfectly against yours as you both met, sloppy tongue and teeth clashing over your shoulder, moaning into his hungry mouth as you tasted yourself on him. 

This was the moment you lived for, a weak hand trailing up cautiously and he allowed you to thread your fingers through his thick hair, whinning into your mouth as he met you with growls and moans, the both of you rutting back and forth against one another, and he was so painfully hard against you.

“Are you ready, my little Omega? Ready to fully become mine?” He asked, nipping harshly against your shoulder, and it jerked as a bit of skin broke. His tongue lapping over the tiny wound. This time, there was no punishment for not verbalizing you answer, only him praising you for being so good as you sobbed in pleasure, his cock stretching your cunt open in the most delicious of ways. There was nothing holding him back down as one hand gripped the back on your throat like a vicious dogs mouth, shoving your deep in the bed. He held you both there. “You feel this, slut?” He growled, rutting his hips, pushing himself deeper than you thought possible. “Every inch of me is inside of your soaking cunt, and it’s going to stay there until you’re filled with my knot, and my seed is drenching your womb…”

You only cried, tears spilling from your eyes as he began to move, snapping his his against yours, the sound of his skin beating against your ass as he moved, his nails digging into your neck, leaving red marks that burned in the sweat. “Can’t fucking wait!” Ivar roared, seeming to pick up the past, bruising you against him now. “Gonna fill you up, fucking breed you like the needy little bitch you are!”

Normally you would last longer with Ivar, but tonight was special. Tonight you would give him everything you had, even as you came for the umpteenth time that night, screaming out his name and his title, listening to him resonate a cruel laugh around the room as he dropped forward on you. You fell forward as well, you body jerking in the aftermath of another orgasm, and your eyes rolled back, but he continued his onslaught, pinning you beneath him. How long he was at it, you did not know, losing track of time among the tangled and sweaty bodies you were, you lost where he ended and you began. 

The only thing that mattered to you was the swelling on his knot, and the teeth that scraped over your mating gland. You begged, thrashed, tried to plead at him to do it, promising to stay with him forever. You never want another. Never. 

It was when he bit down, did you finally see a bright light, you felt another heartbeat in your chest and millions of emotions rushed through your body, filling you to the brim and your mind exploded, more tears cascading down your cheeks as his movements stops, a howl escaping his mouth as his warmth spilled inside of you. He collapsed, still connected to you, and when you could finally think straight again, you were on your back with his hands gently trailing your body, his mouth leaving tiny worships along your skin. 

Groaning as you joints screamed and ached at you to move, he looked up from your stomach, his blue eyes filled with slight concern, your fingers carding through his hair. “Are you alright?” Ivar murmured, completely changing from what he was moments ago.

Giving him a lazy smile, he crawled back up your body, sweetly kissing your lips, and pulling you to curl against his chest. “I have never been better, Ivar,” You assured him, bringing your hand down to cup his cheek, watching as he leaned into your touch.

It was his turn to stroke your hair, his mouth running along your temple, his lips curling up. “Allow me to clean you,” He offered.

You simply shook your head, not wanting him to leave you just yet, even if it was only for a moment. Curling in closer, you nuzzled under his chin. “Want to sleep in it.” 

“My, my, filthy little lamb…”

normalization is a scary thing. ever-shifting lines and thresholds are scary. for some people the line is this: racial slurs and hate speech uttered knowingly and conscientiously. a career and a net worth of millions of dollars built off of a calculated, structured genre of humor that encourages dehumanizing language, trivialization of oppression, and jokes targeted at minority groups, that gives young white men a free pass to use the same sort of humor and language, that provides a haven for literal nazis and bigots to thrive and pat each other on the back and laugh at people that they consider weak and ‘triggered’ and overly sensitive.

and for others the line might be actions that condone or implicitly convey tolerance and acceptance of these realities. when a person is able to ‘look past’ someone’s conscientious bigotry and the profit they make from it, when they are able to put these realities aside for a weekend of fun spent in a luxury apartment, to pose for photos in front of a public audience, what they’re saying is that that person’s bigotry can be overlooked, condoned, and tolerated, all in the interest of personal enjoyment. after weeks and months of radio silence, if the only ‘statement’ someone can make on a clear and defined case of textbook racism on their platform and in their community is that they have plans to hang out with the racist in question and may perhaps ‘have a word’ about ‘recent occurrences,’ without even being able to out and out denounce those occurrences or call them what they are (uh, racism), then they don’t get a pass, at least not from me. this is my line: allowing internalized and implicit racism to go unchecked, condoning it because it doesn’t affect you personally. normalizing it.

a community of people who are more afraid to talk about the potential for racism amongst their favs than they are afraid of actual racism itself is terrifying to me. it’s unsettling. a community of people who would rather be angry, who would rather be defensive and class everything as ‘drama’ and ‘discourse’ rather than listening to people whose feelings are hurt, rather than exercising basic compassion and empathy … it’s scary. and this is the impact of dnp’s decisions. ‘racism’ isn’t just burning crosses or using the n word yourself or calling yourself a white supremacist. it’s a system that actively erases and silences the experiences of black people and other people of color, a system in which white people can do and say anything about nonwhites without material or lasting repercussions, because their network of other white people will always be able to put up with it, look past it, and protect them. dnp didn’t just make a personal choice, they made a public one that communicates that their weekend plans were more important to them than the people who may have been harmed by the person they were associating with. they made a choice to normalize this person and his career, to show that he’s someone they can still have fun with, and to communicate that message to thousands and thousands of young, impressionable, mostly white fans.

don’t get it twisted, by the way. the alternative here was as simple as a declined invitation, a mailed gift or greeting card instead of an in-person attendance. this is not about an eight year old relationship with a mutual friend whom dnp could see any other time, and with whom dnp could continue to maintain an isolated relationship. this is not about money or power or followers or a career, all of which dnp have in heaps. this is about privilege, about the ability to look past bigotry when it doesn’t affect you personally, when speaking out is too hard or inconvenient. and that would’ve been painful on its own, but what’s worse is the people who still care more about these rich, privileged individuals than their own peers and friends and fellow ‘fans.’ the hypocrisy is painful. i imagine a scenario where the sign had read ‘death to all gays’ or where the gamer rage had resulted in multiple instances of yelling the word ‘f*ggot.’ would all of you stay so silent? would dnp have gone to the party then? would it still be ‘everybody makes mistakes, everyone deserves second chances, nobody’s perfect?’

everyone’s lines fall at different places. i draw the line at tacit acceptance of bigotry and hate speech. it’s a serious choice and a starkly disappointing one. your line might be different, and that’s okay. but the least you can do is listen to the people who are hurt and try to understand what they’re feeling. interrogate your own comfort levels and boundaries, question where those boundaries lie, and whether you keep shifting them to accommodate a world that gets more and more casually bigoted every single day. think about who you stan and why, think about what it means, just be critical and aware, and kind to anyone who is hurting. 

anonymous asked:

Can you do a gods and monsters based on Ares? (This series is amazing!! Thank you for writing it!!!

a continuation of this


Ares, the God of War, has a throne on Olympus, has followers and temples and tributes.

Ares, the God of War, has the screams of the dead and damned echoing around in his skull, and has not had a moment’s peace since his father declared his dominion over battle.

~

He tries to ignore them. He can’t stay on Olympus, not anymore where his father’s proud gaze follows him and he can’t help but flinch from it. At first he hides in his mother’s rooms, curling up on her lap and crying like he hasn’t since he was very small. “I can hear them,” he says, tears dripping down his nose and onto her dress, “I can hear them calling for me.”

She combs her fingers through his hair and drops soft kisses onto his forehead. “I’ll kill him. How dare he – how dare he.”

“You will do no such thing,” he says, and turns so he’s looking up at her. He presses his hand to her cheek, and she leans into his touch. Her eyes are alight with fury and grief, and it soothes him just to see them. Her eyes are his eyes, are his brother’s eyes. “You are the goddess of marriage. To kill your husband would be to kill yourself. Would you make me an orphan, Mother?”

There is a war raging within him now, soldiers and generals and widows crying out for him, but for now all he is worried about is preventing a war within his home.

Nothing would tear apart the pantheon so firmly as to pit Zeus against Hera.

She doesn’t say anything, but her grasp on his hand becomes almost painful, so he will take that as agreement.

~

He can only stay away for so long. He must go to whoever invokes him most strongly, to who builds him the biggest altars, to who provides the largest sacrifice. He is not a god who is lucky enough to be able to watch his domain from afar, to simply provide blessings and guidance. The screaming inside of him quiets only when he joins them on the battlefield, only when he is in the thick of it with a sword in his hand is it quiet enough for him to think.

Only when his battle fury turns the tide of a war is he, even just briefly, free from the crushing weight of his followers and his domain.

He does not get to choose which side to support. Whoever worships him more, whatever side invokes his name the strongest is the one who gets his aid.

He shows up sobbing at his mother’s door, whole body vibrating in pain because the soldiers shout his name in a glorious chorus and he should be with them now, but instead he’s here. Hera grabs his upper arms to keep him upright, eyes wide and concerned.

“I don’t want them to win,” he confesses, the words making his lips burn, “the soldiers are simply soldiers, but the generals and lords and kings seek glory for money, for profit, for nothing but selfishness. Their enemies only want to live.”

“I will take care of it,” she swears to him, and he has no idea how she expects to do that. Yet he trusts she’ll find a way, because she always does. He comes to his mother, asking her to help him, and she always has. “Now go, before you are hurt even more.”

He goes.

~

Hera had no influence on the battlefield.

But it is not solely the battlefield where tributes are made.

She is the goddess of marriage and family.

She goes to wives and husbands, to sons and daughters, to sisters and brothers. She whispers in their ears, speaks of devotion and fealty, makes them all wail for their missing family members caught up in a war none of them wanted.

Hera brings their grief and desperation to the fore, until they’re nearly mad with their need to have their family brought home.

They build a temple to Ares, sacrifice gold and food and anything of value they can spare. They cry prayers over hearth fires, and burn messages to the god of war to bring their family members home.

~

The tides change. He’s midway through the battle when the he feels the shift, when he realizes his mother somehow did as she promised and he no longer has to fight for these people, that now he can fight against them.

He doesn’t want to fight at all. But if he must, then at least he can fight for those he believes in.

Ares doesn’t allow himself to fall into bitterness or anger at his father often. But he wishes, not for the first time, that Zeus had named him the god of justice, of peace, of fairness, of loyalty. That Zeus had named him the god of something he believed in, something he could believe in fighting for.

All war does is kill good men and women, all it does is breed resentment and anger in the victors and losers both.

Although. Ares is of the opinions that wars never have any true victors. Just people that lose less than the people they’re fighting.

~

There is a lull. No one is invoking him powerfully enough that he can’t ignore their cries.

He goes to Haephestus’s volcano and slides into a magma pool, the burning heat of the lava the perfect temperature to work out the knots of stress in his back and thighs.

“It’s unnerving to see you in there,” his brother says, and Ares opens his eyes to see Hephaestus looking down at him in concern. “You look tired.”

Permanent purple bruises have formed under his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he saw himself without them. Everything hurts, it always hurts, even when there is peace there are people who covet war and call out to him and it tears at him whenever he leaves a tribute unanswered. He’s exhausted and rode hard, stretched so thin that he’s terrified he’ll snap at any moment.

He looks at Hephaestus’s concern and admits to him something he hasn’t told anyone, something he’s too afraid to say to his mother just in case she decides to smite Zeus for it. “I think that these wars might be killing me.”

His brother’s face goes tight, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s all right. Ares hadn’t expected him to – there really is nothing to say.

He wonders if the screams will still find him in death.

~

“I need a favor,” Hephaestus says the next time Athena comes to visit, wringing his hands, anxious in a way he usually doesn’t let anyone see.

Athena tilts her head to side. “I’m listening.”

~

Ares is resting, the moon high as he lays back in the middle of the battle camp and tries to quiet the cries in his head enough to catch even an hour of sleep.

“War is not just about fighting, about blood and battle.”

His eyes pop open and he looks over to see Athena sitting by his side. He pushes himself up cautiously. “Sorry?”

“You should pay more attention to the generals,” she says, “war isn’t won with blood. It’s won with strategy. With planning, with tactics.”

“I don’t know much about all that,” he admits, “it’s enough of a struggle just to keep up with the soldiers.”

Her face softens, “I know. That’s why I’m here. No one expects to win wars alone, Ares.”

This is how Athena, goddess of knowledge and weaving, becomes a goddess of war. She is a master of strategy, of planning campaigns, of ensuring that a victory on the battlefield remains a victory at home.

Some of his tributes go to her. Some people pray to Athena now instead of him.

He still hears the screaming. He still doesn’t sleep.

But it relieves just enough pressure that it feels like he can breathe again.

~

Ares and Athena are not the only names that get invoked on the battlefield.

Hades’s name has constantly been on their lips. They damn their enemies to a torturous afterlife, to thrice the pain and suffering they receive on the battlefield.

He tries to ignore it. It is not his domain. But the more he hears it, that more it stabs at him. Most of these people are soldiers. Cursing generals is well enough, but most soldiers didn’t choose to be here. He didn’t choose to be here.

Ares has never been to the underworld. It’s the one place his mother never let him venture.

He knows that the smart thing to do would be to go to his brother and ask him to speak to Hecate, the woman who raised him. Or even Hades himself – he doesn’t know how well Hephaestus knows the gods of the underworld. For all that he grew up there, he doesn’t speak of it much.

But if Hades’s wrath is to fall on anyone, Ares would rather it be him.

It’s easy enough to follow the souls of recently departed soldiers to the River Styx. Charon presses a hand to his shoulder and asks, “What business do you have here, God of War?”

“I knew a child who was called Kore,” he answers, and he doesn’t expect this to work, but he hopes it will. “I wish to speak to a woman who calls herself Persephone.”

He can’t see Charon’s face, but the air around him turns thoughtful. “It is summer. The Lady is with her mother.”

Oh.

He’d forgotten about that.

“Then I request an audience with her husband,” he says, and he clasps his hands behind his back so that Charon can’t see them shaking. He can’t turn into a mess here. People are screaming in his mind, but he can’t let it get to him here, not if he wants anyone to take him seriously, not if he wants to help his fellow soldiers instead of hurting them.

“You are not dead, and so I cannot ferry you across the Styx,” Charon says, almost apologetically. “But – hold on.” He turns to the river, “Goddess Styx, could you come here?”

A little girl with skin even darker than Hephaestus’s and eyes and hair of soft grey appears in front of them. “Yes?”

Charon points to him, “He wishes to speak to our lord.”

Styx turns her grey eyes on him, and he can’t help but feel unnerved. She circles him, looking him up and down, seemingly looking into him. “Very well,” she says at last. She moves her arms together, then apart. Two sides of the river flow in opposite directions so that a dry walking path is revealed in the river bed. “Move quickly. The longer I maintain a break in my river, the longer things besides you may be able to sneak across.”

“Thank you,” he gives her a shallow bow, and then goes sprinting across the riverbed. It takes him longer than it should – the river is not overly wide, and it should be quick, but it seems like he runs nearly an hour to reach the other side. He heaves himself onto shore, panting, and as soon as he’s across the river comes crashing together once more, flowing back into the proper direction.

~

He makes it to Hades’s palace, but once again it takes longer than it seems it should. It takes too long, he’s been away from the battle field too long, and it shows. He tries to pull himself together, he’s come too far to fall apart now, but it seems to be a wasted effort. The screaming of people crying his name is so loud he can’t hear anything else, and it paralyzes him, he can’t move, he can’t feel, his muscles are tense enough to snap because he needs to answer the people calling for him, but he can’t there’s no easy way out of the underworld so he’s just stuck here –

Suddenly it all cuts off to a dull roar, and he gasps as he comes back to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying. Hands cup his face, and calloused thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. “You must be Ares,” a soft voice says, “Charon said you were coming. Are you all right?”

He forces his eyes open, and Hades, King of the Dead, swims into focus. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” his eyebrows dip together. “What are you doing here?”

He grabs Hades’s hands, and pulls them from is his face, but leaves their fingers tangled together. Luckily Hades doesn’t pull away. Ares doesn’t know what would happen if he did. “I – I know that they invoke you to punish their enemies, on the battlefield. They dedicate some of the pyres to you and ask you to burn their enemies in death, for eternity.”

“I hear them,” he says, “I know what they say.”

“Try not to,” he begs, and he can hear the screaming still, he’s shaking and can’t stop and he wanted to appear strong while asking the god of the dead for a favor but he’s barely able to keep standing. “I know they ask of it, I know they erect tributes and we must all answer the call of our names, but they’re not evil. They – some of them are, I mean, but don’t – try not to – please,” he ends on, and it’s just not fair that the soldiers must continue fighting after their death. Most of them hadn’t wanted to fight while they were alive.

Hades still looks confused, and Ares will beg if he has to, he knows it’s hard to go against what worshipers demand but this is important. He’s about to try again when Hades says, “I am the god of the death, lord of the underworld. Ares, I hear their cries but I am not bound by them. I rule the dead. The dead do not rule me.”

He stares. He – he’s never heard of something like that before. He answers the call of war because he must, his mother is bound by the chains of her marriage because she is the goddess of family. Demeter’s power is from the earth and of the earth, and when it suffers she suffers, even Poseidon is not immune to the sea’s temperament. Their powers are all double edged, half blessing and half curse.

“Oh,” he settles on finally. “Kore – I mean, Persephone?” They tell tales of the punishments she inflicts on those that have upset her. He knew her as a child, and he’s less surprised than most by what she became.

“My wife does what pleases her, and nothing else,” Hades answers. Ares doesn’t understand. She is Queen of Life and Death, how can that not pull at her, how does it not twist her into a shape she doesn’t recognize?

“Okay,” he says, and he has to leave, but at least he no longer has to worry so much after fallen soldiers. “I apologize for the intrusion. I should go.”

Hades slides his hands up his arms, and settles at his shoulders, and oh, Ares becomes distracted enough by those hands on him that for a moment it’s almost quiet in his own head. “If you like. You may stay as well. It seems as if you could use some rest.”

He drops his head forward on Hades’s shoulder, and he likes the solidity of him, the undercurrent of strength and power he gives off. He’s never met the man before, this is entirely inappropriate, but when Hades’s hands settle onto his hips he wants nothing more than curl up in his arms and ignore the war for a little while.

Hades feels like peace. He’d forgotten what that felt like. “I can’t stay.”

The god of the dead presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw that ignites something in Ares that has been absent since before he was declared the god of war. He wonders what Hades would do if he kissed him properly, he wonders if he pulled off his blood and war stained clothes if Hades would touch his too-hot skin. “Then I request that you return,” the god of death says.

He shouldn’t. The time he manages to not be on a battlefield should be spent with his mother, or Hephaestus. He shifts enough to press their foreheads together. He looks into Hades’s dark eyes, and says, “I will.”

Ares returns to the midst of war feeling lighter than he has in a long time.


gods and monsters series, part xviii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

2

A/N: Request from anon. Something like this was going through my head for a while now. I love how readers just read my mind sometimes. Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 1984
Warnings: mental breakdown, mentions of parent death

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Start Over.

(a quick story on what happened after Dark walked away from the mirror…)


“Damien! Damien, it’s time to come out now! This game isn’t going on anymore!”
The Colonel had been wandering aimlessly through the whole manor twice now, this time peeking underneath chairs and around doors. The excitement of this little game of hide and seek was still buzzing inside him, even after three hours, and he was looking forward to finding his friends, seeing their faces of mocked disappointment and then laughter. Just like their school days. He was starting to appreciate Mark’s little get together. Strange how quiet the house seemed now though. Oh so quiet. Except for a light ringing in his ears that seemed to follow him. “Come on! Where are you hiding?”
“I’m here, William.” said a familiar voice.
The Colonel spun around fast to the voice and saw Damien standing in the doorway, loosely holding his cane in his hand. A smile instantly rose under William’s moustache, but it faded slightly as he observed Damien more carefully. Something was off. He looked untidy, which was unnatural for Damien; his usual flatly press shirt was now unbuttoned and open at the collar, and his pristine white bowtie was missing. His hair was no longer slipped back but dangling loosely over the side of his face, nearly covering his eye. And… was that eyeliner? A bruised black eye? Either way it brought out that rather intimidating stare he was giving him.
William laughed and clapped his hands as he slowly approached him. “Damien! Very well done. You really got me! For a while there I actually thought you were dead!” As he got to Damien, he reached out and held his arm, just to confirm he was really there. “My goodness, you look awful! Did a dog attack you or something?”
Damien glanced down at William’s hand. He knew by the straining ligaments in the his hand and the sharp creases of his blazer sleeve between William’s fingers that it was a tight and desperate grip… but he couldn’t feel it. One side of his mind reasoned that, well, obviously we wouldn’t be able to feel anything, being a corpse now. The other side of his mind just wanted to cry. Damien rested his cold hand on William’s and sighed. “… I had a small accident, yes.” He told him, stiffly tilting his neck to one side for a second.
The Colonel chuckled, “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I found you!” Scanning Damien’s body, he saw the cane and was reminded. “-Oh, also, you left these behind.” He pulled out of his pockets Damien’s black Mayor badge and his white bowtie, and passed them to Damien. “Wouldn’t want to go back to the office without them, would ya?” he chuckled again, his voice breaking, almost making his laughing seem like sobbing. “Now, where is Celine?” He let go of his friend and began to wander out of the room again, stumbling over his feet like a toddler. “Celine! Darling, where are you hiding?”
As William turned a corner, Damien stepped out of the doorway ahead of him. For a moment, the Colonel wondered how he got there so quick. “Celine is gone, Colonel.” Damien assured him. This was a lie. She was, in some ways, standing right in front of him.
William frowned a little in confusion. “…Gone? She left already? I didn’t see her go.” There was pause for thought. Damien’s mind was racing. Tell him the truth. No, that will make him madder than he already is. But it’s cruel, he’s our friend. He still thinks I’m Damien, I think that’s enough to keep him satisfied for now. But what about me?
Just as Damien was about to answer, William started to laugh. “She probably ran away! Yes. Couldn’t stand the failure of me finding her. She was never that good at hide and seek, even when we were young. You remember, our old games of hide and seek?”
Damien nodded. His mind gave a sigh, one of relief, one of frustration.
“Ah. Good times.” The Colonel began to pass Damien until he was stopped by Damien’s cane. In the distance was the sound of approaching police sirens.
Damien looked at him sternly. “Listen, Colonel. We have to go now.”
“Why? Go where?”
“Away from this house.” He began to head to a nearby door. “The police will be coming soon.”
William followed him, still perplexed. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Mark is dead.”
William stopped instantly. Damien hung back and cautiously watched as fear casted over William’s face. He stuttered, “… But he isn’t. I… I didn’t kill him. It was a joke, right?”
“Yes, it was a joke.” Damien insisted as he returned to William’s side and hooked his arm through his. He tugged William with him as he strode towards the door and said, “More sinister than a joke. It was a set up. Mark was angry at you and Celine so he set you up so you would get arrested.”
Letting Damien pull him towards the door, William pressed, “But he’s not dead. They can’t arrest me, I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yes, you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter to the police. They don’t care if the suspect is the real criminal or falsely accused; they just want to capture a bad guy, put him away, and get a promotion for it.” They reached the door, where Damien swung the Colonel in front of him so he could look him in the eye and tell him firmly, “Never trust the police, Colonel. Never.”
William nodded lightly, a little scared at how cold his friend’s gaze has gotten. “…Ok, I won’t in future.”
“Come on, then.” Damien open the door and walked outside.
William paused as he remembered. “Wait… what about Bully? They’re still in there.”
“They don’t matter now.” Damien called back as he continued to walk away and up the path that lead up to the mountain side. “Nothing does.”
William spotted that Damien left his cane leaning against the wall next to the door. Why would he leave it? He picked it up and ran after Damien, just as the police sirens stopped and car doors started to open and close.


The police wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they had saw them. Within the blink of an eye, Damien and William would have jumped an extra mile ahead of where they would have previously been seen. But still the hike was slow for them. Damien’s mind rushed with regrets of picking a body with a broken leg as well as a broken neck. Best to just teleport to places in future.
Suddenly William jumped to his side and put the cane back in Damien’s hand. “You seem to be hobbling there, old boy. Use your cane, for goodness sakes. You need it now more than ever before!” William chuckled.
Damien didn’t smile. He let the cane fall from his fingers. “It’s not mine anymore.” He walked on.
William picked the cane back up and tried to catch up to him. “But you’re the Mayor. This is yours. It was given to you by-”
“Not anymore!” Damien yelled, staring at William with the look of a snarling wolf. On seeing William retreat with a startled gaze, Damien looked away and sighed, trying to calm down. Rolling his shoulders, he growled, “Mark is the Mayor now.”
“How? Why?”
“Because he got away and… is pretending to be me.” He took my body. He took my life with it, actually. He felt his fists clenching up and his shell cracking. “I bet it was him who called the police on you. They believe him now, not me…” He sighed and looked to the ground. “I can’t be Damien anymore.” He looked back at William, who was shuffling his way closer, still holding tight to the cane. “And you can’t be Colonel William Warford anymore.”
William blinked in shock. “What? Why?”
“Because the police are looking for a Colonel William Warford! They’re probably on a man hunt for you. You’ll have to change your name so they don’t find you.”
His face fell to a pout fit for a guilty puppy’s face. “But…. I like ‘William’.”
Damien sighed and thought for a second. Let him have it. His nickname, at least. “… Will… You can have Will.”
His smile miraculously grew back as he cheered, “Yay! Will Warford.”
“Wilford.”
“Huh?”
Something that hadn’t appeared on Damien’s face for a small while showed up; a smile. It didn’t seem to suit him anymore. But he still smiled, because Wilford was smiling right back at him. “Wilford sounds better don’t you think?”
Wilford beamed. “… Yes. It sounds cleaner, authoritarian, powerful.”
“Suits you more than William, if I might say.” Damien said and they continued their trek down the mountain. They were coming close to a town. They would stay there for a while, just until they had thought out how they would get their lives back.
“What about you?” Wilford asked just to break the silence. “What’s your name gonna be now?”
Damien shrugged, “I don’t know.” After a small pause he admitted, “I wish I was still Damien.” His hands were in his pockets for the majority of the journey, the left hand was busy running the black silk of the Mayor badge he once wore through his fingers, the right hand was gripping the bowtie. His skin seemed to turn grey as anger built up inside him. “I wish this never happened. I wish it never had to be this way. I wish I had power enough to turn back time and stop all this happening to us… Or at least, I wish I had the power to go back and kill Mark myself when I had the chance.”
“Wow!” Wilford yelled suddenly, breaking Damien’s concentrated rage. He giggled nervously and said, “You got a little dark there, all of a sudden. Are you alright, Damien?”
Damien stopped walking. … That would be ironic wouldn’t it. It rhymes with the back-stabbing son of a bitch’s name anyway. Wouldn’t it make our justice a little sweeter?
He looked up with his new abnormally creepy smile. “… Dark.”
“Huh?”
Dark looked back to Wilford and told him, “Call me Dark from now on. Dark and Wilford. A nice fresh start for all of us.” He swung his arm around Wilford’s shoulders and rested it there as they both walked together.  
“Yeah. Dark and Wilford!… Wilford… War… Wilford War.” Wilford shook his head. “Doesn’t sound nice with just War on the end.”
“We’ll find something for you.” Dark assured.
Wilford looked around him, then at the cane he held. He gasped and held out the cane as he declared, “Wilford War-stick!”
Dark scowled at him. “…No.”
Wilford sighed disappointedly and looked around again. “Wilford War… branch!”
“No. That’s even worse.” Dark took his arm off Wilford’s shoulders and walked on ahead.
“Wilford Warburton?… War-butt-on! Haha!”
“Stop it.”


“Wilford Wardrobe!” Wilford announced, his voice muffled from the inside of the hotel cupboard.
Dark opened the cupboard door and scowled at Wilford who looked at him with an expression that was trying hard to contain a laugh. “It’s not funny anymore.” Dark groaned, hanging his blazer up on a wire hanger.
Wilford observed Dark’s sullen face and frowned. “You found it funny before? Even since we found each other after the chaos back at the manor, I haven’t heard you laugh, not even mockingly. It’s like you’ve suddenly changed, Damien.”
Dark’s lip twitched and he growled, “… I have changed. For a start, I’m not Damien anymore!!”
Wilford flinched. He had not seen Damien- sorry, Dark, in this way. It was usually him who would snap at Dark, and Dark would retreat or just give up having the argument with him. Now… Wilford felt scared to anger him. Not because he was scared of getting hurt. But because he was scared Dark was going to get sick of him and leave him.
Dark saw the fear in Wilford’s eyes through his rose-tinted glasses. That was uncalled for. Let him say it. He’s known ‘Damien’ for years, it’ll take a while to adjust. “… Sorry.” Dark mumbled. “I’m sorry Will. I… I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s fine.” Wilford said as he began to climb out of the cupboard. “Mark has obviously made you angry. He’s made me a little peeved too. Trying to play dead on me so that blasted bastard detective would put me away. Ha!” He walked into the bathroom and continued calling to Dark, “To be honest, the detective is the only person I wish this whole ‘playing dead’ thing wasn’t a joke! Haha!”
Dark didn’t answer. Both sides of him saddened.
“I think I should change my appearance.” Wilford abruptly called out from the bathroom.
Dark blinked. “Sorry?”
Wilford took off his glasses and looked into the mirror. He brushed his moustache with the tips of his fingers. “Well, if I change my name, I should change how I look too! Like you did! You’ve changed from Damien to Dark, and also changed from a well-suited Mayor to a bummed-out businessman! Haha!”
“…Yes.” Dark said. He had moved to the waste bin and turned out his pockets. He took out his bowtie and stared at it. He wondered… He walked to the bathroom. “Here.” he said, placing his bowtie on the side of the sink. “I don’t need this anymore.”
Wilford stared at the bowtie for a while. He smiled. It reminded him of Damien. He held it up to his collar. Nice, but it need to be a bit more colourful. The sound of wood snapping came from the other room and Wilford peeked out to see Dark had snapped his cane in half. He put the broken pieces in the waste bin along with the Mayor badge. Wilford huffed and laughed, “You really are taking this disguise thing seriously!”


Wilford had been gone for a while; he said he had an idea and needed to go to the launderette. Dark sat in the room alone. Well, as alone as a body with two souls could be. There was a deep conversation going on inside his mind.
He’s not going to continue acting like ‘Mayor Damien’. Yeah, he’s got a new identity he can use, so he’s probably going to find another life to live. He could be anywhere. Not so, there’s still a chance we can find him. He’s in your body anyway, I’m sure you’d be able to sense him whenever he’s near. …Maybe. It’s still going to be difficult, like finding a needle in a hay stack. But remember, this is a very shiny needle. If he’s still as pompous and arrogant, and still pursuing show business, he’ll be shouting where he is to the sky and back. …Possibly. You need to be more positive about this. …How can I be positive while a head-up-his-own-ass fucker is walking around in my body while we’re both stuck in this broken, numb carcass and have to be tied to the trigger-happy madman our friend has become?! Damien! … I’m sorry, Celine. It’s just… it’s not fair. Hey, think about the soul this body belongs to, trapped in that horrible mansion. Do you think they’re having a fairer time than us? …No. I can’t believe you made me do that, to throw them out, our friend that you helped get a job, the friend that trusted us. If you’re so mad about it, then why did you come along for this ride?
“Ha ha ha HA!” The door to the room was kicked open. Wilford tip-toed into the room holding his coat over his body to hide from Dark like a curtain.
“What did you do?”
Wilford dropped the coat and stood tall with his arms out wide. “Ta-da!” He didn’t look much different; only four things had changed. One, he wasn’t wearing his glasses, two, his suspender had faded from red to pink, and three, on his collar of his mustard shirt he wore a bowtie as equally pink as the suspenders. But the fourth change really caught Dark’s eye. His once thick brown moustache was now trimmed to a curly perfection and coloured a beautiful rosy pink. With a proud smile and a flourishing bow, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Wilford Warfstache!”
As soon as the coat dropped Dark had been staring at Wilford with wide eyes and mouth agape. Wilford held his pose waiting for a response eagerly; he spent a good few hours trying to wash out his suspenders with his new bowtie, while also trying to find the right Kool Aid drink-mix power that would give a similar rosy shade to his moustache. After a moment of utter silence, Dark smiled a genuine smile and said, “… It’s incredible!”
Wilford released himself from his pose and picked up his coat to hang it up. “Do you think the pink will stand out a bit too much?”
Dark nodded, “Absolutely. It’s pompous and wild and unorthodox. Suits you down to the ground.”
Wilford smiled at Dark as he headed into the bathroom. “Thank you!” He went to mirror to admire his handy work, never losing his wide and childish smile. He sighed, “Goodness, if only Celine was here to see this. What will she think?”
“… She’d be proud of you, Will.”
Wilford peeked around the door to Dark, who was walking over to him. “You think so?”
Dark was still smiling, but there was something in his expression. Uncertainty? Or was it pride? Either way he looked at Wilford in the same way a parent looks at their child accomplishing their dreams. “I know so.” Dark answered.
For some reason that sentence hit him hard in the chest. Almost as if Celine was right in front of him, which made him feel ecstatic. He walked up to Dark and surprised him with a tight hug. “Thanks, Dark.” Dark patted his back carefully, he didn’t want his shell to shatter just yet. Wilford finally pulled away from Dark and made his way to his room for bed; it had been a heavy past few days, but he didn’t really mind. All his friends were alive, Dark was going to stick with him for a while, and he got to express himself, finally, after so many years of intense mental and physical battles.
Damien? Yeah? Moments like that are why I came along for the ride.

Punk (Chap. 8)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 4284…oops

Warnings: Same as always

A/N: Okay here it is chapter 8.  Let me know if the flow of this chapter is okay, if it makes sense.  I’d like to get a better feel of how I construct scenes so I can improve for the future.  I LOVE feedback, you have no idea.  So don’t be afraid to lemme know how you feel!

Also, there is a line in here with an asterisk (*) after it.  It is a paraphrase from Criminal Minds season 3 episode 8 said by Penelope Garcia to Derek Morgan and it is something that has always stuck with me and I just thought it was so perfect for this chapter.



Perhaps watching Investigation Discovery’s documentary on the world’s most notorious serial killers at one o’clock in the morning while finishing off the leftover apple pie in an essentially deserted tower wasn’t the smartest move.  Every sound was suddenly more sinister and every shadow could be hiding a deranged murderer who wanted nothing more than to chop off your head and keep it in the freezer, which had startled you so badly when it spit out ice cubes into its inner bin that you spilled an entire glass of water on Ferdinand who ran shrieking from the room and knocked over what was probably a very expensive vase. Fuck.

Keep reading

Reward.

Bucky Barnes/Reader/Matt Murdock.

Warnings: SMUT.  Threesome, porn without plot, terrible writting, double penetration, oral sex (fr), unprotected sex (this is fantasy, we’re all adults. Remember that safe sex is the best sex), dirty talk, excessive use of endearments. Me being a shameless thirsty hoe.

Word Count: 3866.

Rating: 18+

Masterlist

This came up thanks to @asirenscalling because, while I was rewatching Daredevil, we started to talk about this scenario, so thank her for this.

Also @sexylibrarian1 said she needed it and @thecrownedrose because she’s amazing and we like to spoil each other. 

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                              GAME STARTERS VOL.1       ( ALICE: MADNESS RETURNS )     

  1. ❛ The past must be paid for. ❜
  2. ❛ Only the insane equate pain with success. ❜
  3. ❛ I’d like to forget what you did. I’ve tried, but I can’t. ❜
  4. ❛ Is it mad to pray for better hallucinations? ❜
  5. ❛ I know I’m guilty of something, but punishment hardly ever suits the victim of a crime. ❜
  6. ❛ You’ve used me and abused me, but you will not destroy me! ❜
  7. ❛ It’s not a dream. It’s a – memory. And it makes me sick. ❜
  8. ❛ I am fine. I’m not mad. I am innocent, I mean, —- not guilty! ❜
  9. ❛ I’ve not come back here looking for a fight. ❜
  10. ❛ Save myself? From death? I’m not afraid to die. Times I’ve welcomed death! ❜
  11. ❛ I want to forget! Who would choose to be alone, imprisoned by their broken memories? ❜
  12. ❛ Threats, promises and good intentions don’t amount to action. ❜
  13. ❛ We’re at risk here. You, be on your guard. ❜
  14. ❛ A secret is only a secret when it is unspoken to another. ❜
  15. ❛ How fine you look when dressed in rage. ❜
  16. ❛ The uninformed must improve their deficit, or die. ❜
  17. ❛ Authority must be obeyed, or it must be overthrown. ❜
  18. ❛ You shouldn’t ask questions you know the answers to, it’s not polite. ❜
  19. ❛ Make your survival mean something, or we are all doomed. ❜
  20. ❛ Memory is more often a curse than a blessing. ❜
  21. ❛ The real world is not so wonderful. You’ll need to grow up. ❜
  22. ❛ You look decent enough. But appearances deceive. ❜
  23. ❛ You are no help at all when I know you can be. ❜
  24. ❛ You’re as randomly lethal and entirely confused as you ever were. ❜
  25. ❛ I’ve managed without you so far. Return to whatever hovel’s home to you, I’ll call if I need you. ❜
  26. ❛ What? There’s no hope, then? ❜
  27. ❛ Failure as your epitaph? I’d hoped you were more courageous. ❜
  28. ❛ You are someone I once knew and loved. Time changes us all. ❜
  29. ❛ The malignant royal bitch still reigns. ❜
  30. ❛ I believe I know that way and I’d rather not travel further along it. ❜
  31. ❛ They are dead, and you should be too. ❜
  32. ❛ You misbegotten abomination! Murderer! You bloodsucking parasite! ❜
  33. ❛ You psychotic, hysterical bitch! ❜
  34. ❛ Come to receive your punishment then? ❜
  35. ❛ There is so little hope and if fear paralyses you we’re lost. ❜
Arkham Knight (Jason Todd x Reader)

Requested by: anon

Summary: you are Batgirl and Jason kidnaps you because it’s part of his revenge, but you and Jason used to be a couple before he was kidnapped by Joker. Jason is angry, but beneath all the rage he still loves you passionately.

Warnings: smut! + smut is usually not what I write but I hope you like it anyway

A/N: It’s some while ago since I’ve read Arkham Knight Genesis and I haven’t played the game yet because I’m poor, so please excuse if there are inaccuracies.

»»»»
Your head was spinning and throbbing as you regained your consciousness. The memory of what happened floated back in and you tore your eyes open, awaiting the worst.
You were laying on the ground with no restraints on your wrists for your own surprise, but as you looked around and saw him, a slight wash of panic broke free, making your heart run.

The Arkham Knight was leaning relaxed against a wall, looking at you with crossed arms. “Good morning.” His static voice made you flinch.

You sat up straight and fixed your face. He couldn’t see you were intimidated. “How did you know?” Your voice is frosty, bulletproof, letting no emotions show. You were asking how he knew you were Batgirl. How he figured your identity out, because you made sure it was impossible.
You and Batman made sure.

“I know more about you than you think.”

“Then you know that I won’t allow you to kill me. Isn’t that what you want? To make Batman suffer?” It was obvious and didn’t need the world’s greatest detective to figure out that he was driven by unspeakable rage, that this was personal.

He straightened up. “I couldn’t kill you.”

You nodded. He could try, but you wouldn’t go out without putting on the fight of your life.

“No.” He took a step towards you.

You dug your fingertips into the floor, trying not to flinch away. Show your opponent no fear or weakness, Bruce’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.

“I couldn’t kill you, (Y/N).” The Arkham Knight repeated, but his daring voice was softer this time, holding something almost like defeated.

You rose to your feet with your brows furrowed in confusion. “Who are you?” Your heart was banging against your chest, wanting you to escape, but your mind told you to stay calm. “Why do you hate Batman so much?”

The Arkham Knight inhaled deeply and turned to the side. He pressed a button on his helmet and it lifted up, revealing his face to you.

Your feet carried you backwards until your back was pressed against the wall. Your heart stopped beating and crunched, your throat felt tight like someone had a hand wrapped around your neck and your stomach twisted, making you feel sick.
Your limbs felt numb, your eyes were wide with horrors and terrors while your lips quivered.
You couldn’t form a single syllable, but tears started to leak from your eyes, running silently down your cheeks from the simple sight of him.

“Missed me?” Jason’s voice was clear now. It sounded so hurt, so broken and sore.

You breathed in sharply and collected yourself as good as you could. You swallowed hard and suddenly your feet moved forward towards him.

Jason turned past you fully now, pulling a gun making you stop. Your eyes wide once again seeing the scarred J on his cheek. 

“You and Bruce had no clue it was me, did you?” His gaze was tired and broke, like everything about him. His eyes that once were full of wit and life now seemed dull and dark.

“We thought you died. I thought you died.” You whispered with tears welling.

“But did you mourn? You were glad to finally get rid of me. How long did it take til he replaced me, huh. Till you replaced me?!” He growled through gritted teeth.

You narrowed your eyes what made even more tears stream. “That’s what you think?” Your voice broke. “You’re blinded by rage, Jason. We all mourned. We all broke!”

“You broke?” He lowered the gun and stepped forward. “You broke?! I was tortured day and night in that abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum! LOOK AT ME!”

You clenched your jaw and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Every second of the day I hoped, no, I was sure Bruce and you would save me and then he showed me that picture… you just replaced me–” Jason’s voice shook. “He was beating me up with a crowbar for hours and you just lived on… you just left me to die.”

“No.” You shook your head. “That’s not how it was.” You tried again to reach him, but the gun was pointed between your eyes once more. “If you know so much then you know this is a lie. That Joker wants you to think exactly that. I love you, Jason! I still do! I always have! I–”

“Don’t say that!” He said and something threatening was gleaming in the tone. “Don’t you dare!”

“I WAS TRYING TO FIND YOU!”

He unlocked his gun.

“I DIDN’T STOP TO SEARCH FOR YOU, JASON. Day and night. Day after day after day. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, hell, neither did Bruce!” You started to walk past him. He wouldn’t pull the trigger. He was still Jason underneath this all, underneath all pain Joker made him suffer.

“LIES!”

“Then he sent that… that video.” You grabbed the gun and he let go of it without a fight. “I shouldn’t have believed it. You are right. I should have saved you. You are right. But I didn’t. Bruce didn’t. But you– this all here, your rage, your bloodlust… that’s not you, Jason. You need to stop!”

He grabbed you and pushed you against the wall. His breath hit your face. “What makes you think that, huh? You’ve seen what I have done out there already, just wait–”

You take a hold of his face; gentle but firm enough so he couldn’t back away and your lips found his in a kiss full of pain and sorrow.
He fought it at first, flinching away from someone’s touch, but Jason had never forgotten the feeling of his lips against yours, how they locked into each other, dancing perfectly with one another and it was like balm for his soul.
He kissed you harder, all his anger crushed between your and his lips as his head started to spin and get hazy, longing for more, for you.
He grabbed your hips firmly, pressing you further into the wall and you inhaled a sharp breath, breaking the kiss for only a second before the passionate war raged on for a second time.
Your tongue traced his rough lip, being greeted by his own for their own little performance.
He hummed against your mouth and the vibrations travelled right to your core, spreading warmth and excitement through your entire body.
You broke apart and kissed along his jaw.
Jason smelled like summer rain and guns.
Your teeth sunk into the skin where his jaw met his neck. You remembered his body like he was never gone.

His breaths were shaking and his still gloved hands tangled in your hair as you licked over the spot to ease the attack.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tugged onto your hair to guide your head away from his neck.

You opened your eyes, looking in blue ones that were clouded with lust, rage and undeniably love.

“I love you.” You repeated beneath a whisper and that was all Jason needed.

He picked you up so effortlessly. You sucked and caressed the sensitive skin of his neck like it was honey. His breathing was heavily and loud.
Your fingertips were crawling on his amour, desperately needing it to be gone as he carried you into another room.
He let you down and finally started to remove the suit. You pulled your shirt of your body and he ripped your bra apart with ease.
You closed your eyes and arched into his harsh hands as he cupped your breasts. He missed the smooth feeling of them laying in his palms.

Your eyes had meanwhile gazed over his bare chest and sadness shot into them, because they couldn’t handle what they saw. Countless scars. Everyone held different terrors.

Jason noticed your switch in moods, and he didn’t want your pity, he wanted your raw, passionate feelings, your unconditional love. He pinched your nipples roughly earning a yelp out of your mouth.
He lowered himself and sucked hickies on your flesh, licking and biting your breasts.

You shoved at his chest and he dropped onto the bed, gaping at you as you crawled onto him, ready to devour him entirely.

“I love you.” You whispered once again. Your hot breath targeted on his neck what made him shiver and grab your thighs. He rubbed circular patterns that made you sigh with satisfaction.

You kissed down his neck, sucked on his collarbone and licked the useless buds on his chest before you crawled farther down, making sure to leave soothing kisses on his scars.

Jason was biting his lips, rolling his head back. Groans and razor breaths escaped from deep within him. He fisted the bed sheets tightly as you reached the waistline of his briefs and Jason thought he would lose it right there as you looked up from beneath your long lashes, locking your gaze with his.

You pulled the fabric away, revealing his thick shaft. A hiss echoed through the room as you lick up the length of his cock, kissing the tip before sucking just so slightly.
Jason was switching from trying to keep his eyes open and squeezing them shut as waves of pleasures rushed through his body.

You removed the rest of clothing remaining on your body and straddled him.
You were caged in a beautiful hazy bubble, the world outside of it was like a distant memory.

Your finger intertwined tightly which each others, lacing together, stronger than handcuffs.

“Jay…” You breathed out as you moved your hips, pushing his hard cock inside of you as your dripping walls welcomed him gladly and both of your moans aligned in a symphony, speaking to each other.

You found a steady pace, but Jason needed to be closer to you. This wasn’t enough.
He flipped you on your back and attacked your neck with kisses as he pounded into you at a slow but deep rhythm.

Your finger run through his dark roots, tugging just so slightly as his name rolled over your lips over and over again alongside curses.

“I love you, too.” He pressed his forehead to yours. He wasn’t able to control his voice any longer and more and more moans broke free that drove you crazy.

You arched your back as his thrusts became more violent and chaotic. “Jason!” Your shaking fingers dug into his arms. Your body was lifted into another sphere.

“Look at me.” He whispered followed by hissing. “Look at me, (Y/N)!” At this point you were willing to do everything he wanted you to do. He was in control.
It felt like he took all of it, all you had over your body and you had no clue how you managed to open your eyes, but you did.

“I love you, too.” He showed himself completely vulnerable to you, completely broken as he came undone and the sweet sounds he made, your name and ohs and fucks and his eyes staring back at yours, rolling in the back of his head was all it needed to sent you over the edge as well, following closely after him, dissolving before crashing back together at full speed. Pure ecstasy.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck. You felt him catch his breath as you nuzzled against his head.