Ghost Doesn't Cutesy Talk Cats, He Talks To Them Like Other Adult Men And It's Hilarious.

NO WAIT MERLIN IS HIS YOUNGER BROTHER WHO GOT THE JASKIER TWINK GENE AND THE FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT GERALT GENE

Gwaine is Geralt of Rivia’s and Jaskier’s love child. The skills of Geralt and the charisma and dumbassery of Jaskier

Come for Hozier

Stay for Alex and Melissa

Leonid Pasternak  (Ukrainian, 1862–1945) - The Torments of Creative Work

errrmm idk i have been feeling sluggish and kitty-like all day so I decided to indulge in some fantasies. poly141 with kitty reader who's just a wild, feral little sleepy princess. *mdni* and also be aware of mentions of violence as well as tiny bits of smut! I scribbled this like a madman with his poetry back in the days, under candlelight, breathing feverishly, needing it out of me like some kind of demon needing to be exorcised. So needless to say it's not perfect, not reread, not corrected. Just some raw piece of my messed up lil head! Okay ^___^ Oki enjoy.

It's no secret that you're the team's secret weapon — some half-wild failed scientist experiment that left you more animal than human. Most people don't know exactly what it is you do, or what has been done to you, but they know that if even Ghost is afraid of you, then they better stay in your good graces.

You're a small thing, compared to those men, though in the real world you'd probably be deemed average sized. But next to them, you're tiny, small, even. You play coy and gentle and kind, never having to lift a finger because your boys do it all for you.

Sometimes you will simply drop, lay in a ball, and catnap. Even if it's during training, or in the mess hall, or meetings.

One time, Price was there with his whole team, including you of course, and you were going over training with the new recruits, and talking about how their lives would be from now on.

Until then, everyone but Price had been quiet, simply looking out for him from behind. Until Gaz felt a tug at his sleeve. As instinct went, the recruits' eyes followed you as you rubbed your eyes, a slight pout on your face as you whined quietly that you were sleepy. Like a cat, you stretched yourself wide a long, though even with your arms up, you didn't surpass the men's heights. Arching your back, you pushed yourself up against him, quietly mewling that you wanted your bed.

Scouting the room, he noticed every seat was occupied, so he simply scooped you up, sent that little secret gaze to Price that told him their princess was sleepy, and simply left.

As the recruits toured the barracks, they found gaz and you splayed across one of the old, vintage couch, with you practically disappearing under Gaz's sweatshirt, your little hands (paws) buried underneath it, with your face shoved in his chest.

On another day, while you were showing the recruits how to spar, paired up with Ghost, you got into a particularly scary position, with him cornering you, with his arm around your throat, and you made that tiny, distressed noise in the back of your throat, and that was all it took for him to let go.

You immediately scampered away once Ghost was done telling the recruits how to do what he did exactly, and dismissing them. You were a bit skittish, like a cat, and when cornered, you often bit— went wild again and scratched eyes out, or anything that you could reach, really, and it often put you back into that violent little headspace. You didn't particularly like that headspace — ironic, that you were in the army, sure, but what else were you meant to do with what you were given? — but since it was Ghost, you let him, though unable to swallow the little noises that escaped you.

And he feels horrible for it — because he never wants to hurt their sweet little girl, and god forbid you actually start to fight back again like you did at first.

So he goes to search for you when he's done, cursing underneath his mask when he can't find you. He eventually does, though, finding you curled up in your room, in the adorned little crate Price and the guys had gotten you. When you got into a particularly bad headspace, you would go into the crate (an old habit instilled in you from your old keeper, who would always put you in the crate if you so much as argued with him) which had been covered in pillows and blankets and little string lights to keep you occupied and your mind empty.

You're curled up in there, holding a little ghost plushie to your chest, murmuring a song.

He sits beside you, and speaks to you, slowly coaxing you out until you're curled up in his lap and putty in his hands once again.

It always takes you a few days to come back to normal, but it's always worth it, because Ghost likes his little kitty.

It's no secret, also, that Price likes a desk pet. That he prefers doing paperwork when you're sitting with him, at his feet, your head serenely splayed across his leg.

That's what you exchange for him filling out your mission reports — he gets some company, and you get to go blissfully head empty when he scruffs you and you kneel for him.

As for Soap, he likes the wild little you, so he takes you with him on runs, where it often ends with him chasing you through the woods surrounding the base, and playing games with you. He will play at any games you want until you're all knackered out, whining for him to carry you when you head back for base. This is how you end up forming a routine with Soap, who naps with you every morning until the sun is finally fully up. Price and the others don't particularly think the habit is healthy — to sleep so much, but it's Soap's fault! He's the one who got you running after him, and from him, all over the base! It's his fault you're such a sleepy, tiny little lass. He feels bad to let you sleep it off alone, duh!

But alas,

When you're on the field, you're a completely different person. The best in your field— some might say. This is why, despite your silly antics, and your quite inconvenient sleep schedule, the team keeps you around. (And because they're quite literally crazily in love with you, but.. no one says that. It's casuuuaaaal.)

On the field, you're too active, you swing too hard, claw too deep, and exhaust yourself. And even then, you keep going. You keep running. You're a marvelous sneak artist, getting past thousands of guards. You're a perfect trickster, all it takes is puppy dog eyes and quivering chin from you for enemies to get you inside their strongholds. You're their best sharp shooter, and their best fighter, despite how wild and almost animalistic your fighting style is. You always get the job done, and always do it without hiccups.

But sometimes, of course, not everyone can be perfect. Sometimes, you have so much adrenaline and so much rage built up in you that once the mission is done, you have a hard time disconnecting, you have a hard time stopping your fists from pummeling into an already dead man's face.

You kick and bite and scratch the whole way out as they rip you from dead, cold bodies. Which is exactly why you and the boys have a safe home, where they take you after missions, and fuck you pliant and sweet, bringing you back to the sleepy little wandering creature you are around base.

Soap is the best at it, though, always going full nights at a time with you. Price can go two rounds, maybe four if he's angry with something (never you), Ghost maybe five if he's very pent up and you've been bratting at him, but Gaz and Soap are always the ones that manage to fuck you back into your place the best.

Gaz will be softly murmuring at you, cooing and mumbling sweet words to you while his cock is ramming into your sweet, slick little tight hole, always breaking your walls with the kindest, most softest words, even if each of his thrusts are seemingly bullying your hole into taking him deeper each time he pulls in, and out. In, and out.

But Soap is the one who outdoes your wildness, who bites and scratches like you do, who will let you ride him until you're spent, and then ask for more, bouncing your limp little body on his cock until he cums for the eighth time that night. He's the one who meets every each of your kisses with just as much ferocity, letting it become more of a fight then a sweet, loving gesture — forcing his tongue into your mouth, licking your teeth, nipping at your lips, just plain nasty and gross, until you're both panting and drool is covering both of your chins.

Anyway. I just think it would be a cute little thing, to witness them all match you in different ways.

- Cherry Wine live at the O2 Academy Sheffield

This is too beautiful to just sit in my camera roll

The Box Pt. 2 (18+)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader Pt. 1 Here cw: smut, squirting, dom/sub vibes, sex toys, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering, choking word count: 2k Reader faces her punishment for lying. First time writing smut. Be easy on me.

You saw the change in his eyes and your heart dropped. You knew not to lie, but you did it anyway for your own comfort and appeasement.

You kept talking, continuing as if all was well, him just replying with “mhm”. You knew it wasn’t. You knew that he knew it wasn’t.

He tricked you. Well, the branch tricked you. He figured it out. You lied. Four times, for that matter.

He looked you in your eyes. Not a smile in sight, his thumb no longer massaging your neck and his grip subtly tightening.

“Go get the box,” he commanded.

Fuck. Not the box.

“I can explain,” you pleaded.

“Try me,” he said. You didn’t know whether that meant you could go on with your explanation that you didn’t actually have or he would punish you more for not going to get the box the first time he told you to.

You use it as an opportunity to conjure up a response. Hopefully, one that’ll make him change his mind. Because, quite frankly, you were not at all prepared for anything he may do with any of the items from the box.

Lying was a major offense. But it was just for shits and giggles. Surely, he’d understand.

“I just wanted to spend more time with you. I like when you touch me,” you explained, your eyes wide and doe, trying to earn his sympathy.

“You like spending time with me?” he asked, more like a statement rather than a question. “And you like when I touch you?” he asked, using the same tone, keeping the same grip around your neck. He sounded like he was contemplating changing his mind.

You nodded your head slowly in response.

It really was an innocent act. You don’t normally get to spend this much time with him. He could get called into work at any point in time.

Hell. He could get called into right now. Which would work great to your benefit because that meant that you didn’t have to face the wrath of the box.

Actually. yeah.

Let’s hope he gets called into work.

Actually, no. You don’t mean it. You’d rather face the box and have him hold you down and torture your pussy for hours before leaving for another few months.

He looked at you, analyzing the plea in your eyes and the small pout on your face that you didn’t even notice was there. According to him, you subconsciously do it when you are trying to get out of something. It used to work, but it hasn't recently. Let's hope that it will today.

He scanned over your body, his free hand finding its way to your waist. His hand trailed lower and lower until it found its way to the band of your panties.

Your body shivered as he slid his calloused and rough hand past, making contact with your folds, all as he kept eye contact with you. Any time you tried to look away, embarrassed by what he’d find on his inspection, he quickly turned your head back to face him.

His hand trailed lower until he found what he’d been looking for, his middle two digits finding the pool of slick that was building up in your panties.

You didn’t think it would be that much, but when he brought his fingers up to your mouth and forced you to open, you realized you were wrong.

He removed his fingers from your mouth and used the hand that was once a collar to cup your face, his thumb on one cheek and his remaining fingers on the other. With the warmth of his hand and the feeling of his glare, you know the slick was pooling more with each millisecond that passed. He sat you up, making you get on your knees in between his legs.

He tilted your head to the side, slowly turning it to face the other way as he kissed down your neck. You couldn’t help but to let out the smallest moan. His lips soft against your skin and the warmth of his tongue just made you wish he would put it in other places.

But then suddenly, he stopped, and you felt his breath against your ear.

“Go. Get. The box,” he commanded, though his voice was much more brute.

And to no surprise, he hadn’t turned your head for easy access to your neck. It was to face the location of the box that sat in the back of the closet that you had been facing as you were enjoying his mouth on your neck.

Fuck, you thought.

He had practically thrown you off of him, giving you no choice but to obey his demands.

You walked as slowly as you could, trying to distract yourself from what’s to come. Or in better words, from who’s to come.

“Every second you waste is another minute added to your time,” he said from behind you.

Damnit. He had a time prepared. Even worse.

He knew all of your antics. It didn't matter what you did or what you said. He would always catch on.

You scrambled through the closet to uncover the infamous box. It wasn’t anything special. It was just a brown box that held every sex toy that Simon loved to torture you with.

And you couldn’t bank on any of them dying, while he tortured you because he always kept them charged.

The minimum time with a device: two hours.

He’s done it before. Using a device on you until it died. You were just about to come, and then the vibrations got lighter and lighter until they were no more. You whined, but best believe Simon had something else for you.

You shamefully walked the box to him and put it on the bed. Maybe he was feeling nice and would let you choose.

Wrong.

He pulled you onto the bed and immediately instructed you to remove all of your clothing.

It didn’t take long as you only had on a large t-shirt and your panties.

He watched as you removed your panties, the strands of slick elongating as you pulled them down.

“Give them to me,” he commanded, holding his hand out.

You did as you were told and now you were over him, fully naked, with your wetness practically dripping down your thigh. He admired you in all your glory, and he couldn’t wait to watch you squirm and plead as he tortured you.

You went to him, straddled over his thigh and your head on his shoulder, a tear about to slide down your face.

The last time you lied, your pussy was sore for two days.

He slowly trailed his hand up and down your spine. He could feel your puddle of slick through his pants. His other hand opened the box, rummaging through its contents.

The more he dug, the closer you came to sobbing.

And you did once he pulled out the first device.

The wand.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. But it wasn’t enough. He continued to rummage through as your tears fell onto his shoulder. He couldn’t care less. You were only apologizing because you got caught. And now you had to pay.

Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

You should’ve learned your lesson the first time.

He pulled out the bar that kept your legs spread apart, something he got after you kept closing your legs before. Then, he pulled out the ropes. What he would do with them, you wouldn’t know. And lastly, he pulled out the homemade makeshift thigh holster, used to keep whatever device perfectly planted on your clit no matter how much you moved.

In combination with the bar, you weren’t going anywhere, and neither was the wand.

He gathered everything and put them in the pile beside himself. He tended to you for the last time before his wrath began.

“Don’t cry,” he said, wiping away your tears. His voice was tender. Comforting. it was possible he would be more gentle with you than you thought.

“If you hadn’t lied, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” he antagonized, placing a kiss on your cheek that perfectly coated his lips with your salty tears.

He pried you off of his leg and arm and laid you in front of him. There was nothing you could do now other than to comply. That way, he’ll see you’re being a good girl and maybe end his torture early.

You sniffled as he locked your legs in place with the bar, your ankles perfectly placed in the straps.

“Give me your arms,” he calmly demanded. and you obeyed.

He tied the rope to the bar and then to your arms. The more you struggled, the more your pussy was exposed. And last but not least, the thigh holster, accompanied by its friend. The wand that you dreaded. You wouldn’t even use it while he was away. It was too powerful. You couldn’t last two minutes with coming and the overstimulation was too much to bear.

He angled the wand perfectly on your clit, making you squirm around. You tried to get away or at least move it so it wouldn’t be as torturous, but you couldn’t, making you softly whine.

All this and he still has your panties in his hand. You thought he would have thrown them on the ground with your t-shirt by now.

He gently trailed his thumb up and down your folds for a little before he got up from the bed, licking your slick from his thumb.

He turned your body and pulled it to face the edge of the bed. You worried if you moved too much, you might fall off, but Simon wouldn’t let that happen. He’d ram his dick into you to send you jolting back before he let you hit the ground.

He admired the view of your pussy before he came beside you, sitting on the bed and gently stroking your cheek.

“Simon, I said I’m sorry,” you pleaded. But he still didn’t care. You were already tied up. There was no way out.

“What are your colors?” he proceeded to ask, disregarding everything you had just said.

“Red. Yellow. Green,” you said, hoping the eye contact would make him loosen up a bit. Or maybe the tear that slid down the side of your face would do it.

It didn’t.

“Good girl,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead and quickly stuffing your panties in your mouth, forbidding you from speaking. More tears rolled down the sides of your face. The flashbacks were coming in all too well.

“I love you,” he told you, before he set the wand to the highest setting it could go, already having you arch your back, squirming around to try to run away from it.

Your efforts were of no use. There was no running from this. He watched as your pussy cried with you, streams flooding onto the bedsheets.

He ran his fingers through your folds, sometimes sending them into your hole, preparing it for what was to come next. It just added to the stimulation, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. It had only been two and a half minutes and you had already come.

Simon was silent as he watched you struggle. He loved seeing you try to run away. Your hands reaching for the wand to pull it away, but you simply couldn’t reach. He just played with your pussy as the wand worked its magic on your clit.

To stretch you out more, he took out the dildos, smallest to largest, the smallest still being enough for you to whine and arch your back in pleasure.

Every time you came, he changed the size of the dildo that was inserted into you. It had been ten minutes, and you were only on dildo two out of seven. After seven, you had to face the final boss.

Simon.

Little did you know, he would cycle through the dildos until your squirt made a puddle on the floor, edging and overstimulating you at the same time.

Then you’d be ready to take his dick.

Pt. 3

This speaks to the youngest child + Price lover in me imma need this as a full fic NOW pretty pretty please xx

price with reader who never got much attention as a kid/growing up??

very self indulgent but hear me out. price is a lover man. he takes his time for his partners, gives them what they need, even if he's busy. you on the other hand are simply used to being put aside, people only listening to you half heartedly, not looking at you and getting distracted when you talk, other things were always more important than you and you felt that. you got used to it, it's normal to you.

but when you're with price he's the total opposite. he looks at you intently when you talk (if not hes leaning his head towards you so he hears you better), putting things down when you ask him something - hes attentive. he listens. and its absolutely strange to you, it makes you feel flustered, kinda watched. at some point you ask him why hes looking at you like that, the tv running in the backround. he furrows his eyebrows at you, with a confused chuckle. "what do you mean, love?"

"you're starin' at me." you accuse him, your cheeks getting hot.

"you're talkin' to me. where else would I be looking?" he jokes with a soft chuckle, wondering what the hell you're on about.

"your show's on." you say, gesturing to the tv. he looks at you like youve got three heads.

"I'm listening to you, love."

Him and Shining Armor from MLP

If you had a crush on this dog as a kid you're hot now

1. I am going on a trip around Europe with my school next month

2. I am autistic

3. I am a Dionysus and a Persephone Devotee

@parkerpumpsworld

@iamhavingamomenthere-crowley

@king-marceline @chaos-from-basil @xoqs

@anxietywithasideofexplosions

if you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog !

I was born with an extra set of ribs :D

Green is my favourite colour

And

I have a very unhealthy obsession with dragons (which somehow didn’t bleed into this blog )

@very-evil-bubbles @smelgor @the-ghost-of-a-spirit @thejokig23 @chasmwilt @inwayovermyhead and @ anyone else who wants to join in! (You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to!)

Literally just “How did you drown in your own blood?” Like how does that happen?

one very annoying thing about being a writer:

I just googled how do you drown in your own blood so that my writing would be accurate. What comes up is of no help to me what so ever:

NHS- Help for suicidal thoughts

YouTube - Stories for Hope and Recovery