#mark would feast and consume and devour

[lacobus]

....tondo date.......

filipino spotted again 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

i actually had to ask my friends abt this. SORRY I FAILED YOU FILIPINO ANON 💔 not #updated, but anyways now that i got to ask about it i think it would be enjoyable to go with him

ugbo 🫵🫵🫵🫵 bringing him there to spoil him.

this is weird but i want to watch mark eat, like i want to see him go crazy over a mango peach pie LMFOAKSOSA. he's pretty tall and all the muscle on him genuinely gives him an appetite.

or napaka galante niya (very generous) so he wants to give into all your whims. you want this, ok you can have it. whatever you say gorgeous.

[valtsv]

what did you think abt the way laios defeated the winged lion...,, when you said you started reading I rlly wanted to hear your thoughts on that specific scene

if i put on my big boy analysis pants at some point i'll try to come up with some more coherent and satisfying commentary on that entire sequence of events, but in the interest of answering your question quickly before i have to go to work, i absolutely loved that laios defeated the winged lion not through a contest of raw physical or metaphysical strength or intelligence (though it was undeniably an intelligent strategy which showed the sheer depth and wealth of laios' knowledge and understanding of monsters) but by using its own nature against it, setting it up as the architect of its own destruction. laios combined all the strengths of a predatory animal and an experienced hunter to distract the lion with a tantalising feast while he aimed for the one vital mark that would incapacitate it, and his gamble paid off as he was able to consume its entire reason for being, shrunken to a manageable size by the lion's possesion of laios' human body, whilst the lion was too busy trying to fit its jaws around the world to stop him. it kind of reminds me of how heracles bested the nemean lion, using its own claws and teeth to skin its pelt and claim it as his own.

also this panel just fucks so severely. "devourer of all things horrible", indeed.

[eepwtf]

BLOOD OF THE SAME SIN .ᐟ

i was doom scrolling through pinterest… sigh that’s what’s it’s come to, i mourn you already tiktok. (anyway, i saw that pic and though of sam & dean because it fits.) UHHH EDITING THIS BUT!!! this is my gift for you guys spn angst❤️

sam and dean, bound by the marrow of their shared curse, are closer than friends, their brotherhood a covenant forged in sin. the weight of their choices festers, a rot that neither can escape, nor fully understand. they wear the same skin, stitched together by guilt and blood, yet beneath the surface, they are hollowed vessels, their souls carved out by the relentless gnawing hunger for a redemption that remains perpetually out of reach. this hunger devours them, consuming more than it ever saves, leaving behind only the echo of what could have been—if only the sin had not sunk its claws so deep.

dean’s hands, calloused and raw from years of wielding both blade and burden, have fed the earth with the lifeblood of monsters and men alike. his touch is a curse, a mark upon the world that screams of penance never earned. each kill, each choice, another layer of flesh peeled back, exposing the raw, festering wound of his soul. his is a grim duty, a sacrament of violence, where the line between hunter and hunted blurs until there is nothing left but the beast within.

sam carries the rot as well, a serpent coiled tight within his core, its scales slick with regret and unspoken truths. it writhes and twists, a living testament to every misstep, every lie whispered in the dark. his heart is a chalice, brimming with the bitter wine of their shared sins, a grotesque communion they partake in night after night. each sip a reminder of the damnation they savor, a grotesque feast upon their own ruin.

together, they mirror the worst of what we are—fractured, bleeding, and unrepentant. their reflections are cracked, bleeding glass, each shard a fragment of a story too horrific to tell. they are cain and abel, hunter and hunted, brother and beast, locked in an eternal dance of death and despair. their shared sin is the chain that binds them, a tether they can never sever, for to do so would be to unravel the very fabric of their existence.

[dontbelasagne]

to invoke a fear...

I'm very late posting this but in honour of TMA rising out of the flames and each haunting episode of The Magnus Protocol we have recieved, I have come up with incantations/invocations similar to Jon's "Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon..." chant for the other entities we see throughout The Magnus Archives. its mostly for fun, but I tried to capture the personality of each fear to mirror how an avatar would express such morbid annunciation :)

ripen this flesh with gruelling guts that devour and mark with eloquent cuts. take what is sacred and make it equal, for all meat is drowned in its own bloodied treacle. hack away at your sense of mortality, your body is pungent with fatty vitality, digest that last ounce of copius sanity and become one with The Flesh in all its totality.

- The Flesh

call to arms and construct your sick barricade, made of chanting screams and an unending human palisade. the piper demands you line up for ransom, let your mind be frenzied to fuel your brutal anthem. extricate your tools and be ready for The Slaughter, there is no set time for bodies in the water.

- The Slaughter

you need not run, for the darkness is patient. in the corner of your eye Mr Pitch remains latent. encroaching in the night, outstaying its welcome. each blink a reminder that safety is seldom. its blanketed grip won't let you be free of what the shifting shadows can always carry. it hides in the places you cannot see, for in The Dark you cannot flee.

- The Dark

will you remain the hunted prey, that sweats and stinks the path in hungering array. you cannot satisfy the everchase, it will feast and feast on your endangered place. so run, little wanderer, wary of your being, only ever good for heart-thumping fleeing. let your breaths arrive in laboured panting, for The Hunt will always sense if you'll be left standing.

- The Hunt

fold into yourself and cripple that heart, for you are alone and alone you'll depart. waste away at your own lack of humanity, the fog will uncover all your human fallacy. fade away like frivolous smoke, don your pretence of an obscuring cloak. and relinquish connection for The Lonely doesn't cling, only your sick solitude it will bring.

- The Lonely

pick apart those sudden thoughts, no way to know how it contorts. winding, finding your way through, I'm sure there is some clue. leave what that mind says, for look again it is Not What it is. twisting, visiting a place of no mind, you'll be sure to know the doorways to find. it's easy to let go, come down The Spiral, and be sure to refute that pesky denial.

- The Spiral

are you sure that is you? with a face so adjusted that it begs the question if it is at all naturally constructed. peer through those absent waxed eyes, The Doll Maker will offer a suprise to your first taste at a porcelain smile, it'll be so worthwhile. do not fret at becoming The Stranger, you'll only pose as senseless danger.

- The Stranger

take this breath and fill it with clay, for you will never again see the day. a grave is waiting, alloted in the ground, to crush your bones, so brittle it won't be found. the weight of others all around, so close that you choke, yet make no sound. lay down and succumb to The Buried, for that body will constrict and be stubbornly wearied.

- The Buried

slough off that mottled skin with putrid holes that leak out things that crawl and creep and scuttle and speak of misery to be worshipped until you hatch that crawling rot. let it recede and uncover the disease, to rejoice in The Corruption out of your filthy predeliction.

- The Corruption

The Mother of Puppets will care for you my dear, don't worry for there is nothing to fear. let go of that innocent worldly desire, do not look to those who only conspire. you won't be safe outside of this cocoon, on the peripheries those spiders loom. come hither and rest on The Web, as the strands of your life fall and eb.

- The Web

ignite the blackened flame that consumes the heart, as each beat you increasingly depart from all that you love as it burns to crisp with every connection becoming a smoky wisp. the poisonous wax only drips further, as you become your own selfish burner. let this light guide you to The Desolation, choking on the smoke of your lost machination.

- The Desolation

there is no need to beg this is simply Terminus, not everything will be alive and feverously continuous. it is lavish to think of equal permanence, so resign to your fate and the universes ordinance. death awaits with weary bones to share the fatigue of a weighted throne, and rejoice with souls who call and lament that this is The End, it is your final descent.

- The End

look at you, in this magnitude of inproportionate calamity that sizes you down to microbial plurality. let yourself be enveloped by the dizzying expanse, we are all pale dots in the universes glance. enjoy sky blue and witness The Vast, can you bare the weight on your bones made of glass?

- The Vast

bring upon the silent decay, delivering life with forbidden foray. eeking out products and sustenance that glitch, don't forget this will only enrich. who's to say what is unnatural? it'll all slog into the ground both new and perpetual. plant those seeds of The Extinction, and sow your last destructive conviction.

- The Extinction

[xavviluin05]

Cultsona: The Resurrection Episode

This is the beginning of a series of posts exploring an alternate storyline for the game Cult of the Lamb.

The Lamb is dead, and the Bishops are celebrating the ultimate victory of the Old Faith. However, things take a dark turn when a special dish is served at the feast—meat from a young bunny...

Rabbits, in this land, are deemed a delicacy, creatures bred for slaughter. The act of consuming their flesh is a token of dominion, a sinful indulgence—and this rabbit was no exception. Fate "graced" her with the dubious honor of becoming the centerpiece at the bishops' celebratory feast. They marked the anniversary of their triumph over a particularly vexing lamb—a hero who, in my alternate cosmos, failed their sacred mission. In this retelling of the canon, Narinder does not grant immortality but merely a second life. And upon their second death, the lamb departed this world forever. (Immortality exists, true, but it offers no shield against a violent end.)

Yet death was not the rabbit's finale. Instead of oblivion, she found herself in the domain of Narinder, The One Who Waits. Her fury, burning like a blaze, held the power to raze to ashes the ancient faith they both despised. It was this untamed fire that drew Narinder’s attention. He proposed a pact: in exchange for a second chance, a crimson crown, and a fragment of his dark power, she would serve his will.

In return, the rabbit swore a solemn oath to establish a cult in his honor, to serve his will with unwavering devotion, and to fortify his power through sacrifice. Thus began the dark and fateful chapter of her reborn existence

Narinder had to put much effort into the resurrection of the cultist, for little remained of her previous body, as it had been devoured by the bishops and their inner circle.

Because of this, the resurrection itself could hardly be called a pleasant or, at the very least, a painless process.

Once she regained her senses, the cultist cautiously ventured to explore her surroundings.

She discovered an ancient temple, at the center of which stood a pedestal, upon which lay a book adorned with an image of a crimson crown. It intrigued her deeply, and she decided to take the book with her, just in case.

Not far from the temple, she found a fountain, which greatly pleased her. There, she was able to wash off the remnants of her own blood, which somewhat lifted her spirits.

However, her mood darkened when she stumbled upon the remains of the former owner of the crown, the lamb.

The remains were clothed in attire that seemed to be in fairly good condition. After some hesitation, she decided to take it.

She also took the bell. There was something unsettling about leaving it behind with the clothes. It felt as though something bad might happen if she did.

As she continued her journey through the valley of the lamb, she finally began to read the book she had found. To her surprise, the book was no ordinary tome. It described powerful spells, those only accessible to the one who possessed the red crown.

Wandering through the surroundings, she stumbled upon a stranger.

He explained that he had heard the sound of a bell and had come out to see who was walking around. He mentioned that he hadn't seen anyone for many months in this remote place, but as soon as he laid eyes on the red crown, he immediately understood what had happened.

The stranger introduced himself as Ratau and invited her to his home, which was not far off.

Unfortunately, Narinder could not directly witness the events unfolding in the world. He could only rely on the words of his followers, and they had been absent for a long time.

Back during the reign of the lamb, Ratau's heart slowly began to consume itself with envy. When he saw the new possessor of the red crown—lonely, confused, and weakened—his indignation flared even more.

This pitiful creature was unworthy of the red crown. It should be HIS, and HIS alone.

During the day, they managed to chat and have tea, but the stranger grew more and more unsettling to the cultist, who noticed oddities in his behavior.

Because of this, she spent the night restless. When she heard the soft creak of a door, her heart fluttered, and she was seized by a shiver.

Fortunately, the cultist had already managed to read something in the book, and in her panic, she accidentally performed her first sacrifice, which finally allowed her to contact her master.

During the time the lamb was absent, Narinder had lost some of his strength and could not directly communicate with his follower. But this sacrifice replenished him, and he finally spoke.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don't think that the little rabbit is some innocent lamb. She has enough cruelty and anger in her, but it hasn't fully emerged yet.

For now, she has no other option but to escape; she doesn't know how to fight, and she wants to live. Because ahead of her are so many unfinished tasks, among which is the killing of the spider who sold her as a dish for the bishops' table!

The thought of his death soothed her soul right after the words about the possibility of a second chance.

This is where she and Narinder are alike—they live for revenge. It's because of this bond that, in the future, they'll continue discussing things between themselves purely for pleasure, even though their relationship can't be called healthy.

As I said before, Narinder doesn't care about her well-being. Her suffering only provokes his mocking laughter. The little rabbit understands perfectly that she’s been used from the start, and so she hasn't developed any special affection for him.

But they depend on each other too much, and over time, they’ve somewhat come to terms with one another.

After the incident with Ratau, she could no longer trust anyone and was always on edge. She slept with a dagger in her arms for the rest of her days.

But, strangely enough, the only creature she could fully trust was Narinder. Because for him, there was no point in maiming or killing her as long as she did her job properly. In his world, she could find a bit of peace, breathe out, and not worry about being attacked

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[velvet-thirst]

Imagine a world where you and your kind were once captives to towering giants. These monstrous beings, in twisted revelry, would mark the year with a grim festival of joy that centered on devouring members of your race—chosen, plucked, and consumed in a grotesque celebration.

Then came the escape. Your people, trembling and scarred, escaped through underground tunnels and vanished into the forest. Carving out a hopeful existence against all odds and managed to find happiness. But peace is fleeting, and when the giants rediscover your sanctuary, they descend like a dark tide, tearing your friends from their safety to feed their insatiable hunger.

You, driven by fury, despair, and hope rise to the challenge. You infiltrate their towering halls, rescue the captives, and strike at the roots of their cruel traditions. You unravel the web of culture and ceremony that demanded your people's suffering, toppling the pillars of their monstrous appetite.

And yet, amidst the ashes of hatred and pain, you do the unthinkable. You extend a hand to these titans of terror, forging friendships with those who once feasted on your kin. You urge your people—grieving, seething with loss—to offer forgiveness to the very monsters who may have torn their loved ones from their arms. To coexist with the giants who crushed their people between their teeth, and to look upon the faces of those who might have devoured their family with kindness.

The Trolls movies are so bizarre.

[anxious-acorn]

Black Coffee 🔞

Chapter 11: Wrapped In You 🔞

Summary: Alastor awakens and you prepare for Extermination Day.

“Y/N… Mmm… I need you, mon cœur.” Sharp teeth nipped at your jaw, and you tilted your head to grant your lover access, a low groan escaping your bloody lips. “Will you let me come home?”

Alastor had woken in the dark early hours of the morning, those lovely coral eyes burning with a fire you hadn’t seen before. It sent such a thrill through your core- that unadulterated heat blazing under those thick lashes. It would seem your desperate feast had had quite the effect on your sweet buck. You knew all too well the desire that could linger after such attentions, and seeing your darling under such a spell made your heart swell with love and pride as you met his stare.

“Please, my buck,” you whined and arched your back for him. The low growling moan and static that filled the air set your hair to raising.

Alastor pressed himself into you, dragging his lips across any exposed skin he could find. Flicking his tongue out, he sampled the mixture of his blood dried with your sweat and moaned at the flavor. You felt a rush of wind when he snapped off your clothing, hair dye and costume makeup before sitting up to stare down at you. Those beautiful glowing eyes devoured your form, as if memorizing every curve, every detail.

You blushed under the intensity of that crimson gaze, reaching for your love as he bent to cover you. You felt like the most sublime creature to ever walk through Hell when he looked at you so desperately- like he wanted to protect you, fuck you and shred you to pieces all at once.

You wondered if that was something he would want to try, and were slightly surprised by the rush of arousal joining the adrenaline that hit at that thought. To have your darling actually ripping flesh from your bones while he fucked you senseless… That’s something you had never willingly given a partner before- you’d never trusted anyone that much, but your heart felt so safe in Alastor’s care. He was always so considerate with you and your boundaries, taking only what was offered and giving back in return; offering his comfort without asking, and trying to learn about you and your way of thinking.

Would he want that? He’d certainly enjoyed biting during intercourse, and he’d seemed thrilled when you took meat from him in your last tryst, but would he want to consume you during your passions? Your shade split from you to bite a chunk of meat from your thigh, your scream alerting Alastor. A cute ear swiveled before his head turned to meet your shade. Their tail wagged as they held your meat between their fangs in offering to him, and the resulting bellow set your loins flaring in need.

You watched in twisted delight as he accepted the meat before pulling your shadow in for a passionate kiss, driving his rigid cock into your heat with a debauched moan. Such a beautiful demon; so perfect for you. You wanted to offer your heart and watch him eat it.

He was thrusting into you so roughly, desperately chasing his release as your shade scratched and tugged at his ears. Alastor was a bloody mess above you, rutting recklessly with eyes clenched and smile more resembling a snarl. You felt high; you were intoxicated from the hunger in those eyes as he used your body.

You wrapped yourself around him and cried out with each thrust. He began growing inside you; over you, around you. Tentacles pulled at your tail and wrapped around any flesh that wasn’t already claimed.

“Ahh! Yes, Alastor! More, my buck! Please... I can take it,” you growled out as you met his thrusts and pulled at his hair. “Mark your territory…”

The roaring bellow that sounded shot straight to your cunt, and you threw your head back in ecstasy as he pounded into you. He ground his pelvis into yours and you moaned as tentacles pulled your arms above your head.

Sharp yellowed fangs sank into your chest, ripping flesh from you as you screeched for your lover. Long, twisted fingers wrapped around your throat, giving an experimental squeeze and you keened, pressing your throat further into your monster’s palm.

“I don’t know whether I want to breed you or devour you, my Vixen. I do believe you’re creating a monster.”

Oh sweet, wrathful Satan, you wanted that.

“Good…” you groaned out, your voice cracking as his grip tightened around your throat. “I’m a greedy demon, darling… Hah… Give me everything- I want it all. Show me- ahh… the power of the Radio Demon.”

Your challenge set Alastor’s form to cracking and contorting, his dialed pupils switching and turning as he snarled and crashed his lips against yours, fangs drawing blood as his hips slammed into your slick heat. Fuck! His cock was hitting that sweet spot that sent you reeling. His hand fell from your throat in favor of squeezing and kneading your breast, the other gouging lines down your side as your pussy clenched and pulsed around his length. You panted and groaned as you watched him lose control above you, static buzzing in the air.

Your heavy breathing mixed with the music of your joining, your eyes focused solely on each other as your bodies moved together. The tentacles holding your wrists released you and you sliced a claw into the side of your throat, tilting your head in offering to your ravenous lover.

His teeth sank in and you came undone as you felt him draw blood from your wound, squirting over his cock with a scream. That spurred on your buck, releasing a distorted, rumbling snarl against your throat as he pounded into your pulsing heat.

You were in such exquisite ecstasy, your body going limp in your lover’s arms and tentacles as he chased his own release. A roaring bellow sounded and you watched with fuzzy interest as your shade held and pulled at Alastor’s tail, dragging their claws down his back as he thrust desperately into you.

His hips stuttered and you felt the swell of his cock before the sensation of his shooting seed filled you. The pulsing heat of his release sent you spasming into another orgasm, moaning low and wriggling in pleasure among your lover’s limbs. You were addicted to the feelings he released within you, and you never wanted to let him go.

You laid there, spent and panting as you lover rested atop you, his tentacles squeezing you further into his arms as he breathed in your scent and snuffled into your hair with a contented sigh. You felt so safe wrapped up in him- warm and cherished. A soft purr rumbled in your chest as you soaked in the afterglow, wriggling and nuzzling happily into his body.

“Well, I believe I have confirmed that I indeed enjoy being feasted on by you, my Vixen,” came the breathy voice above you as your beau chuckled to himself. You gave a short, breathless laugh and nosed into his throat, running your fingertips lightly along his arms.

“Well my darling, I believe I’ve confirmed I quite enjoy watching you feast on me in the midst of our passions, so we’re both learning something new.” You hummed out a contented sigh before kissing his cheek and moving to get up. Alastor retracted his tentacles and released you, leaning on his hand to watch you walk away with a soft smile.

When you got back to bed, Alastor pulled you into his arms with a happy bleat, nuzzling his chin between your ears. “I love you, mon cœur.” His words sent your heart whirling in rapturous bliss- you would never grow tired of hearing them. “I love you, my heart,” you sighed out before drifting off in his arms.

When you woke, the morning light shone through your window (you should really remove that stupid feature. Or maybe time it to only open after noon) and you groaned at the intrusion. “Fuckin’ evil light,” you growled out and turned your head into the fluff of Alastor’s chest.

You heard a sleepy chuckle and a snap of fingers before the light disappeared from the room. “You know, for someone who hates morning light, it’s quite odd to install a special dimensional window,” came the sly staticky reply.

“I used to love mornings in the early days, but I’ve grown slothful in my old age,” you joked, nuzzling into the plush softness of your lover’s chest with a contented purr.

Alastor chuckled, carding his claws through your tousled hair as he breathed in your scent. You laid there, dozing for another hour before you felt Alastor stir and kiss the top of your head.

“I’m afraid I must get up now, mon cœur. Would you like breakfast?” You groaned and nipped at his bicep before letting him up, immediately missing the heat he produced. Your body curled into the comforter and you soaked in the scent of your mate- there was something so satisfying about being surrounded by his scent.

You heard Alastor’s cooing at you before you felt his shadow curl around you under the covers and kiss your cheek before settling. Snuggling into them happily, you croaked out your sleepy reply. “No, thank you darling. Just come kiss me before you go?”

“Of course, my darling,” he said, walking to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be heading out now, then. Would you join me at the hotel this evening? We are beginning battle training today with the residents and Cannibal Town, and since you wish to fight, I’d like to gage your combat skills and offer you tutelage for any areas that may be lacking. Perhaps even work on shadow travel if possible.”

You were only half listening, relaxing comfortably in the arms of your mate’s shadow, and cracked an eye open to find Alastor’s glowing gaze focused on you. With a yawn, you considered whether you would have time for combat training. ‘Bitch, you better make time. We are not dying after just finding the perfect mate,’ your shade chirped from within you, an annoyed huff leaving their essence.

You chuckled and reassured them of your shared priorities before smiling at your beau. “I think I can make time. I may be a serial killer, but I could certainly use the extra training. It’s been decades since I’ve needed to worry about fighting.”

Alastor smiled at your words, but you noticed the crease of his brow knitting and cupped his face, stroking his cheek softly. “I promise, my heart, only you are allowed to kill me,” you whispered before planting a soft kiss against his lips. He sighed and reached to pet your ear as your lips dragged against each other.

“I hope you know how badly I wish to spirit you away and cage you until this whole fiasco is finished,” he groaned out after separating from your kiss, molten gaze searing into you.

You purred in twisted delight at his confession, crimson eyes narrowing as your smile grew wider. “I hope you know that that’s one of the sexiest things you’ve ever said to me, my sweet buck.”

“You’re making it extremely difficult to leave you,” Alastor growled out, leaning his forehead into yours as he fisted his hand in your hair. You moaned at your lover’s display and pulled him in for another kiss. “I wouldn’t be opposed to another round if you have the time.”

He chuckled at your proposal and rubbed his nose against yours, releasing your hair before standing. “Alas, dearest, I must away. Rest, my sweet Vixen.” He called his shade back to himself and gave you one last longing look before he disappeared into shadow. You instantly felt his absence, cuddling further into your blankets and falling asleep wrapped in his warm scent.

You slept another three hours before you finally felt ready to begin your day. If you were going to fight in the upcoming extermination, there were preparations that needed to be made.

You showered quickly and dressed in a simple black sundress. Sitting at your desk, you opened your notebook to start a list. You would need to tell Valentino and Velvette that you would be unavailable until after the extermination, maybe longer depending on how bad things get. You were adept at healing magick, but you would need to improve in that area if you wanted to help more than just three people. If you prepared them early, you could have a decent stock of healing aids for different injuries- you would need to restock your cabinet before working on those.

As you wrote your list, you couldn’t help the anxious worry that you would only be hindering the effort, but tamped it down before pulling a blunt out of your drawer to light. The smoke helped, but only so much; you knew that this would be your state until after everything was over and your loved ones were confirmed safe. Before you knew it, you had filled five pages with tasks to be completed in order of priority and time needed to finish. You would need to go to the apothecary down in Lust to collect all the ingredients needed for the healing aids, so you could handle Val and Velvette while on your outing. You could drop off Angel’s salary tonight when meeting Alastor.

You headed downstairs and grabbed out enough money for everything you needed to take care of before slipping on a pair of red pumps and heading out.

————————————————-

“It shouldn’t be a big deal. Are you still good to work tomorrow, or do you want to reschedule the shoot?”

“I will still be here tomorrow, I just won’t be available again until after extermination day. Once I’ve gotten better, I’ll be sure to call as well. I usually calm down a week afterwards, so you can expect to hear from me then.”

You hadn’t been sure whether to tell Valentino and Velvette of your true intentions to fight for the princess, so you’d made an excuse of extermination anxiety to excuse your absence from life and work. Velvette had seemed suspicious, but accepted your excuse as just you being caught up in your new ‘boy toy’.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow at 2:00… Vixen...”

You turned your head back to look at the tall moth.

“Stay safe, Chiquita. And… Feel better.” He smiled and you felt your stomach turn uncomfortably at the warm look he was giving you. It was disgusting, having to be cordial with such a beast, but you smiled back before turning to leave.

When visiting the apothecary, you made sure to purchase extra supplies, just in case. You could never have too many health aids. You’d stopped by Ozzie’s to visit and have dinner, and ended up buying a couple of new lingerie pieces you’d found particularly cute before heading back to Pride.

It was dark by the time you arrived back home, and you organized your cabinet before walking over to your notebook to check off you completed tasks. It always helped to check off something needing done, and you felt the tiniest bit of relief from your worries. Making lists was always something that helped when you felt overwhelmed.

Checking your clock, you decided to head over to the hotel, and grabbed the envelope with Angel’s salary before leaving.

You couldn’t help but feel everyone’s absence as you walked through the empty Cannibal Town. Perhaps the residents were staying at the hotel- you’d have to ask Alastor about that; you felt as if you were walking through a ghost town, trapped in time.

It would appear that the whole of Cannibal Town was indeed staying at the hotel- you were greeted by Flora and Ethel as you walked into the lobby.

“Y/N! Are you joining in the angelic buffet? I’m positively ecstatic at the prospect!” Flora was practically vibrating in her manic glee, you couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your throat. Flora was an even bigger foodie than you, and her excitement was contagious.

“Flora! Ethel! I’m so glad to see you looking so well. Indeed, I plan to join in the fun. I can’t pass up the opportunity to enjoy a rare delicacy!” You felt Alastor’s aura behind you and shivered at the feeling of it pressing around you.

“Good evening, dearest. Ladies.” You turned to look up at your beau and gave him a warm smile, taking the hand he’d placed on your shoulder and kissing the knuckles. “Good evening, my darling. It appears that everyone is camping out here until the big day of the feast. I must say, it’s a little unnerving to stroll through the streets of a ghost town. 10/10 would highly recommend.”

Alastor chuckled, a light blush coloring his cheeks as he gazed down at you.

“Alastor! It’s lovely to see you again, sir!” Ethel piped up as Flora lost her voice, face turning beet red as she stared between you two. Aww, she was just too cute sometimes! Alastor smiled at the two cannibettes, engaging in a bit of small talk with Ethel before excusing himself and pulling you along with him.

“Come along, sweetheart! I have a lovely evening dessert prepared for you,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he gave you a sly smile. You felt a blush rising in your as various fantasy scenarios began filing in your mind. Well, after all, you did only eat dinner. You could use a little something sweet.

[crimsonredclover]

I would always be yours. I vowed I would always be yours.

My Dearest Victoria, To that bloodshed, crimson clover—love was never meant to be gentle, was it? From the moment I met you, I knew loving you would be a war I would never surrender. It was carnage, a hunger that sank into the marrow of my bones, a craving that no amount of time or distance could dull. Love with you is a feast—one of skin and devotion, of lips that bite and hands that take, of something so raw, so ruinous, that I could never want it any other way. The worst was over, but love like this does not fade—it scars, it brands, it consumes. And I held on. Through the wreckage, through the nights when our hunger threatened to devour us whole, through the moments where love felt like both nourishment and starvation—I held on. Because loving you is not about restraint. It is about offering myself up to you completely. It is about saying, take me, tear me apart, feast upon every piece of me, because I have never belonged to anyone but you. Every wound, every mark we have left upon each other—it is proof that we have endured, that we have given everything and still, we remain. We were made for this hunger, built to feed and be fed upon, to destroy and heal in equal measure. I vowed I would always be yours, not because love is soft, but because it is feral, it is instinct, it is the only thing that has ever felt real. And still, Victoria, I would let you consume me again and again—until there is nothing left of me that isn’t yours. Forever your willing feast, Christian.

[theblackbookofarkera]

Rasha-vihi

The Rasha-vihi are shape-shifting tigresses that serve as Daralazha's eternal army, existing in a state of divine duality. They manifest in both physical and astral forms at will, appearing in their corporeal form as massive tigresses with wings of shadow-steel, their fur rippling with patterns that seem to move of their own accord. In their astral form, they become living shadows, visible only by the ghost-light gleam of their eyes and the ethereal outline of their massive forms.

The most terrifying aspect of the Rasha-vihi lies in their method of gaining power. These divine predators grow stronger by consuming the flesh and spiritual essence of powerful men, particularly those who have achieved greatness through their own will and ambition. Warriors who have slain thousands, kings who have ruled nations, and holy men who have touched the divine – these are the prey the Rasha-vihi hunt most eagerly. When they consume such men, they absorb not just their physical form but the very essence of their achievements and authority.

The feeding ritual of the Rasha-vihi follows ancient mystical laws set down by Daralazha herself. The flesh must be consumed in physical form, with teeth and claws rending material bodies, while the spiritual essence must be drawn out in astral form, the Rasha-vihi's shadow-self consuming the victim's accumulated power. The bones must remain untouched, for they belong to Daralazha herself, and the consumption must be completed before the next moonrise, lest the power disperse into the ether.

Each successful hunt transforms the Rasha-vihi. Those who feed on warriors gain their combat prowess and tactical insight; those who consume kings gain authority over lesser spirits; those who devour holy men receive protection against divine magic; and those who feast on great poets and artists gain enhanced cunning and guile. Their hierarchy within Daralazha's legion is determined by the power they have consumed, with the eldest and most powerful Rasha-vihi serving as generals. These ancient ones have fed on the flesh of entire dynasties and can take on forms that blend tiger, woman, and shadow in terrifying combinations. They speak in voices that echo with the authority of all the kings they have devoured.

Yet for all their fearsome nature, the Rasha-vihi are bound by unbreakable oaths to Daralazha. They may only hunt those who threaten the boundaries between realms or those who Daralazha explicitly marks as prey. They serve as both executioners and guardians, their very presence a warning to those who would disturb the cosmic order.

In Pamarang art, both Daralazha and her Rasha-vihi feature prominently. The goddess is traditionally depicted in three forms: as a solitary warrior with a spear of starlight, as a robed judge weighing the souls of the dead, or as a magnificent field commander leading her shadow army against waves of chaos-spawned horrors. The Rasha-vihi are often shown in mid-transformation, their bodies half-physical and half-shadow, with the spirits of their consumed victims visible within their forms.

Temples dedicated to Daralazha are sparse and austere, typically built at crossroads or city gates, where supplicants come not to ask for favors but to seek the strength to maintain their own vigilance against darkness. Within these temples, statues of the Rasha-vihi stand in pairs – one in physical form, one in astral – to remind worshippers of their dual nature and the price of drawing their attention.

The most powerful human rulers often keep token shrines to the Rasha-vihi, not out of devotion but as a form of spiritual insurance. These shrines are kept empty and unadorned, for to place offerings would be to draw their hunger. The best protection, as temple priests often advise, is to rule justly and maintain the cosmic order, for the Rasha-vihi have no interest in those who keep to their proper place in the universe. Their presence in the mythology serves as both warning and promise: power may elevate a man, but power unchecked will draw the attention of those who feed upon greatness itself.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Sandman

"Take only memories," the sign said. "Leave only footprints."

Well, that was fine with me. Of course, I'd have preferred not to leave any evidence at all, but the muddy fields make that impossible - they always kip in campsites off the beaten track, and I could barely see the pathways in the dark, even sneaking in as subtly as I could. In fact, there are probably all sorts of traces that I left behind, laid out to follow in the morning light; if only anyone had remembered to look for them.

At least the rest was easy. On a campsite there are no walls to climb, no windows to break, slipping into a bedroom filled with painful obstacles: you can simply unzip the tent, and they're just there, all laid out in their sleeping bags, like individually packaged bags of crisps inside a multipack. Sometimes they have one of those, too - fuel for a long weekend of picnics in the countryside - and I pick up some salt and carbs to line my stomach for the feast.

I feel that people are at their best when they're sleeping. Innocent. Fragile. I mostly stumble across families, but assume that even the most bloodthirsty warrior in history once twitched and smiled at gentle dreams, in the manner of a cat sweetly dreams of disembowelling rabbits. Those are my favourite prey. Not rabbits, or cats, but dreams: the stories that they tell themselves, remixed recollections concocted for their own amusement.

I have always taken memories. It started when I was small, and my caregivers began to leave me places, forgetting that they'd ever dropped me off - I was hungry then, still growing, and consumed more greedily than was wise. Like any child, I was fascinated by my own reflection, and loved to see myself through other people's eyes. Then, having taken their memory of me, I got to see that first impression made all over again.

It was only later, my appetite sated, that I looked back at them through my own eyes, and saw what I had done: I left a trail of absent-minded adults in my wake, a line of scatterbrained saps that I had heartlessly betrayed. The tragedy was that I could feel the depth of their love for me, enjoy its honeyed texture on my tongue, only as I tore them apart: my pleasure underlining my guilt, my tooth-marks in the hand that fed.

That was when I learnt the limitations of my power: I could take memories, but I didn't know how to put them back.

But enough of that; I also cannot cleanse my own memory, or shouldn't, or dare not try. The guilt serves as an anchor, or perhaps a lighthouse. I know that I am that which would be easily miscast, a fairy-tale monster, the devourer of souls; those lessons remind me of that possibility, the ease with which I might still stray from my new conscientious path, but also that I haven't - that I'm not that creature after all. I saw what I had done, and I stopped. I decided to be something else.

I allow them their mementos, their keepsakes and souvenirs; moments they'd look back on years from now. A first family holiday, the time a father taught a daughter how to fly a kite. The time a mother helped her son to build a castle in the sand. Memories to be shared, not taken. In a way, these times of joy would be the worst of all to steal, like leaving footprints through that castle rather than the mud.

My appetite survives, but now I fill it with the sweeter taste of dreams. I am the folklore sandman in reverse, drawing the magic dust from their eyes, taking the memories they will never know to miss; for dreams are still experienced, still seen behind closed lids, and always remembered. Unless, of course, I remember them first. You may recall the change yourself - how, when you were younger, dreams felt more solid in your waking grasp, when now they dissipate like so much sand between your fingertips. That is, if you recall that much at all.

They may be false in their confected wonder, filled with artificial flavours and impossible conceits, but they are all the sweeter for that fabrication. I have to work at night, but it is worth it for the way the colours dance against the dark; it is hard to believe that I ever gorged myself on the humdrum recollections of my daily life, just seen from alternate angles, when I could have flown and visited alien worlds, breathed deep under the ocean waves or transformed into a giraffe - that I ever settled for a mirror, when I could have held a kaleidoscope.

"Take only memories," the sign said. As if I could ever want for anything more.

[sqinsights]

Shrimp Tales: A Whimsical Journey into the Global Seafood Symphony

Diving into the Delectable Data:

Let’s start with the juicy details. The global shrimp market, a bustling underwater marketplace, showcased its impressive prowess by boasting a value of USD 64.83 billion in 2021. Brace yourselves for the crescendo — it’s set to crescendo to a whopping USD 104.97 billion by 2030, making it a spectacle with a growth rate of 5.5%. Even the most agile shrimp would envy such a leap!

Species Showdown:

In the aquatic amphitheater, it’s not just about the fastest fin — it’s a showdown of species! The Whiteleg Shrimp takes center stage, claiming the throne in the largest segment, while Tilapia, with a swift underwater hustle, vies for the title of the fastest-growing. As for you, Black Tiger Shrimp, the competition is getting fierce, so spruce up those stripes!

Regional Rendezvous:

Hold on tight to your shrimp cocktails as we set sail through the regional seas. The Asia-Pacific region steals the spotlight, with China, India, Vietnam, Indonesia, and Thailand flexing their shrimp muscles. Meanwhile, Latin America, led by Ecuador’s shrimp extravaganza, is making waves on the global seafood stage. Sorry, North America, maybe next time you’ll get a taste of the shrimp glory.

Market Dynamics: A Rollercoaster of Flavors and Challenges

Drivers:

First up on the seafood rollercoaster — the consumers! As more folks opt for healthier lifestyles, shrimp emerges as the superhero of low-calorie, high-protein seafood. International trade becomes the secret sauce, with major players like India, China, and Vietnam serving up shrimp delights to the United States, European Union, and Japan.

Restraints:

Yet, every seafood feast has its challenges. Shrimp farming, despite its glamour, plays the role of Aquaman in the industry — powerful, yet a tad susceptible to disease outbreaks. Add the environmental drama of habitat degradation and water pollution, reminding us that even shrimp have an eco-footprint.

Competitive Landscape: Shrimp Wars and Seafood Royalty

Picture this — an underwater city bustling with shrimp producers, processors, and distributors, all vying for their slice of the shrimp pie. Certifications like the Aquaculture Stewardship Council (ASC) and Best Aquaculture Practices (BAP) glitter like tridents, marking the path of sustainability.

For More Information: https://www.skyquestt.com/report/shrimp-market

Top Players — The Seafood Aristocracy:

From the Thai tango of Charoen Pokphand Foods PCL to the seafood royalty of Grupo Ibérica Congelados S.A. in Spain, these are the culinary monarchs making waves in the shrimp kingdom. And let’s not forget the unsung heroes — Pacific Seafood, Trident Seafoods Corp., and the audacious Avanti Feeds Ltd. from India.

Market Trends: From Shrimp Swag to Sustainable Seas

Rising Consumer Awareness:

It’s not just about devouring shrimp; it’s about doing it responsibly. Consumers are evolving into eco-warriors, demanding responsibly sourced and certified shrimp. The Aquaculture Stewardship Council (ASC) and Best Aquaculture Practices (BAP) are the Michelin stars of the seafood world, guiding the way to ethical dining.

Global Shrimp Market SkyQuest Analysis:

In our grand finale, SkyQuest’s ABIRAW team presents a snapshot of this dynamic underwater marketplace. The shrimp market is expanding, driven by the clamor for protein-rich seafood. Whiteleg shrimp takes the lead, but disease outbreaks and environmental concerns throw in a splash of reality. Frozen shrimp emerges as the rockstar, and Asia-Pacific stands tall, led by seafood juggernauts like India and China.

Conclusion:

As we bid adieu to this whimsical expedition through the global shrimp market, let’s remember — shrimp aren’t just delightful bites; they’re the stars of an intricate underwater ballet. So, whether you’re a shrimp aficionado or a casual seafood explorer, the global shrimp market is a sea of opportunities, challenges, and flavors waiting to be savored. Dive in, shrimp enthusiasts, and let the seafood symphony play on!

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Group is a Global Market Intelligence, Innovation Management & Commercialization organization that connects innovation to new markets, networks & collaborators for achieving Sustainable Development Goals.

Contact Us-

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- info@skyquestt.com

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

[star-girl69]

hiii!!! i loved your updates on the daemyra series as always <3 i wanted to req rhaenyra x reader where rhaenyra and reader are secret lovers and they're at a feast together and the reader gets asked to dance with a lord and rhaenyra gets jealous and is rude to the other lord and then holds the reader in the room full of other nobles and is like really close to her and almost kisses her and tells her that shes hers

a/n: anon i love the way you think. (also thank you for the love on my daemyra x reader series!!) i hope you all enjoy!!! (title is from dress by taylor swift) also this is so bad i’m sorry y’all ��

warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, swearing, mentions of violence, tell me if i missed anything!

Secret Moments in a Crowded Room

—-

Loving Rhaenyra was an consuming thing.

You thought of her day and night, morning and noon, when you were with her and when you were not.

To the world, you were Rhaenyra’s best friend. A Redwyne, staying at the castle with your father. He was a close advisor to Viserys, and along with Viserys, came his daughter.

Rhaenyra had consumed you from the first moment you saw each other. And it burned, but you liked it.

Your relationship had always been murky.

You loved each other, showed it and said it, but your relationship was always tainted with the fact that you could never marry. Never be together publicly.

But you learned to push those thoughts aside- because when Rhaenyra’s hands hold your hips, and she murmurs “so pretty,” into your lips before devouring you body and soul, you could think of nothing else besides her.

Even in sweeter moments, stolen moments, when she slung an arm around your waist and buried her face into the back of your neck.

Your secret moments, in crowded rooms, where she would send you a secret look or subtly grab your hand as she passed by.

To the world, you were best friends. But to each other, you were lovers.

So it is no surprise when the bed dips late this night, and Rhaenyra’s arms wrap around your arm.

“Y/N, wake up,”

“Yes?”

“Want you closer,” and you were all too happy to roll over, chin tucking over her shoulder as you pressed your body into the side of hers.

“Tomorrow is the banquet,” you murmur. Unbothered by Rhaenyra’s appearance in your bed. She knows the secret passages, always comes after dark, leaves before light.

“Really? I forgot.”

“You forget everything.”

“Precisely why I have you to remind me.” She presses a kiss to the shell of you ear, and you sigh. “Not excited?”

“It’s boring without you.”

“I’ll try to stay by you.” And you know she means it, but she has a duty to the realm. You have a duty to your house.

“Goodnight, Nyra.” She hums in response and sleep takes you.

—-

You’re quite sure Rhaenyra’s eyes have not left you the entire night.

She left before you woke, leaving her scent on the sheets and the burn of her touch on your body.

After morning etiquette lessons, lessons with your Septa, and tedious needlepoint in your solar until the feast started.

But when you went to your room to get changed, you found an elegant box on the bed.

Most feasts, if not all of them, Rhaenyra gives you a dress. No one knows she’s given it to you, and no one picks up on the dragon that is always embroidered into the hem. She can’t very well scream in front of the entire court that she loves you, so this is second best.

But this particular dress made you… glow. It fit you like a glove, the deep red color complimenting you perfectly, the golden flowers (and dragon) embroidered into the hem made your eyes stand out. There were cuts along the sleeves, kept together with gold clasps.

You feel powerful in it. You couldn’t describe it. But you suppose not everything has to feel like something else. You are content to just float around the room, pretend to look for suitors to appease your father, while everyone compliments the dress that marks you as Rhaenyra’s.

She knows it, too.

After King Viserys gives a speech, commemorating some battle, the food is served and the dance floor opens up. Young men and women flood it, hoping to find a suitor.

You stand up, smiling at Rhaenyra from across the room.

She stares at you, angrily ripping a bread roll in half as a suitor comes up to you immediately.

You know she would come if she could, but Viserys, ever so concerned for her health, always makes sure she has one serving before dancing. The heir to the throne cannot overexert herself, can she?

You tears your eyes away from her, hoping your painted on smile isn’t too pained as you make conversation with the lord. A Lannister, you think.

“You know, red and gold are Lannister colors. Are you sure you didn’t come here for me, Lady Redwyne?”

“A coincidence, My Lord.”

If he is undeterred by your polite attempt at refusing his advances, he doesn’t show it.

“Dance with me, My Lady.” You ignore the fact that it is more a demand than a question, feeling his hand sneak around your waist. You do your best not to flinch. His arm is heavier than Rhaenyra’s. It is odd, foreign.

You much prefer Rhaenyra’s touch.

He leads you to the dance floor after you mutter, “of course, My Lord,” with a fake smile on your face.

“I’m sure you know,” his hands on your waist, fingers splayed, “that Lannister’s are known for being quite… rich.”

You politely nodded, doing your best to not make eye contact with him. Your arms were around his neck, light as possible. You did not want to touch him more than you had too.

“And, I am looking for a wife.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I- um, I hope your search is short, My Lord.”

“It was,” he hums, and you feel the sudden urge to throw up. “Lady Redwyne… I must admit I have been silently admiring you for what seems like forever. Please, allow me to talk to your father and marry you in the traditions of the Seven. Please,”

You were frozen.

You were frozen when he leaned forward.

You were frozen when he placed a kiss on your cheek, lips touching the corner of yours.

“I-”

“That will be quite enough.”

“Rhaenyra.”

“Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra was only looking at you. You stared back, and you were sure your cheeks were flushed in embarrassment.

“Go away. You won’t marry her.” You didn’t flinch of shy away from her touch when she grabbed your hands, pulling you toward her.

“Your Grace?” Confusion was evident in his voice, but you found that you couldn’t care.

“Gods, fuck off or else I will call the Kingsguard.”

You looked at the Lannister out of the corner of your eye, seeing him shrink into himself and his skin pale. He scampered off, and she led you deeper into the crowd.

She turned toward you swiftly, coming so close that she filled your field of vision. She was everything.

“Rhaenyra, I-”

She grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you toward her tightly. Gods, it burned, but Rhaenyra would never hurt you. It burned good.

���Is that what you want? A fucking Lannister?”

“No, Rhaenyra, I-”

“He can’t love you like I do. No one can. You’re mine.”

Her arm winds around your waist, and it is a comforting, familiar weight. You press your forehead against hers.

“I hates every moment with him. I only thought about you.” Her breath hitches, and it is the sweetest sound.

“G-good. Good. Because you’re mine. You know? Mine, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I’m yours, Rhaenyra.” She nods, and her lips ghost over yours. She pulls you flush against her, chest to chest. It is not enough. “Nyra…”

She presses a kiss to your cheek, right where the Lannister did. Any memory of him is erased, and you only want more of her.

“Don’t tease.” You whisper, and she smiles.

She doesn’t kiss you, just presses her nose to yours and let’s your lips touch so slightly.

No one looks at you in this crowded room. It is a secret moment, only for you and Rhaenyra.

“I love you,” she whispers, and her hand comes down from your neck, touches the dragon sewed on your hem.

“I love you too.”

—-

[saey707]

Nothing Personal

✿ Prompt: Yone lets his inner demon out ✿

♡ champion focus: yone ♡ tw: yandere, kidnapping, noncon, psychological horror, gore, obsession ♡ Female reader

Author’s Note: I bet nobody expected me to come back and offer yet another Yone piece... ̑̑ෆ(⸝⸝⸝◉⸝ ｡ ⸝◉⸝⸝⸝) I bet you all can tell I play favorites. While I was gone, I want to thank everyone for supporting my work! So many notes! (◉ ω ◉) I don't think I'll be around consistently because I am in school... But nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this piece! [Side note: I didn't read this over, so I am praying there are no mistakes lol]

Yone was desperate. For far too many nights, he longed to keep you by his side, to fulfill the weary, devoid hole in his heart. He ached to feel the touch of your soft skin, pressed flush against his own, hearts intertwined... Just like that evening when the two of you met in the spirit realm, sitting in comfortable silences. It was the one memory Yone wished he could have embraced a little bit longer... He clung to the idea that someday he would see you again.

In the beginning, he asked himself- no- pondered such menial questions: Why did he cling? Why couldn't he love like normal people did? And will the day ever come when he will feel loved again? Frustrated, it didn't take long for Yone to grow irritated with his lack of pursuit, deciding then to venture beyond the spirit realm... All to find you again.

When Yone found you, his heart swelled with joy. Just watching you from afar, safe and happy, was enough to provide the azakana solace.

But despite how happy he was for you, he couldn't stop his repulsive, killer instincts from feeling one other thing: Hunger.

Remnants of his days were spent watching you, longing to devour you whole. From what Yone has learned in his short return to the mortal realm was how women had a sweeter scent and squishy skin. Much easier to tear into... If he so much had the courage to feast. Most days he left the idea of eating up to his own interpretations. But you...The idea of your sweet blood, body, and soul flowing down his throat, staining his fanged teeth, all leaving him warm and full, made Yone feel profound greed, an unwillingness to share you with anyone else in all of Runeterra.

And one night, Yone was torn with conflict. He didn't want to kill you... But he did want to know in your final dying hours he would be able to consume you. To him, this was all slowly becoming a game. A sick, delusional game.

You were a deer caught in headlights, glowing heterochromatic eyes focused on you from the shadows. From there, all you were able to remember were those horrible, glowing eyes as this... monster swept you off your feet.

He tore his claws into you, eyes widened when your shrill voice begged him to stop. Your delicate skin was marked with the unholy curse of a demon; By the hands of a man, who you fell in love with once upon a time in another realm.

And once again, the hunter was faced with a difficult decision. He was unable to bring himself to risk your precious life for his five minutes of pleasure.

But, either way, it was too late.

You were Yone's possession.

He honored you with his name, tasting the blood that trickled along your forearm greedily, savoring every last drop. You were his now, and he didn’t intend to let you go.

“I'm sorry... I lost myself for a moment there." He heavily sighed, thumb brushing against the corner of his lips. "I'm afraid I can't let you go... Can’t you see, deer? Everyone needs to know that you’re mine."

What was pure agony to you was pure pleasure to him. Every terrible glimmer in your eyes, every rapid beat of your gentle heart. Every shrill scream. All of it was his and only his.

You may deem him to be a monster... But he saw himself as a hungry predator, longing to just corrupt his innocent prey.

And his dabbling hours of him feasting upon you, watching you, and clinging to your love and attention lasted for days upon days. For a moment, Yone thought the two of you could be happy together, that he could stop and realize... He really does have the potential to love someone so innocently again. If he just lets you live to be one with him, hearts intertwined like before...

But you just had to play hard to get. He could have let you see the light of day. That was before you hit him.

The slap forced enough impact to turn his head to the side, raven locks falling over his face. A gruesome snarl followed, clutching where you hit him with a bandaged hand.

“You’re going to wish you didn’t do that, (Y/N)...”

Yone dragged you to the forest, the aching cold blowing against the bits of your exposed skin. He grabbed you by the hair, snickering as he pushed you to the dirt. Fingers danced along the hilt of his dual blades, your eyes trailing to them. He was going to kill you, you thought. Helpless, little tears prickled along the corners of your eyes. But, Yone showed no remorse for the devastating look on your sad, innocent, little face.

The hunter began circling you. Cold nails traveled along your jawline; He was toying with you you, taunting you.

“It pains me that we have to do this, innocent deer... I don't want to be a monster." He muttered, listening to the steady stream of your sobs.

"You don't have to be..." You wallowed out.

"Then why?! Why did you keep running?! If you leave me, I’ll die!! You don’t want to let me starve do you?!”

He grabbed you by the face, his breathy voice dancing into your ear, malice trembling in his unstable laughter as he spoke, “I’m going to count to ten... You have ten seconds to run for your helpless, little freedom... But you won’t get very far. You’re so hopeless you can’t admit that you need me.” Chuckling, he teeth on your cheek a little, before placing his lips as a gentle kiss.

“Do you remember when I told you the cheek was a window to the soul?" The warrior queried, his heart sinking when you nodded your head. Of course, you remember. You remember all the memories you shared with him. They lived in your heart, in a part of your soul.

To him, it was a glimpse of the past, a reminder that the two of you could have been happy and human. But there was no point in looking back now when all Yone saw in the reflections of still rivers was a monster with a mask.

"If I catch you... I am going to kill you. You will be my perfect, little pet." He sighed, "I anticipated this day would come. You’re just a defenseless deer. You can’t protect yourself... And there will be no one to protect you or save you..." He smiled. You were terrified.

"Look at you, so desperate to leave the only man who cares about you!! It makes me sick.”

He could only smile at your determination. Such a headstrong woman you were. It was one of the many things he loved about you, and yet, one of the many he hated. Releasing you from his hold, he grabbed hold of mortal steel.

You scrambled to your feet, listening to his daunting voice begin the countdown. You screamed, cried, and struggled to navigate a way out of the treacherous, unending forest!!

GO

WHICH WAY

LEFT?

RIGHT?!

Every way you turned you can hear him, ridiculing your chance of escape.

His free hand gripped onto the demonic blade, halfway done with the countdown.

Yone readied himself, one leg forward, blades forming a perfect "X" before the long forgotten, once dignified warrior. You can hear his footsteps, prancing atop the snow, beginning his prowl for your entire being...

Get OUT OF HERE! Go AWAY!!!

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!

HE'S COMING

RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN!

“FOUND YOU, DEER!”

Your eyes shut tightly, dreading the impact of his blades... But they never came.

“That was fun. However, you didn’t make that a challenge for me... How sweet! Are you really this weak without me?" He sliced your leg, making you fall to your knees with a howl.

"That’s adorable. Aww, don't cry, deer~" He licked your cheek, admiring how your head turned away from meeting his hungry eyes, "Is my little deer scared? I'm sorry~ I didn't mean it, honest..." But you knew he was teasing you.

The hunter's tongue and lips followed down to your thigh, beginning to suck the blood from your open wounds. The sight of your trembling shoulders, your delicate hand weft in his hair as he suckled on your sweet blood, was everything to him. It seethed eternities of endless love for the innocent spirit he so much adored.

“You taste so good... You want to be touched by me, don’t you deer? You love feeling absolutely incapable. Nothing but a dirty, little animal of mine...” His hunger was satisfied. His name was scarred into your skin. He broke you. And he was a monster to enjoy every bite, prod, and lick that satisfied the everlasting starvation that contorted the Yone you once loved.

You can struggle and cry and scream all you want. But you belong to the hunter, and the hunter would only ever belong to you.

[saturndivine]

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you. 

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control. 

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.” 

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible. 

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness. 

“And I love too, that love soon might end, 

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby. 

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.” 

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root 

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand 

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness. 

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars.  This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. 

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.” 

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul. 

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path. 

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. 

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.” 

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy. 

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead. 

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.” 

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit. 

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, 

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. 

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat. 

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

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[pumpkaaboo]

Elden Ring Daemon AU

just covers the main gods and demigods, under a cut because this is so long. might do some of the other characters later.

Marika: Maliketh originally settled as a bearded vulture. When Marika was chosen as the vassal of the greater will, it transformed him into a noble half-wolf, stripping him of his wings and granting him the ability to stray much farther from her. After all, what use would a queen of a kingdom of eternal life have for a creature that feasts on death?

Godfrey: Serosh the lion had always been his better half. By destroying Serosh's body in order for him to exist as a spirit, they hoped to bind themselves closer together, and exist as something approaching a measured unity.

Godwyn: His daemon settled as a massive golden eagle. Though he never knew it, his mother saw an echo of Maliketh's former self in her. They dreamed of the day she would be able to fly free, without the shadow of politics or war to threaten her. That day would never come, however, as she collapsed into dust the instant destined death touched his flesh.

The Omen Twins: Omens are born without daemons. It is thought by some scholars that their horns are the vessels for their souls instead. But they never experienced the childhood loneliness that plagues most daemonless; they had each other, after all, and thus never sought substitutes. True isolation was something they would only learn as adults.

Rennala: Her daemon is a magnificent blue peacock, whose markings are a striking moon-silver rather than gray. He had always been proud of his form, but eventually fell silent after Radagon's departure. He eventually asked to be reborn, and never reemerged from the amber egg.

Radagon: Brought a red wolf to Liurnia with him, and claimed it to be his daemon. Despite that, no one has ever heard it speak. He left it behind when he departed. Most are satisfied with the explanation that his ability to distance himself with it is the same magic that Marika uses to send Maliketh far away, but others aren't so sure.

Ranni: She was chosen by the Greater Will at birth, and thus Blaidd was trapped in half-wolf form from that very moment, never having the chance to experiment with what could have been possible. They don't know what he would have settled as had he been free of the Greater Will's influence, but Ranni secretly hopes he would have been something with wings.

Radahn: Leonard chose to settle as a horse, as both he and Radahn adored the image of themselves charging into battle together. This act of shortsightedness and ignorance of Radahn's eventual size ended up merely propelling their legend to even greater heights, and defining Radahn's mastery of gravity magic as a story of cleverness and overcoming adversity.

Rykard: His daemon was originally a clever opossum. She was consumed by the god-devouring serpent alongside him, but her face never appeared in its scales.

Malenia: Although she and her brother were both empyreans, the greater will waited to bestow its gifts on their daemons; it already had Ranni and Marika, and would come for them only if necessary. Malenia's daemon settled as a scarlet butterfly, a living reminder of her curse. Still, the strength of the wings she gained from mastering the blade more than made up for the fragility of her daemon's.

Miquella: As part of his curse, his daemon was doomed to never settle. But she often liked to stay the form of a red squirrel for days on end, pretending at reaching a state she couldn't.

[punemy-spotted]

The Cut

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Muslim-Coded Reader

Warnings: Explicit Content; Smut; Oral Sex (F-receiving); Discussion of FGM/Clitorectomy; Allusions to Child Abuse; Allusions to Scars; Angst; Mention Cutting;

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You cannot carry all your pain on your own.

Author’s Notes: When I was five years old, I was subjected to a clitorectomy, a procedure that was a violation of my human rights and bodily autonomy. It has fundamentally changed the way I view my sexuality and challenged my ability to see myself as a person worthy of sexual pleasure and love. This procedure was done very deliberately to make me a person who did not have sexual autonomy and did not derive pleasure from sex. And for a long time, it worked.

When Dibs at @gotnofucks #dibspositivitychallenge came out, it really only felt right to do a piece that represented this story, because if I don’t give voice to this pain, then there’s a good chance no one else will either. Which is why I’m submitting it as part of the challenge — and it was a challenge! I’ve alluded to FGM in other, now mostly-abandoned pieces, but never anything where it is acknowledged and soothed, and for the most part, endured it alone.

And before this note becomes almost as long as the piece, thank you, @gotnofucks, for the opportunity to be okay with the things we are not.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

No, not like that.

Helmut Zemo invades your life like a virus, consumes your loneliness in greedy kisses, winds his arms around you like he might just swallow your pleasure whole, might make you a part of him to carry away forever. Bare yourself to him and he might sink his fangs into you, drain you of all your fears and leave only obsession in its wake, might turn you into the same cold lover as him, might just make you fall in love.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

You are soft and delicate and precious under his lingering gaze, under appraising fingers, under appreciative hums. He bids you Lay still, sweetling, bids you Let me look at you, bids you You are a masterpiece made flesh, and you believe him, and you forget.

You forget, as he claims your soft mouth with his own, willing and wanting. You forget, as his tongue explores the pleasurable symphony of your surrender. You forget, you forget everything. There is only the hunger of his lust, the wanting he leaves on your skin, marking you with nips of teeth and suckling kisses, makes a game of your yelps and whimpers, chuckles against your tender form, So needy for me, sweetling.

And you are.

Helmut, you plead, running fingers through his hair as he simpers with lips wrapped around the pebbled skin of your breast, watching him wide-eyed and enamored, a halo of dark locks around your face and you are made of adoration and to be adored.

Darling, he purrs, fingers sliding along your sides, Do you trust me?

And oh.

Oh, you do.

Let him kiss along the planes of your body, let him love the soft lines of you in the early morning light and bid you spread your legs for him Yes just like that, darling, good girl…

Helmut Zemo hums against your skin, takes in the sight of you full of want and wanting, your hands tangled in silk sheets and lips curved around the praise of your love and he is lost to you just the same.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

The softness of your sex is an intoxicant and the kisses he places to the plush apex of you is a whisper of a promise, seeking the sweetness of you on his senses and if he notices the scars where the missing parts of you are then he does not speak and if he notices the way your breath hitches and you tense then he does not speak. He only presses the flat of his tongue against that which you have, taking a decadent lap of your sweetness while you whine and if there are tears in your eyes, sweetling, let him pause to wipe them away, let him watch you in adoring silence to see if you will utter to him the words which will put a stop to this worship and bring about another kind. You are exalted and let him raise you to the heavens just like this, Just like this, sweetling.

He does not devour you, he is no beast, but he does drink of your pleasure, letting his tongue delve into your softness. Gentle hands holding you in place, encouraging you to surrender, writhe and move and let him nuzzle deeper, let him moan, soft and hungry against the feast he adores so much and when you surrender, sweetness, he is overcome.

The first time he touches you, he asks nothing.

The first time he touches you, he sees everything.

Does it hurt?

The next time he touches you, he is curled around you in bed, fingers languid and lazy against the plushness of your sex, finding the space where nerves are made scars and watching you turn, watching your eyes grow desperate and realize he saw and he touched and he loved you anyway and you say nothing at first, not until he asks again, Does it hurt you, sweetling?

Sometimes.

But today?

No.

Will you tell me?

Someday.

And he asks nothing further, only whether you are warm and comfortable here in this home he had made out of your bed and when you nod he is calmed and when you nod he is taking another hungry kiss from your plush mouth and when you nod he is patient.

He is always patient, and careful, and skilled, and waiting.

One day it does hurt, and for once, you do not hurt alone.

One day it does hurt and you tell him.

He holds you while you cry, just as he is, kissing your fingers and promising divinity in your adoration and you tell him of the girl you once were and you speak of the knives and the crimes and he listens.

He listens and in his heart, he simmers with the pain and rage you have absorbed for all your years, the iceberg shelves of his heart cracking under the weight of your hurt and your confession and he asks no questions but sweetling, you tell him every word, pressed against his chest and tears in your eyes, Let yourself cry, darling, and Helmut Zemo might be a murderer and an extremist and a villain but in this moment he is yours and there are no greater villains than the ones who drove you to this, who charged a child with crimes she did not know the names of, demanding reparation from her in her blood and flesh.

So you tell him. You tell him of the dusty hospital and the sneering faces. You tell him how your mother could not bring herself to come with you and so you stood, too young to remember your native tongue with no interpreter to make your grandmothers understand that you were afraid.

You tell him of a bird with her wings clipped before she even knew she could have flown, you tell him how you thought you would never, you tell him how it used to hurt and sweetness… you tell him how you thought he would leave you if he saw.

It’s not their fault, you tell him too, and he does not believe you but it is not his place to tell you what to feel and so instead he runs fingers through your hair and holds you to his chest and kisses your temple.

It’s not their fault, you insist, They trusted the wrong people, they were misled, they—

They are not yours to defend, sweetling, he tells you in his softest voice, breaking you from your guilt, They are not yours to justify.

And so you do not give it.

You give nothing, only your tears to a man who demands nothing, only bids you seek refuge in what safety he can give but sweetness he knows the meaning of revenge and the power of loathing and you have carried your burden for so long and justice has failed you so often — Let me carry this pain with you, my darling — and oh sweetness, you will.

You will, and he will carry you through the days you try to give a name to your anguish.

You will, and he will find the means to demand the justice you were denied because you deserve your justice, because you cannot be allowed to hurt while they go home and pretend they are correct to do this to you and your sisters in faith.

You will.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

No, not like that.

Not when he shows you how wrong they were.