#bull skull tattoo

[miles333fan]

Unleash Your Bold Side: Discover the Meaning Behind Iconic Tattoos

[funkartistics]

Spooky design perfect for skull lovers who loves skulls stickers. It can also be given as a hallowen gift to your friends and family who also loves skulls. Design is also fitting in time for 31st October, 2023

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

[kiame-sama]

wait, you already said what you think the twst cast is as monsters, but what do they look like?

Warnings: my twst monster au, almost all characters with names (other than Yuu and Grim) in monster forms, mythical creatures, deer rack point system, measurements given in ft and cm, animal traits, various animal and plant species mentioned, usually I would say to use your imagination to think it up but I have thought about this way too much myself so I may as well share ideas of what they would look like, feel free to draw these monster men and if you do please share with me because I want to see these goobers drawn, some spoilers for Rollo's backstory,

Divus is a Harp Seal Selkie;

- Divus has a black and white fur coat of a Harp Seal with slight spotting pattern similar to Leopard Seals. His coat is always shiny, clean, and wrapped around his shoulders. Divus appears fairly humanoid and close to his canon appearance other than the sharper than normal canines that are closer to the cone teeth of seals. Selkies do not part with their coats lightly so it is very rare to see one without their pelts on their shoulders. His coat is more natural Harp Seal patterning than the clear black and white lines he has in canon.

Sam is a Shadow man;

- White skull markings along his face with burning purple eyes. He has several black tattoos on his skin that move and can even detach into actual shadow to ensnare his prey. There is constantly a darkness around him that seemed to repulse light, making him appear to be surrounded in constant shadow.

Vargas is a Texas-Longhorn Minotaur;

He has very long and large bull horns with the minotaur expression on his lower half making his upper body appear human other than his horns. His lower half is the same shade as his hair with white speckling on the left leg. His tail is often lazily swinging back and forth as he talks.

Trein is a Mountain Lion Sphinx;

- Lower-half is the body of a Mountain Lion with wings, upper half is Trein's usual upper body. He does have a lot of grey and white furs/feathers due to his age in his coat and it is clear he favors his right back leg as it usually sits at an angle. He can often be seen lounging with Lucius in a sunny spot in his classroom when not teaching.

Crowley is a Crow Fae;

- Similar to his appearance in canon TWST, but his large black wings are more prominent as are the iridescent colors in them and his hair. He actually has talons on his hands and not just the golden talons. He does wear golden caps on his talons however and has a medium length train of black tail-feathers.

Ace is a Saanen Satyr;

- He has short twisted horns and his orange hair is also the same color on his goat half- just a bit darker shade. His hooves are an off-white ivory. He does have the little billy-goat scruff of a goatee due to his Satyr heritage.

Deuce is a Rocky Mountain Faun;

- Deuce has large spiral horns and his blue hair is the same color on his goat half- just a shade darker as well with white speckles around his hooves and tail. His hooves are black. Deuce does not have the goatee often seen on Satyrs and Fauns.

Note; it is part of my AU that Satyrs usually have shorter horns and are closer to farm goats in their animal halves. Fauns are closer to mountain goats and therefore have longer more curved horns often seen on rocky mountain rams. Females of both Fauns and Satyrs grow the same large horns, but their horns are often thinner around than the males of their species.

Cater is a Lake Water Nymph;

- Cater is considered unusual among Water Nymphs because of his hair's coloration being a bright red instead of a more blue or green which is more common for Water Nymphs. Cater's hair is closer in color to a red Ludwigia as he is a lake Water Nymph and the flora of lakes tend to have a fair variation of green to red color hues. Cater's bright green eyes are closer to the usual colors of Water Nymphs and he accredits this to his mother who is a river Water Nymph. In the water Cater gets fins more adapted to lake swimming so he is not as strong in currents.

Che'nya is a Bakeneko;

- He is similar to his canon appearance, but the purple and pink of his hair is also visible on the skin of his arms, legs, and back. He also now has two fluffy tails similarly striped that are often seen waving mischievously behind him.

Trey is a Kelpie Centaur;

- When out of the water, Trey's Centaur half is that of a white horse with a long tail of the same green hair that Trey's human half has. His horse half is closer muscular build to Scottish Draft horses. When in the water, the white fur of his horse half becomes a lake green with fading blue hues. His tail hair becomes more stringy like lake reeds and his fur takes a more prickly quality. His back legs become a large fin when he is submerged completely in deep water, making him more of a Hippocampus in physiology while swimming.

Riddle is a Unicorn Centaur;

- His horse half has a pure white coat with a long tail closer to that of a lion than a horse, but long bright red hair for his tail. Riddle's hooves are a rather lovely golden color that shine like metal, same with the tight spiral horn that sits in the center of his forehead. There is a faded blue star shape at the base of his horn that seems to tattoo his fair skin, he often covers this up with his bangs. His horse half is similar in musculature to that of an Arabian Horse making him appear more dainty than Trey.

Note; Cater is often seen lounging on Trey's back while Trey swims in the Heartslabyul lake with Riddle laying in the grass on the shore. They often spend their afternoons doing this and Cater will frequently try to get Riddle to swim. Thus far, he has been unsuccessful.

Jack is a Gray Wolf Werewolf;

- Unlike his canon appearance, Jack constantly has that wolf-head and white fur all over his body. He can shift between being bipedal or a quadruped with little issue between the two forms of locomotion, meaning his limbs are closer in length than human limbs. He has fur similar in length to wolves and even has paw-like hands. His tail is frequently wagging whenever he is with friends or those he is fond of.

Ruggie is a Spotted Hyena Gnoll;

- Similar to Jack, Ruggie now has a Hyena head and pelt instead of just the ears and tail. He is still somewhat humanoid, but he is still shorter than Leona or Jack. His back legs are more like a Hyena and he has that same muscular ridge on his shoulders that Hyenas do. He still has his bright blue eyes despite how odd it is for Gnolls, but his coat is the same sandy light-brown as his hair usually is with dark brown spots.

Leona is a Nemean Lion;

- Nemean Lions are golden furred beasts much larger and stronger than any regular lion on top of being impervious to damage from mortal weapons. This translates into Leona's skin having a more golden sheen to it, always seeming to look like he has been dusted with fine powder gold sparkles. His dark hair has several bright gold strands woven in that makes it shiny as well. The fur on Leona's tail and ears is also that glittering golden color which only makes the tuft of fur at the end of his tail look darker. He is a little taller than in cannon and slightly more defined in musculature due to the natural strength of Nemean lions.

Azul is a Coconut Octopus Cecaelia;

- He is very similar to how he appears in canon, but now he has several black marks along his arms and body similar to how he looks in his merman form. Even in a human form, it is clear Azul is still not human due to these dark markings that wrap around his body. A few of these black tendrils frame his cheekbones and make those brightly colored eyes of his only seem brighter.

Jade and Floyd are Moray Eel Mermen;

- Similar to Azul, Floyd and Jade look similar to how they do in cannon, but their merman features are more visible even in their human forms. The fins they have alongside their faces are now present in their human forms as are the colorations of their merman forms on their shoulders and faintly around their faces. Their gills are still visible in their human forms.

Kalim is a Genie;

- Kalim is the closest out of everyone to his canon appearance as his identity as a Genie changes very little. He will likely wear clothes akin to his dorm clothes appearance but have the addition of golden bands around his wrists and ankles. He can form legs to walk on, but often chooses to fly instead, where his legs become more smoke-like in the typical Genie 'tail' that many Genies are often seen with. Kalim now has a golden aura around him that makes him glow slightly with a golden color due to his high-magic Genie nature.

Note; Kalim sleeps in his lamp and keeps many of his treasures in his lamp as his magic allows the lamp to be more like a hotel suite than a prison cell despite the size on the outside. Only Kalim and those he invites into his lamp can enter.

Jamil is a Sand Viper Naga;

- Jamil's upper half is similar to how it is in canon, but his lower half is that of a rather large snake. His shake half is 22ft (670cm) comprised of black and maroon scales. His maroon scales are closer to the color of dried blood and often get dark enough shades that they mix with the black diamond and striping patterns his black scales make. The scales on the stomach side of his snake body are a slightly more red tone than his skin tone. He does have golden scales that line his stomach scales and are in the center of the diamond patterns on his back.

Note; Jamil often sleeps with Kalim's lamp in the coils of his Naga tail. Having come from a long line of Naga that are usually the guards and guardians of the wealth and well-being Kalim's Genie family has amassed through the years. Wherever a Genie from Kalim's family lives, so too lives a Sand Viper Naga from Jamil's family to guard them.

Vil is a Peacock Harpy;

- Vil still has his flawless skin and purple ombre hair even as a peacock harpy, but he does have hair-like cobalt blue and emerald green feathers that often get woven into braids. He also has seven pristine head feathers that are the same 'eye' patterns as his tial feathers that often lay back against his hair unless he is feeling particularly proud, in which his crest will rise up like a crown atop his head. Vill has feathering along his shoulders, upper back and neck that are the bright cobalt blue of male Indian peacocks. Along his shoulder blades are his wings which have a full span of 8ft (244cm) but are often tucked neatly against his back and folded so the flight feathers don't drag when he walks. Vil has the full peacock train of tail-feathers and spends quite a bit of time preening and grooming them to maximum shine. He will only fully display his tail-feathers when being prideful or showing off to a prospective mate.

Rook is an Australian Golden Huntsman-Spider Drider;

- Rook's legs are a long spindly gold that are many times the length of his thorax and abdomen. The thorax of his spider body is larger than the abdomen of the body due to the typical shape of Huntsman-Spiders. The thorax area on Rook's spider body has a large black mark among the back hairs trailing down to where the abdomen part of his body is more narrow and the marks become black lines making their way down. His human half is attached at the top of the thorax where the spider's eyes are usually located. His spider legs are as thick as a Human's legs, his mandibles and pedipalps being similar in thickness. His fangs are to scale and are extremely long as well as being like blacked curved knives, he often keeps them tucked away to not unsettle others.

Note; Rook and Vil have a very mutually beneficial relationship just as they do in regular TWST. Rook helps Vil preen and take care of his feathers, often being the one getting the pin feathers Vil can't reach on his back and shoulders. Rook uses the silk he creates as a Drider to make fabrics for Vil as they are of high quality, and even higher thread count. Both are content to be the others boon companion and will often be seen working together outside of class as well.

Neige is a Mourning Dove Harpy;

- Neige has the same dark black hair and big brown doe eyes he does in cannon but he also has grey-brown feathers throughout his black hair. His cheeks, neck, shoulders, and upper back have the same gray-brown feathers with speckles of dark brown, white, black, and gray feathers throughout giving a light speckling pattern. His wings are that same gray brown color and are 6.5ft (200cm) in length. The ends of his flight feathers are often trailing over the ground beneath him when he is relaxed and he rarely opens his wings fully. Like most mourning doves, he has a lovely soothing voice and his unassuming species of Harpy makes him all the more charming.

Note: I was going to make Neige a Willow Grouse Harpy due to the coloration match with Neige and his RSA uniform, but I have a childhood fondness for the call of a mourning dove and Neige is supposed to have a beautiful voice, so I figured sweet Neige can be a mourning dove and not the goofy sounding Willow Grouse.

Epel is a Beliy Naliv Apple Wood Nymph;

- Epel has white tree bark as skin, occasionally having the slight dark mark or blemish where Epel had gotten into fights despite being a more peaceful species of Wood Nymph. His hair is made up of pale green leaves that are often covered in powder lavender blooms that are the same color as his canon hair color. Epel has the same large blue eyes as he does in canon. Occasionally the blooms on his head will grow into small apples that are white due to his species of Wood Nymph being the White Cloud Apple. His skin is rougher in texture and closer to the texture of bark.

Idia is a Shinigami;

- He still has his blue flaming hair and blue tinted lips and gold eyes. His skin is closer to a light gray in tone now, his nails a natural black. He now has these scraggly black wings that are kind of like bird wings but more haggard in appearance. The feathers are more slick and almost oily in texture and have some traces of blues in them similar to Idia's hair. He can use them to fly, but they make a very loud wooshing sound that he isn't overly fond of so he doesn't often use them. His limbs are just a bit longer than they are in canon giving him a more skeletal and gaunt appearance.

Ortho is also a Shinigami;

- Similar to Idia, Ortho still has his blue flaming hair and golden eyes. He will have the same light gray skin tone Idia does, but his wings are now cybernetic due to an unfortunate accident when Ortho was much younger that caused him to lose his Shinigami wings. Ortho also has several cybernetic limbs as a result of that same accident, making monster AU ortho closer in appearance to canon Ortho, but still able to eat/sleep/behave like a living being. Ortho is not AI but does have several augments to allow his brain to function with the aid of AI due to his unfortunate incident when he was younger.

Silver is a Reindeer Cervitaur;

- Silver is a leucistic deer cervitaur. This means his deer half has white fur as well with light gray spots along his back similar to the spots fawns have for camouflage purposes. His antlers are also an ivory white, and only have three points. From burr to tip of the beam, Silver has two points at the end of the beam and one point near the burr of his antlers. Lilia throws a party any time Silver gets another point on his antlers. Silver's deer half has the musculature type closer to reindeer than whitetail deer.

Lilia is a Vampire Bat Fae;

- Similar to his canon appearance, Lilia looks almost the same in his monster AU form, but his monster AU form has bat wings and a little tail. Most bats have tails and delicate wings, so I decided Lilia should also have bat wings and a little tail. His wings are sturdier than most bats and have several holes in them from past battles he has endured. He is still the Fae variation so he has the same pointed ears, sharp teeth, and slit pupils other Fae type have. His wings are black with Light pink highlights near the tips just like his hair.

Note; Lilia likes to sleep upsidedown in this AU and will often settle himself in the cafeteria chandeliers or even the rafters of various buildings to take naps throughout the downtimes of the day. Lilia is more nocturnal in this AU as well with increased sensitivity to sounds/lights.

Malleus is Dragon Fae.

- Malleus in the monster AU is similar to his canon appearance but has his dragon wings, tail, and various clusters of black scales along his body. His nails are decent length black talons and he has black scales along the backs of his hands and up his arms. His neck and upper back/shoulders have more black scales. His wings are the same deep black with a slight purple tint to them anywhere the skin is exposed. His tail is about as thick as a leg and tapers off to a wickedly sharp point that Malleus could use to impale someone if he wanted to. Black scales frame his eyes like their own kind of makeup and are more colorful around the eyes in purples and green sheens that highlight the obsidian base color of the scales.

Note; Malleus is more in touch with his dragon instincts in this AU due to being more outwardly dragon. He does make a nest out of his bed and is much more inclined to hoard things he is fond of, including but not limited to Gargoyles, unusual stones, and various creatures he takes interest in. Once he considers someone to be part of his hoard, he will be possessive of them and fiercely protective. Only creatures part of his hoard are allowed to enter his nest. Lilia, Silver, and Sebek are three of his living hoard.

Sebek is a Raiju Fae;

- His hair is a bit more wild and fur-like compared to his canon appearance with yellows mixed in to the sage green color. His teeth are much sharper and he actually has more dog-like qualities similar to Jack's canon appearance. Raiju are lightning dog mythical creatures, so Sebek's appearance will be similarly dog-like with the beastman ears and spiky furred tail that has a rougher texture compared to most fur. His tail and ear positioning will often be a dead giveaway for what emotions Sebek is feeling at the time.

Rollo is an Inferno Fire Nymph.

- Rollo's eyes are an ashen gray as is his skin and hair when he is not in his active inferno flame form. Much like a burned log, his flesh will bare the same ashen faded look to it. Rollo is usually in this form as he is not overly fond of the fire he creates and he can keep himself mostly calm despite the constant annoyance of others around him. When in his active inferno fire form, his ashen hair will ignite into flames, his gray eyes turning a bright fire red. Similarly, his skin will take a redder tone and embers will float off of his hair.

Note: Rollo's fire can burn others, but he can also consciously change the temperature of his flames to only warm and not harm if he felt so inclined. He would only willingly do this for someone he deeply loved and cared for as his full flame form reminds him far too much of his deceased brother, hence why he uses it sparingly. There are many types of Fire Nymphs, but Inferno Fire Nymphs are considered the most deadly as their flames get the hotest. Young Fire Nymphs cannot control their fire and can burn themselves out if they get too hot internally.

[momojedi]

Imagine Hunter and Cross fucking something up and hiding in a bar while being hunted down by the Corrie Guard and the Guard just barging in and going

“We’re looking for two men.. they have like face tats and all”

And Hunter just going “Aw man, Cross you’ve got something in your eye, er, let me look like the great big brother I am” to cover Crosshair’s bulls eye tattoo and Crosshair just going “aah, yeah yeah, and let me block out the light, you know, to help w your heightened senses and shit” to hide Hunter’s skull tattoo

All while the Guard is just standing there like yeah we got our criminals

[headspace-hotel]

that picture of the bull Elk carrying the skull of his rival entangled in his antlers would make such a great tattoo

[octuscle]

I've always been a well put together scrawny guy. Never really got along with other guys who were more masculine. I'm eager to see what's on the other end of life. A bear, hairy, with a big belly and a deep belly button. Can fart among other men openly, freely, and, most of all, proudly. The kind of guy who can fix a car with one hand while the other hand is scratching my belly button or drifting the stench of my farts up to my nose. I want to be as filthy of a man as can be, and I want to be proud of it!

As they say in an old Hollywood movie, life is like a box of chocolates… Do you like chocolates? Here's a box.

The chocolates are made of very dark chocolate. They smell of wood, leather and tobacco. Masculine. The first one has rings as a symbol and melts in your mouth. It tastes of whiskey. Very tasty. As the saying goes. A moment on your lips, a lifetime on your hips. You can feel your belly growing a little. And the piercings in your nipples feel great.

You can't really tell what's on the next chocolate… An eggplant? Maybe. It tastes… Musky? Your boner is growing in your pants as your belly swells over the waistband. Your foreskin grows back. You run your hand down your pants. Yes, that's good. You smear the precum. With your other hand, you take another chocolate.

It's a bear or something… Also filled with alcohol. But something different, tastes like beer. You have to burp. Your shirt stretches across your stomach and chest. You're growing fur. Everywhere. That was really tasty, you need another one of those. Hehehe, the burp was even better. Phew, how it stinks. Male! You have to take your shirt off before you tear it to pieces. You pull your hand out of your pants, the waistband is getting too tight. You smell your hand. Sweat and musk, sticky from the precum. You rub it clean on your hairy chest and then unbutton your pants. Your cock pops out like a jack-in-the-box.

There's another animal head on the next praline. Could be a bull. Your belly doesn't just swell, it bloats…. Brffffffffft! Phew, you can still put up with your own farts. And here comes another one. You take a deep breath. Yes, that's what a really good fart must smell like. You rub the bulge in your leather pants… It feels great. And the leather can tame a bit of your farts if necessary. If you want…

You haven't tried any of those yet. They have a geometric pattern on them. Your pecs have become man boobs. Big, powerful but soft. And decorated with tattoos that look like you've had them for decades. You get another one with an eggplant on it. Your balls and cock swell up. Your cock is rock hard. Shit, you have to cum. Your cum flies all the way into your beard. A deep puddle forms in your belly button. You rub it all into your fur with your calloused hands.

You've never had one with a wheel like this before. It tastes of oil. Kind of disgusting. And somehow hot. You put your heavy motorcycle boots down on the coffee table and adjust your muir cap. Shit, chocolate pralines don't really fit in your motorcycle workshop. But they do taste good. You have to fart again. And burp immediately afterwards. You hope no customers come in now.

The appetite comes with eating. You take two with a bear on them at once. The leather sofa groans under your weight. The muir cap feels great on your bare skull. The remains of your tobacco still cling to your mighty beard. Yes, you actually feel more like a good portion of Copenhagen or a cigar than a chocolate. But there are only two left anyway. One with a ring on it and one with a bull.

Shit, you can feel a hurricane brewing in your guts. You rub your belly and your tits. Your huge piercings in your nipples and glans are impressive. The leather strap stretches across your upper arm. One of your boys comes into your office and wants to ask you about the Fatboy that's due to be finished this afternoon. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Brbrbrbrbrffffffft! Shit, a bison would be proud. You take a deep breath. Your coworker turns pale. "Get used to it, boy!" you growl.

To apologize, you have given your employee an extra-large box of chocolates. He is to share it with the other boys. His questions are all answered. Now you need a midday nap. Your boys know that. For the next half hour, all they'll hear is snoring and farting coming from your office.

Pic found @musclefetish77

[littleplasticrat]

The Inkskin Pact [Rugan/Tav, explicit]

Rugan has a magic tattoo that grants him virility if he always ensures his partner is satisfied first. It doesn't have to happen in the same encounter. When Rugan pins Tav to a wall in the Zhent hideout and finishes her unceremoniously, she knows he's going to come back and find her again later, when she's least expecting it.

Thank you to @dustdeepsea and @fistfuloftarenths for the amazing tattoo ideas and then to everyone on the Discord for egging me on with writing this muck. Thanks also to @captainsigge for the incredible edits of Rugan wearing the alternative Bhaalist armour set, which has honestly ruined my life.

Read it below or on Ao3.

+++

Tav smiled as she admired the muscles working in Rugan’s torso. The movement made the huge winged snake tattoo across the broad of his back writhe almost hypnotically. He had a light dusting of freckles on the tops of his shoulders that would probably darken in the sun if he ever went outside without his leathers. She reached down and stroked her nails through his hair, and his blue eyes met-

She clenched down on the fingers inside her as he chose that moment to change what he was doing with his tongue. Her reaction excited him and he repeated the flurry of diagonal strokes against her clit until she was squirming and breathing his name. When she pressed a hand over her eyes and began to push her hips up in earnest, he pulled back and kissed the softest part of her thigh before she could finish.

Earlier on that evening, he’d told her over dinner that he wanted to learn exactly what would make her sing for him in the bedroom. Tav’s mouth had fallen open and her cunt had unfurled like a flower as he sat there watching her with that lop-sided way he had of smiling. It’s for the inkskin enchantment. She’d nodded; she knew the deal. It was a pact that had served her well.

After they’d first fallen into bed together, he’d explained each tattoo to her. The cascade of coins and shamrocks that signified good fortune in Luskan. The juncture of the snake coiling up his arm and the black hand on his chest representing the fealties of the Zhentarim. And finally: the bull's skull, all bleached bones and with wildflowers and vines wrapped around the horns. Emblazoned on his upper thigh, it had tingled beneath her fingers as she’d sucked him off slowly earlier that evening. The magic was subtle, but it was there. He’d got it from some back-street mystic who’d promised him eternal masculine power provided he always stoked the counterpart energy in his partner. Tav had looked at him, missing the meaning behind the cryptic prescription and his suggestive tone. You’ll always finish first with me, he’d promised.

He was kissing her leg up and down now, waiting for the pressure of her cunt to subside around his fingers as she calmed down. She knew his tongue would soon return to where it belonged, perfecting the motions that would bring her to ruin.

+

A few days later, and the shipment they’d been waiting for had finally rolled in. No more leisurely mornings where they clasped each other, sleep-warm and pliant; no more fucking across Rugan’s desk with the door cheekily ajar. They were both out of bed at the crack of dawn, and Rugan was knee-deep in paperwork, which he would hurriedly address in between organising the splitting of the shipment and rearranging caravan teams and routes. Tav was focused on packing the most delicate parts of the shipment so they’d survive the roughest legs of the upcoming journey. The caravan had been late to arrive, and it didn’t do to rush a smuggler’s route. The missing time had to be made up somewhere.

At some point, Tav and Rugan found themselves hurrying down the same corridor. Tav had a crate of liquor, while her lover was absent-mindedly clutching a fistful of manifests.

“Hi,” she said, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of him. He glanced at her, gave an affectionate smile, then set his gaze back on the corridor ahead.

“I want to fuck you later,” he said, without looking at her.

“Ha ha, all right,” she said, scurrying to keep up with his long-legged strides.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand arrested her movement by grabbing the back of her belt. The papers and the liquor found their way onto the floor. He took her hips in both hands and gently pushed her against the wall. She ran her palms up his firm chest, the black leather kindling something inside her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Rugan dipped his head so his lips brushed the tip of her ear. “If I make you come now,” he murmured. “I reckon that’ll count towards my pact with the bull.” He bent further and licked her neck. “What do you think about that?”

“I’m not an expert,” Tav breathed, “But it sounds like a good plan to me.”

Stealing glances up and down the corridor, Rugan pulled her belt open one-handed and plunged his fingers beneath her waistband. He used his knee to spread her legs apart. To Tav, one of her favourite things about fucking him was the confidence with which he handled her. Her sigh of satisfaction turned into a moan as he pushed his thumb between her folds and onto the hood of her clitoris. Two long fingers curled lower and slid into her wet entrance with little resistance and her eyes fluttered shut. As she tilted her head back, already feeling hot and extremely bothered, Rugan kissed her on the cheek.

“Do you want me to talk to you, love?”

Tav nodded. “Yes, please.”

“You dirty girl,” he said, his voice low, rough and adoring. “My trousers get tighter every time I see you hurrying around with your tits bouncing inside your blouse. Just knowing what it looks like when you sit on my cock and drive yourself wild.” His thumb was replicating that same motion he’d perfected that day he’d spent an hour edging her with his clever tongue. The sensations tumbling over Tav quickly had her pushing her hips forwards as she chased her climax. Rugan’s left hand held her steady against the wall.

“I’m close already,” she said, unable to keep the whimper out of her voice.

“I know, I can see your toes curling in your boots,” he told her, smirking.

“Do you-”. Tav had to pause to moan. “Do you want to meet in your bunk later? So I can ride you?”

Rugan chuckled. “No, I had something else in mind.” At this, Tav raised her eyebrows, her climax receding somewhat as curiosity took her. “Next time I find you alone, wherever you are, I’m going to have you. Maybe you’ll be checking a crate and I’ll find you bent over, ready to be fucked. Or we’ll meet in another corridor and I can pin you against the wall like this, but I’ll be feeling your body around my cock instead of my fingers.”

Tav screwed her eyes shut, her thighs twitching. “You’re just going to use me like a fuck toy?”

Warm air tickled her ear as he leaned in to whisper to her. “How else will you know you’re mine?”

Every nerve in Tav’s body began to sing, and the pool of heat in her abdomen swirled and shivered as the orgasm swept through her. She wrapped both arms around Rugan’s neck and muffled her moans against his skin. He continued to rub her through and past her peak, gently, slowly. After a few moments of standing like that as Tav’s breathing recovered, he pulled back and gave her a kiss on the nose. Withdrawing his hand from her underwear, he winked at her, adjusted himself in his trousers, and bent to pick up his paperwork.

“See you later, love,” he said, then set off down the corridor in the direction they’d been going in before he’d waylaid her.

Tav paused briefly to watch him leave, the curve of his arse in his tight leathers never ceasing to please her. And then it was time to straighten herself up and get on with the job at hand.

+

Knowing what he’d promised to do, Tav felt electrified every time they saw each other around the hideout. Their eyes met across the crowded room during lunch; she was sitting with Olly and a few of the other youths, all of them concentrating on spooning stew into their faces as quickly as possible. She’d looked up from her bowl and saw that familiar, dream-blue gaze upon her. He gave her a slow half smile, his eyes glittering, then had gone back to the sheaf of papers arrayed before him.

Later, she was reaching for a high shelf in the store room when those firm, big hands settled on her waist, pulling her arse back against a rapidly hardening cock. She leaned into him and he ran one hand up to cup a breast, the other hand coming to her lips. The fingers that had been inside her earlier pressed onto her tongue and she licked at them, tasting the vestiges of her arousal.

“Are you still wet for me?” whispered a voice against her neck.

Suddenly remembering herself, Tav cleared her throat and pushed away from him. “Er, lads?”

Three heads popped out from behind a shelf on the other side of the room.

“What is it, Tav?” asked Olly.

“Rugan wants to know how you’re getting along with the inventory,” she said, giving her lover a sardonic smile.

“Great, thanks! That counting trick you showed us is pretty good!” he said cheerily.

“As you were then, lad,” said Rugan.

After the faces disappeared back behind the shelf, she risked a glance downwards. The bulge was unmistakable to her, but she thought it was fairly well camouflaged by the lacing. Their eyes met again, and then he leaned forwards to give her a quick kiss on the mouth.

“Thanks for cleaning my fingers,” he said, and then he was gone.

+

Tav's anticipation waxed and waned as the day progressed. Some parts of the work occupied her full attention, while other parts left her free to daydream about what would happen when she was finally alone with Rugan. The covered cart of bottles and exotic fabrics was fully packed and ready to be hitched to oxen the next day. Another cart of cheese truckles, which masked the real shipment of precious gemstones, waited for final checks from the boss. 

Tav stood and ran her eye over it one last time. Noticing one of the crates was sitting with its lid askew, she vaulted lightly into the cart and set it right, pushing a staple in with the hilt of her dagger. Dusting her hands off for a job well done, she tucked the weapon back into its scabbard and came back to sit on the edge of the cart, ready to alight. It was at that moment that she saw the door to the rest of the hideout was closed. She stared at it uncomprehendingly, then jerked with surprise when she realised that Rugan was leaning against the side of the cart.

“Sweet hells, when did you arrive?” she demanded, moving to jump down from her seat. Rugan stepped forwards quickly and put a hand on her thigh.

“You're alright exactly where you are,” he said. “I'm told this one's ready for me?”

“Are you talking about me or the cart?” Tav asked. Rugan took her other thigh in his free hand and pulled her legs open in a rapid motion that made her gasp. Stepping between her knees, he leaned in close; she realised that his was casting his eye over her shoulder and across the crates as he flattened a hand on her upper thigh. His hips pressed in close to hers, pushing his growing bulge against her centre in a wordless promise.

“Hmm, let me see… Yes. I can tell an expert has packed this,” he murmured. She could feel his hand working on something between them, but his shoulder was in the way. “This is all looking good to me.”

He drew back slightly and Tav realised he'd been loosening the laces on his trousers enough to pull his hard length free. She sighed at the sight of it; the veins running up the shaft, the rutilant tip and a glistening bead of pre-come catching the light.

“I'll check the shipment properly later,” he said, eyeballing her. “But there's something else I've got to do properly first.”

At this, Tav giggled. “Kind of wishing I’d worn a skirt,” she said.

Rugan smiled indulgently and pressed his lips to hers; she felt him running his hands down her left leg to her boot.

“S’ok,” he said against her mouth, pulling her boot and sock off in quick succession. “A quickie is one thing, but I like unwrapping you.” The other boot and sock disappeared over his shoulder.

Raising her hips so he could tug off her trousers and smallclothes, Tav let out a breathless laugh, then reached for the hem of her thin shirt.

“Leave it on,” Rugan said slyly. “Watching your tits bounce is half the fun. And seeing that pleading look you give me when I go slowly.” He paused and looked at her face. “Yes, almost like that.”

“You leave your clothes on too, then,” Tav told him. “If you can move properly in those tight leathers.”

“Let’s find out,” he said with a smirk, then gently pushed her down onto her back. Lifting one of her legs so her ankle was resting against the side of his neck, he lined his cock up with her entrance.

“You are still wet for me. Good girl.” With that, he pushed the tip in. Closing her eyes, and succumbing to the wave of warmth, Tav squeezed a fistful of her blouse and arched her back. Teasing her with the shallowest of thrusts, Rugan chuckled at her wriggling.

She reached out and scrabbled at the black leather at his hip. “Give me more,” she whined.

“More what?”

“More of your–ah! Ru- Rugan!”

He’d interrupted her by hilting himself inside her. The sensation seemed to overwhelm him as much as her, and he leaned forwards as she opened her eyes, breathing heavily.

“Fuck, Tav. You feel incredible,” he said, regarding her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “In every single way.”

She touched his cheek. When he leaned down to kiss her, Rugan’s thigh tattoo tingled lightly against the back of her leg. She thought she felt a shiver emanate from the bull skull, and was startled when the thick cock inside her gave a corresponding twitch.

“I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t start moving,” she told him, pulling him back from the kiss by his hair.

“Yes, m’lady.”

He pulled back upright and began to fuck her with ardent heat, using her leg as leverage to grind in deep with every thrust. Tav’s hand sought and tweaked her nipple, which made Rugan groan. Loud sounds of pleasure filled the room; the cart began to creak beneath them, matching his punishing rhythm.

The pressure building inside her was on the brink of spilling into an orgasm. When she covered her eyes with her arm in anticipation, her lover slowed, cock pulsing inside her.

“Look at me, Tav.”

Blushing, her face clouded with pleasure, Tav knew she was sweaty from the work, and filled with fervour from being teased all day. Whatever feelings would cross her face were going to be powerful.

“Don’t make me,” she said in a small voice.

“I love looking into your eyes when you come for me,” he told her, his voice gentle. “Please.”

She haltingly lowered her arm and met his gaze.

“Beautiful,” Rugan told her, pushing his hips forward, cock rubbing against that secret little spot inside her. “You’re beautiful. Stay with me.” His thumb found her clit and he began stroking.

She was so close and so desperate to hide from him as she hit that peak. But whenever her eyes fluttered shut, he placidly ordered her to look at him. Her cunt began to flutter and then she was coming, pinned by his blue eyes as he swelled inside her, spilling his hot seed and groaning her name. The synchrony of their climaxes seemed to turn the time around them molten, and they quivered and moaned around each other, locked together for a timeless moment.

Rugan eventually released her leg, pulling his softening cock out of her. Their juices dripped down her body and onto the floor as she stood. He tucked himself back into his trousers and began to laboriously re-lace the front as she got dressed. An amicable, satiated silence had enveloped them.

“Come on, lass, let’s go and get some dinner,” he said, running his fingers down her arm. After he unlocked the door, they left the room, her hand folded into his.

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 8

(Chapter 7; Chapter 9)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Impatient Little Kitten

Knock

Knock

Knock

No answer. Like usual.

Slowly you open it, peek inside. The door to the garden is opened, the hood from the plate of his dinner lays on the tray. Sukuna is nowhere to be seen. The moonlight and the night painting the room in a beautiful blue tone, while a fireplace in the corner next to his bed mixes it with a soft orange. You make your way inside and see, for the first time, what’s actually on his plate.

A raw heart, some fingers, some raw pieces of meat.

The friendly reminder that he is, in fact, a monster. But the addict has to consume her drug. The soft, cold breeze from outside sends the smell of iron and copper into your nose and you quickly turn away from the tray. The bed is empty, sheets laying in a mess. You walk towards the door, to see if he’s outside in the garden, when you notice another door to your left being open. It leads into a small corridor. Quietly you follow the dark passage until you reach another room. It has another fireplace, some furniture, a mirror and below a bowl with water. It kinda looks like a cozy bathroom. To your right another opened door, which leads outside. As quietly as you can you walk outside that door and onto a path that leads a way into some bushes and trees. The path looks well looked after and the bushes and trees too. Softly breathing into the cold air, creating small clouds of fog, you follow the path. Suddenly you hear a humming.

It’s your King.

You crouch down and carefully look between some high grass that’s been sitting to the left of the end of the path. Face going red as soon as you see him. Sukuna is humming a beautiful melody in his deep voice, while taking the first step into a natural bath. The water is steaming, fogging the air around him. Piles of bull skulls are laying around the edge of the water. Your King is naked and your gaze wanders from his face down to his broad, tattooed chest. Droplets of white fluid are splattered on his chest and abdomen, sparkling in the waters reflection of the moon. His abs move in sync with the step he makes, another tattoo on the side of his torso. Tracing your eyes along his v-line, they fall into the spot. Your cheeks heat up even more as you see not one, but two penises between his legs, sitting on top of each other, black ring tattoos decorate his shafts. They bounce softly as he takes another step into the water. The muscles of his thighs tense, the rings tattooed on his thighs contracting, as he sits down, submerging himself in the hot spring.

He exhales.

You try your best not to breathe too loud.

He’s beautiful.

You stare at him for a while, watch him relax in the hot water, his head laid back, rests in his neck. “Pspspspspspss” he suddenly says amused, without making a move.

What?

You stay silent.

“A little kitten followed me. It’s hiding behind the grass.“ he says, his bottom right eye opening and peeking right into your direction.

You gulp and carefully you stand up to show yourself. Heart racing as you knew you probably shouldn’t have done what you’ve done.

He’s watching you move forward with his bottom left eye. You make your way back to the path, glueing your eyes to your feet as you walk towards him. Standing beside him, nothing happens. He’s silent. You feel awkward until you hear him tap with his nails onto a stone on the edge of the water.

With hesitation, you kneel down beside him, your head still lowered, fiddling with your hands on the fabric of your kimono.

“So obedient now, unlike earlier.” he chuckles, grabbing your chin with his left hand, making you look down into his face.

”You listened to what I said last night. Was it entertaining for you?” he says in a mocking tone. “Did you like what you saw?” he grins, red orbs staring into yours. It weakens your mind.

“No.”

Sukuna smile fades. He just stares at you sternly, as his grip on your jaw grows tighter. Your heart is pounding.

“I hated the sight of her, my King” you pause, “However, I... I loved the sight of you.” You nervously pick into the fabric of the kimono as the blood rushes to your head again.

His index finger softly strokes along your jaw, as your hear him huff at what you just said, his head turning forward. After a pause, he lets his head fall into his neck, turning his face back towards you.

“Is that so?” A shit eating grin spreads on his face, painting soft wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

God.

Sukuna lets go of your jaw before you can voice an answer and you watch him turning his head forward again, closing all of his eyes with a proud smirk on his face, spreading his arms across the rim. It’s probably best to let him bath in his pride, so you just sit quietly beside him, listening to his soft movements in the water. Slowly you’re getting cold, start to freeze a bit, breath being foggy. Sukuna seems to get inpatient, fiddling his nails together with his left hand, tapping on the stones with the right hand. His bottom pair of arms remain under water.

„Cut my hair.” he suddenly says.

„What?”

„The shears. From my chambers. Get them.“ he’s annoyed.

Before you can ask where exactly to find them, he glares all four of his eyes at you.

„Now!“ he orders.

You hurry up and back to his chambers, back into the cozy bathroom. Going through his drawers you see stuff like bottles, creams and incense sticks. You figure it actually smells really nice, but before your nose can make out their exact scents you luckily find the shears quickly and hurry back to the hot spring.

You’ve cut hair before, although the hair you cut was the hair of sheep and not human hair.

Well. How much of a human is he anyway?

Tapping back to him, he peeks at you with his bottom eye, nails still tapping on that stone. You seat yourself behind him. His head still laying on the rim behind him, it’s impossible for you to cut his hair in this position. Bending over, you hover over his face.

“Could you move your head, Master Sukuna?” you ask. His eyes open and look into yours. They look soft.

“What’s your name?” he asks out of nowhere, his voice so gentle. This man irritates you, but the way he spoke warms your heart. Cheeks heating up a bit.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeats in a whisper, as rises his head, sitting up properly. Hearing him saying your name like that makes your heart jump.

“How short?” you ask.

The response you get is a rumble from his chest. You sigh, mustering the back of his head. Even though he’s sitting, he’s so tall, that you have to push yourself up while being on your knees to properly reach him. Having his head not dunked under water so far, his hair is still dry. Your fingers reach for the pink strands and it’s ... soft. So soft. Mustering his hair, running your fingers through it, inspecting the length of each part of his head, you figured it would be best, not to cut too much of it. You kind of like the length anyway. Nervously you take a strand from the nape, close your eyes and

cut.

The ripping sound of shears cutting hair hits both of your ears. You open your eyes again. Relieved to see that you cut exactly where you wanted to, you move your head to peek at his face. He’s calm, eyes are closed, breathing softly. You move back into position, running your fingers through his hair to cut the next strand. That way, you work yourself through the back of his head, only cutting small parts of the ends. Somehow, you enjoy cutting his hair. You enjoy it so much, you’re forgetting the cold air around you.

As you reach the crown of his head, you notice a soft sound. It’s coming from him.

He’s purring.

Your King dozed off, while you were working on his hair and he’s purring. A giggle builds up in your throat but you try your best to surpress it. Gently you run your fingers through his hair and give him a soft scratch at the top of his head. The purr gets louder. You smile to yourself and figure it would be best not too test it too much, so you move on cutting his hair.

The King of Curses likes head scratches.

Wondering if other girls know this detail about him or being allowed to cut his hair at all, you reach the top of his head. From your position, you can’t work any further now. You have to get in front of him. Leaning over to watch over his shoulder, thoughts run through your head.

His Torso is pretty broad, but I could stand above him.

There’s just one thing: Your Kimono sits tight, you can’t spread your legs wearing it. With your undergarment however, it would work.

Fuck it.

You undress yourself until you’re in your undergarment. The hadajuban is white and a light fabric and you don’t wear anything under that. It’s still cold outside. Quietly you step into the hot water, not wanting to wake up the monster. Carefully you take a big step over his torso, so that you’re standing over him. Looking down, you muster the parts of his torso that you can see under the water and you try not to think about his naked body that’s submerged in the water. But you do.

If I would sit down, my bare... would touch his...

You stare down with a red head, not noticing that Sukuna slowly opens his eyes. Staring at you.

“Like what you see?” his voice rips you out of thought. You clear your throat and try to remain calm, holding up the shears.

“I need to work on the front now, Master Sukuna.”

“Mhh” a rumble through his chest again, a grin spreading on his face, his eyes following you. Your nipples go hard from the cold and the thrill.

You take a step forward, to get better access to his hair, now being more nervous that he’s awake and you’re basically pushing your tits and hard nipples in front of his face. Underwater you feel his submerged hands get a hold of your ankles.

“I like what I see” he says in a low voice. He cocks his eyebrow as he’s tapping his nails on the stone again. You continue to to cut his hair.

Snip.

His gaze on your tits, make you nervous.

Snip.

He looks up. His gaze on your face, makes you nervous.

Snip.

You try to concentrate. His thumbs stroking soft circles on your ankles. It makes you nervous. Excited. Wet. Your heart is pounding.

Taking the last strand of his hair between your fingers, you notice it. There is it again. The energy of this man that’s just sucking you into his grip. The energy that makes your cunt drip from desire. The grip on your ankles growing tighter.

“You’re a virgin.” Snip.

His upper left arm moves to softly push away your garment with his nail, exposing your thigh. His eyes following his hands movements. Shivers running straight into your cunt. The fine hairs on your thigh stand up.

“Yes, my King” his movements making your head dizzy.

“I wasn’t asking.” he breathes arrogantly, his nails grazing the skin of your thigh, as he cocks his head to the side. The shear is still hovering over the last strand of hair that you’ve already cut. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. The tension is driving you insane.

“Do you touch yourself?“ he asks in a low voice “With those little fingers of yours?” his eyes locked on the spot between your thighs.

“Yes, my King.” you breathe mindlessly.

“Picturing me?”

“Yes.” barely audible. Your knees getting weaker. Goosebumps all over your body. You start to freeze.

“I’m cold, Master Sukuna” you whisper.

Sukuna moves his body, leveling himself down between your thighs. The strand of his hair leaving your hands. With his upper right hand he moves the garment away that’s been covering your cunt.

Getting weaker.

Leaning in, he opens his mouth, places his tongue between your folds and gives it a single lick. His wet muscle gliding through your slick cunt sending warm and tingling sensations through your thighs and abdomen. His tongue collects the juice that has been pooling down there for this whole conversation. You look down at him. He looks up at you and sticks out his tongue for you to see yourself on him. Creamy wetness softly covering parts of his tongue, a black tattoo shining through it. He smacks his lips and swallows.

“So sweet” he hisses. “Like dessert.” his eyes flaring.

Your mind is clouded and without a thought you grab a fistful of his hair, unconsciously moving him back between your thighs.

“M-more” you whisper.

“More?” he repeats in a breath, mouthing against your clit. His hands grabbing your ass, as he pushes his nose gently against your sensitive nub.

“Ahh” you squeal. Your knees are about to collapse, your heart is pounding out of your chest. His hot breath at your clit make your fingers tug harder at his hair. Suddenly the shears fall from your left hand.

Splash. He stops.

Letting go of you, he leans back, his eyes shoot back up to you, glare at you. His gaze turns more serious.

“You want to order me around, kitten?” his nails scratch at the stone.

You need a second to bring your mind back into the present. Confused eyes look back at him. Sukuna looks annoyed again. But in all honesty, he’s tickling on your last nerve, too. The scratching on the stone annoys you. His constant change of behaviour annoys you. His toying annoys you. You need relief. Not from your fingers.

“No.” You watch his nails scraping, the sound hurting in your ear. “my apologies” you say like you don’t mean it.

“You better watch this pretty little mouth of yours, before I make better use of it.” he says in a serious tone.

Oh?

“Like you did with her? Her mouth didn’t seem to be of good use after all.”

His nail scratching so hard it leaves a trail in the stone. You notice his muscles tense up, his jaw clenching.

“You seemed to want me instead.” you say arrogantly.

His right hand shoots up, grabbing your neck tight. It hurts. Gasping for air you try to look at him. Sukuna leans forward, his face getting so close to yours, breaths mingling.

“You’re speaking for your tight little cunt. She’s aching for me every time I look at you. I can smell her every time I’m even near you. Pathetic!” he spits through his teeth, his hot breath against your face. “Are you so desperate for me to fuck you that you try to provoke me?” his grip grows tighter. The hands that been holding onto your ankles the whole time squeeze harder, nails scratching into your skin, releasing small clouds of blood into the water.

“Are you not?” you’re testing him. He huffs, head moves past your face to your ear.

“You really want me to fuck your tight little virgin holes, huh? Want me to drive my cocks so hard into you that you black out? Want me to make you mine and fuck you full of my cum?” he whispers aggressively, grazing your earlobe with his teeth. His harsh words and possessiveness shoot right between your thighs.

Yes.

“I want you to make me scream your name, my King. Make everyone know how good my King is making me feel. Make me yours.” you breathe as you try to lean your head against his face.

“Desperate little bitch” he growls as he yanks you away from him, making you almost fall into the water. He leans back again with a challenging glare. Red eyes glowing behind broad pupils and you notice his breath has quickened, deepened. Tattoos rising and falling on his bare, wet chest. His radiating energy so hungry. Your hands lay over the aching part of your neck, while you stare back at him. The air around you thick with tension, your heart is pounding. It almost feels like the surrounding area darkens, only you and him. Only your breaths being audible, so hot and cold at the same time. Aroused. His stare so intense, it almost scares you.

Almost.

Two taps of his nails on the stone and with a smug smile on your face you hurry out of the water, running back to the shrine on the cold path. The adrenaline in your body erasing the freezing air around you. Your naked feet run as fast as you run into his chambers, through the corridor into his bedroom. Undressing yourself on the last meters before you jump on his huge bed. It’s soft and you bury your face into his sheets. It smells like blood and sex and musk.

Laying on your stomach, you pull your leg up to get better access. Better access for your hand to reach down into your folds, for your little fingers to dip into your wetness.

You need him.

You moan into the sheets as you hear heavy footsteps walking across the corridor. You peek up, only seeing his huge shadow appear in the doorframe. Sukuna is walking into the moonlight and then you see them. His cocks are hard. Both of them. His dry patted skin glistening in the moonlight, his pectoral muscles softly bouncing under his footsteps. Sukuna’s muscular appearance, the sight of his tattoos and cocks make you clench on your fingers. He’s slowly walking towards the bed, as he reaches for his dicks with his bottom right arm, slowly stroking them. A hungry look on his face, eyes shining through the darkness of the night, as you pull your leg up a little more, arch your back a little more, presenting your ass and cunt to him.

A low chuckle fills the room, as he cocks his head to the side with a smirk, furrowing his brow. “Such an impatient little kitten.”

[galaxycunt]

I Can Be Anything

1.5k words of silly little fun 😙 I promise

Listening to this while I wrote it hehe

A loud heckle cut through his story, “bull fucking shit, man!”

Buggy snapped his head in the direction of the woman pounding back beers two seats down. She didn’t look much older than him, carrying herself like she had decades more experience. Laughing, she rested her head in her palm like she expected him to do something about it.

”I’m new in town so I’ll let it slide that you don’t recognize me at first, sweetie.”

“Oh,” she smirked, “didn’t know the circus was in town. My bad.”

Buggy was leaning into his appearance, still didn’t appreciate the comparisons. But if this bitch was looking for a fight, she’ll get one.

”That’s right, it’s me. Buggy the Clown. The Genius Jester.”

”My mistake,” she stood up to curtesy, “my sincerest apologies. Didn’t realize you were the king of the clowns.”

The pirates in earshot laughed at his expense. A fight it is. Buggy gulped the last of his bottle, yanking back her hair. She yelped with a surprise, he couldn’t tell if her cheeks were flushed from the drink or something else.

She was pretty, long hair separated into two braids, tattoos of a career sailor, rope burns branded into her throat. All that admiring left him distracted, the woman stamping on his foot.

”Next time I’ll cut that hand off!”

”Oh yeah? Well listen up cu-“

”-oi! You two break any of my nice antique stools, I break your skulls. Got it?” The bartender cut in.

”Look at the guy, Jim. He ain’t scaring me,” she winked.

Buggy decided to brush her off, but she wouldn’t stop pestering him. Every time he told a joke, she laughed loud and sarcastic. Buggy was here to find a crew, stealing a ship and making a name for himself. Every time he approached someone, she was there.

”He’s gonna lead you straight to the depths, he can’t even get his lipstick to stay!”

”Oh, Stevie, don’t go. Sea Kings don’t like clowns, they taste funny!”

”Marines gonna make your sentence be performing for the troops. Fate worse than death!”

Every single time, a shit eating grin while she got drunker. Buggy just about had it, not wanting to leave and let her win. He sat back at the bar, face buried in his hands. Next thing she said, he told himself, he was going to put her in her place.

”Cigarette?”

”How about you fuck off before I smoke you!” it sounded better in his head.

Her eyes widened, “if you wanted your lips on me, should’ve just said so!”

His cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment, “shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

She stared at him, blowing smoke in his face. As he opened his mouth, she smacked him hard. Buggy flew into a rage, fists flying as he straddled her. A huge mistake, she kicked him right in the groin. As she returned to her seat all smiles, his hands dragged her back down.

”Holy shit! His hands!”

Buggy dragged her across the barroom floor as she struggled, attempting slice something. Cursing as his body put itself back together again.

Buggy dragged her to the back alley behind the bar, reveling at how disheveled she looked now. Disembodied hands picked her up, feet not touching the ground so they could be eye level.

”No one, and I mean no one, fucks with Buggy The Clown.”

”Devil Fruit, huh? Kinda cheating, don’t you think?”

He enjoyed watching her squirm, “since when do pirates fight fair?”

”Touché,” she said butting heads.

Still no use, his hands in an iron grip as he writhed on the ground. She kicked his ribs for good measure, hands finally letting her go.

What a funny little clown.

The woman had a good laugh at his expense, unaware that Buggy was right behind her. He hit her over the head with his fists.

“What did I fucking say!”

”Ow! Fuck! Alright, alright!”

They sized each other up, she couldn’t take down a devil fruit user so easily. She was going to take a shot at it anyway, she wasn’t a coward.

”What’s your name anyway?”

She smiled, “Mad Dog Mara. Bet you heard of that.”

He did, the pirate who survived a hanging, killing the marines involved. So mad, she did it twice.

“Join my crew.”

”You fucking with me?”

”You scared away your competition, what else is a man supposed to think?”

”I only join real crews.”

A knife flew past her, “I’m a real fucking pirate. You’re looking at the fucking king.”

She charged at him, Buggy bracing himself. Their knives dug into flesh at the same time, his torso separated, hers did not.

“Right on, Buggy The Clown.”

He didn’t pull the knife out, “holy shit.”

She smiled, “upstairs I got a room. No need for a doctor. If you really ain’t gonna kill me.”

Carefully he picked her up, carrying her bridal style up to her room. Buggy knew a few tricks, using the first aid in her room. She fought a lot, the box littered with dried bloody fingerprints.

“Cut the top off, ruined anyway.”

She watched him work, with a gentleness he didn’t give her before. Her heart jumped up her throat, maybe this was it. Funny way to go, a clown to match.

”Don’t be like that, you survived worse.”

”Hm? Oh yeah, just gotta breathe through it. That’s all.”

He nodded, cleaning the wound as best he could. She felt the need to make a joke of the whole thing, she wasn’t used to someone else helping her out.

”Not the way I wanted you to take my top off,” she smiled at his red face, ”You’re new to this aren’t you?”

”Nope.”

”Is that right?”

He nodded, “served on a crew. My whole life. Went my own way at 15. Didn’t look back.”

He said the last part quieter, like he didn’t fully believe it himself. She knew that all too well.

”Hand me that bottle, I’m ready for the stitches.”

He let her squeeze his arm as he worked, “how’d you survive that execution?”

Her eyes glossed over, “rope broke the first time. I was there for hours. I prayed to whoever wanted to listen, ‘wasn’t I a child of this world? Don’t I deserve to live too?’ And then it broke.”

”And the second time?”

”I like you Buggy, so I’ll let you in on my trade secret. I kept a whistle in my throat. Lets me breathe.”

”Huh.”

She smiled, “what’s it like? Eating that fruit?”

He frowned, not answering her for a moment. He bandaged her up, taking a swig of her bottle. Watching the liquid pour down her throat, the way it moved as she gulped.

”It tastes like shit. A little unfair in the end, all those wonderful powers made useless with a few splashes of water. Some pirate I am.”

”Made it this far.”

”Yeah.”

They stared at each other in a comfortable silence. He was drunk, on the booze and adrenaline, finger grazing her skin along the bandages. Her breath hitched, pulling him closer by the elbow. He had long lashes, fluttering like butterflies. She never seen a man look like him before, and he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

Like magnets, they pulled closer together. She could blame the day on this later, she needed him closer. Mara thought she should end fights like this more often. His fingers grazed the wound, a little concerned how good her whiny little moans sounded to him.

“Join my crew,” he said between kisses, “be my first mate.”

Buggy watched her squirm beneath him with stars in her eyes, it made him feel like the spotlight was on him. Relishing in the attention.

”Sure. As long as you keep doing that, right there.”

He was burning up, a spell cast upon him. She could make him do anything. The room was on fire, he needed to reach his release but he drew it out longer. His head spun, his brain catching up with him.

He helped her clean up, and change into something clean and dry. Carefully they snuggled up together. Buggy kept telling her their next plans, Mara threw out a few people she figured would be a good addition to his ship. And then they planned to get a bigger one.

”I’ll make you my queen, that I promise.”

”Unless I find it first, then I’ll be the king, right?”

“So I just sit around looking pretty?”

”You already have better hair than me. Why not?”

He laughed, “whatever you say, baby.”

Buggy waited for her at the dock, she insisted she would just need a check up with a doctor and would be ready to sail. He waited hours, unsure of where the doctor would be. The sun was setting, he went looking for her.

The doctor wouldn’t look him in the eye, his office showed signs of a struggle.

“Where is she? What happened?”

”Marines. Undercover.”

Buggy’s eyes widened. He needed to save her, by any means necessary.

[scr-ppup]

[ID/A dark red line with gold lining and a repeating star and half moon pattern./end ID]

Cervskullcrotattic

[PT/Cervskullcrotattic/end PT]

A gender version of cervskullcrotattaldernic; a gender related to a tattoo of a crow standing on the horn of a Cervidae skull of some kind with the skull having engravings in red on it or something alike for gender reasons.

[ID/A rectangular flag of 9 uneven horizontal stripes; the stripes in size are two medium, two big, one small, two big, and two medium. The colors go from top to bottom as dark stone, dark brown, lighter cool brown, vintage red, white, vintage red, lighter cool brown, dark brown, and dark stone brown. The center of the flag had a colored lineless vector of a bull skull with a black shilouette of a crow above it./end ID]

[ID/A dark red line with gold lining and a repeating star and half moon pattern./end ID]

Etymology: cervidae + skull + tattoo + ic

Requested by @angel-of-genders

Taglist: @obscurian @radiomogai

[🪦]Please do not tag my neogenders as xenogenders they aren't xenogenders! Kiitos (thank you).

[choccy-zefirka]

Wanted to show @cadashhh some Una stuff, and found that Tumblr had eaten this fic. So, repost time!

More and more often, Una catches herself thinking.

She thinks while staring ahead on the long road from Nowhere to Nowhere Else, half-lulled by the sway of her mount's haunches.

Or while carving long axe marks into a training dummy, with her mind wandering while her arms do the work.

Or while nursing a tumbler of sloshing, burning liquid, which looks prettier than it tastes — a clear light- brown color; she's seen people with eyes like this, and —

Sod it. Not the point.

The point is, she thinks how bloody right Bull was.

Things are not that different here, in the south, than under his Qun. Except with more redheads.

Well, she is a redhead. Her ugly, thick skull is shaved to a copper bristle, save for a long fringe in the middle, which she ties back into a braid. And there may not have been a whole... committee (smart word, that; but she can use it inside her head, provided that Cole is not around to do his sodding thought-sifting) — a whole gaggle of Tamassrans, to watch over her when she was a kid. Fresh on the surface, with watering eyes and a tang of blood at the bottom of her lungs. Nah, there were no Tamassrans around back then. But she still, sure as fuck, was assigned a role.

She is a dwarf. A cloud-gazer with tattoos on every inch of her. And the first people that found her, when she crawled out of Orzammar, were in the Carta.

And in the Carta she stayed for years. While her scrawny body hardened, knots of muscles swelling on her back and shoulders from hauling so many axes about, each bigger than the next; and her pipsqueak voice turned into this low, husky drawl she has now. Warped by her clan's accent, which hard consonants and choppy intonations. Again, smart words; but so long as no-one knows. Good for swearing, and not much else. At least, so the humans say. She could express her undying love for them — not that she believes in such shit; all those hoity-toity swooning couches are way above her pay grade — and they would still think she was threatening them.

What a bloody role.

She is a bruiser. A thug.

She drinks. She cusses. She punches people. That's it.

That's what her role is.

The clan trained her for it, and the big folk — the humans, especially; it's always the humans — agreed, with gusto.

This is all she is to them. This is all she can be.

No matter how much she stares ahead and thinks thoughts filled with smart words.

The Inquisition really shouldn't have found that little Chantry lay sister, Fleur — a nice human kid, twenty maybe, with sparkling black eyes, all blushy round the other kid, Sera (you can't actually spot a blush against Fleur's skin color, but Una just knows... not that she cares, though). And they really shouldn't have tasked Fleur with teaching Una letters.

"We cannot have the Herald of Andraste sign important documents with an ex, not knowing what they mean!" said Lady Josephine.

Well, she was coping just fine, not knowing!

And now... Now that Fleur has taught her; now that   she's discovered the meaning behind those squiggles on paper, now that she can write down the things she says in both languages she knows, Orlesian and Trade... It's like... It's like getting drunk. She keeps wanting more: to read more, to learn more, to think more. Even though she shouldn't.

Because there is no point.

There might have been a point if she were like Varric. A rich surface merchant with a pleasant voice and a knack for making friends at every turn. But that is not her role.

Thugs like her don't read, don't study, don't write. They are not supposed to.

And if people find out that they try — that she tries — they are going to laugh at best, and at worst, get angry. There is punishment for forgetting your role; even in the south, where there are no re-educators.

She thought she might get away with it, when she snatched some paper off a desk in the mages' tower and it turned out to be magic.

It soaked up the words she scrawled over it, with an awkwardly crooked, unpracticed hand: observations about how the mages in her squad wove their spell glyphs; solutions to astrarium puzzles; a snatch of a poem in Orlesian she wanted to try and translate into the Trade Tongue.

The writing lingered for a couple of minutes, then blurred into soft plumes of coal dust, then vanished altogether. Una was so thrilled when she discovered that! She could scribble whatever, but if someone caught her in the act, they'd just see her clutching a stack of blank pages. Probably about to take a shit. Which was what a thug would do. Perfectly fitting for her role.

But it was not long before something happened to wipe off the gleeful expression that spread across her battered, tattooed face, whenever she leaned over her magic paper stash, charred stick on the ready.

Her writing had faded as always — but new words appeared in its place. Traced in ink, neatly, with narrow, slanting swirls.

Your insights are fascinating, Inquisitor, but I think you must know that I can read everything you write down.

You must have taken some of the enchanted paper that the Inquisition's mages are, with some modest assistance from yours truly, designing for Sister Nightingale's scouts. The paper sheets come in pairs: whatever is written on one, is absorbed and then magically replicated on the other. The idea is to allow people to communicate efficiently and confidentially at great distances.

I am pleased to report that the paper is working as intended — but I do apologize that this little accident made me privy to some of your musings.

Rest assured that I have no interest in divulging them. Unless... you wish to continue the conversation? It does get rather lonely in this cell of mine.

Respectfully,

G. Alexius

This fucker. Oh, he has a role of his own too. An evil Tevinter mage, now in the Inquisition's service.

Deep down, Una has been feeling rather sorry for him. She... She kind of saved his life. A couple times. First, when he got locked up under their first headquarters in the Chantry, and refused to eat until she talked him into it. Then, when she stumbled upon him during the evacuation of Haven: forgotten and wounded and lost in the snow, same as she was.

And he saved her life too, when they wandered into a dark, wild mountain forest, with wolves snarling round every bend.

Sometimes, she still says hi to him in his cell. That is the most a lowly criminal can do to a fancy mage that once used to sit in the Magisterium and make laws and shit. She wishes there was more to say, though. She wishes she could tell him that she... She know, how much it hurts to lose a kid.

Sort of.

In her case, she had no right to feel hurt.

Being given away by someone like her, to two good, honest wives who Una knows will raise him right, away from the Carta and its thug roles, was the best thing that could ever happen to her son. With luck, he will turn out like Varric. Never knowing whom those birthday gifts, and pouches of money and crates of rare smuggled food for his moms' pantry, came from.

She had no right to feel hurt. And maybe neither did the evil mage, since his kid accepted his fate and was ready to die of the disease his father would have kept staving off till both of them went crazy.

But nonetheless, they both hurt, are hurting still — and she understands him. If she were someone else — a nice, cultured human mage maybe; or a prim and proper dwarf from the Tevinter Ambassadorium — she would have said more than just "Hi". She might have even tried to befriend him.

But that is not the way things are. 

So when those words of his flashed back at her from the enchanted paper, she panicked. Gripping her makeshift pen till it nearly snapped, she scratched the only two words a thug could have responded with.

FUCK OFF.

Then, she burned the paper.

This could have been it. The end. Her last aspirations (Sod it, another smart word!) to become someone who she is not, someone who she cannot be, could have melted into the air like the last embers from that little fire.

She could have left all this... knowledge shit alone. But here she is again. Sneaking out her quarters at Skyhold in the middle of the night. Feeling like heart heart punches a hole through her chest every time a floorboard creaks under her weight, or a patrolling guard's lantern flickers to close to where she plasters against the wall, her mouth and throat full of stifling, sealed-up breath.

This continues all the way to the library, where she finally exhales and steps towards the book stacks, underwater-blue in the scant moonlight.

She just cannot keep away, can she?

The gilding on the neat little spines glints: a hint of pirate treasure in this underwater realm. She reaches out, allowing herself to smile — now that she is here, in the dark, where no-one will know that the stupid, gruff, violent dwarf with her coarse speech and large callused hands, is looking forward to reading and learning.

She has to stand on tiptoe to get her prize — a treatise on the history of the Circles, which she has been really curious about (what hasn't she been curious about, blast her?).

The shelf is almost at a human's height, in fact. And the strain of reaching so high up makes her heart pound for freedom again.

She can't fall over and cause a ruckus; she can't! Else people will come running, and they will know, and they will laugh and —

She pulls the book loose smoothly and noiselessly — but through the gap it leaves on the shelf, she meets the curious stare of two human eyes. Light-brown, the color of a strong drink sloshing in a tumbler.

She knows these eyes. The lines around them, the bruised semi-circles. The quirk of an eyebrow above.

This fucker...

"Inquisitor," he says, in a tone she can't quite read.

And she shouldn't be able to, should she? She is just a stupid bandit; the mind games of fancy mages should go right over her ugly head.

"Doing some late-night research as well, I see? The little paper incident did not disparage you?"

"Fuck off," she blurts out, again, on instinct, while her useless brain is still processing the sound of his voice.

"So you keep telling me. Very in-character for the role you want to play, I am certain."

This fucker!

He waits until she coughs up a hoarse "What", before continuing. A thin smirk cracks across his face, framed by the gap among the books.

"Please, Inquisitor. I was at court in Tevinter for forty years. Just because we do not wear physical masks like our dear friends in Orlais, does not mean we do not play the same game. I can feel it in my skin when someone is acting. Did I not tell you that it was time to abandon all charades?"

"It's — it's not a charade!"

After spitting this out, she finally comes down flat on her soles, turning away from the book stacks for good measure too, and squaring her jaw. Sod it, why is her face twitching?

"It's who I am. Or at least... It's all that people see me as."

"That does not have to be a constant. Or a law for you to obey."

He walks round the bookcase's corner, so that he and Una are on the same side.

She slants a suspicious eye at him, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around herself... And her stomach jitters.

She has never seen the Tevinter so bloody... gentle. He has to be playing a charade of his own, the blasted hypocrite: he has to be making fun of her! That is the only explanation.

"All of your people — even Dorian, at one point — and myself, too, saw me as a monster. You saw me as... as a grieving father. Why not allow me to see you as an intelligent, bright woman who has been denied an education by her circumstances?"

"Education is for fancy, rich humans only," she mutters bitterly, pressing her fingertips into her sides until she feels bruises forming. As if that were the only way to keep herself from shattering apart.

"No."

His voice is so firm, so full of conviction, that she cannot but look him in the eyes again.

"Back in Tevinter, I spent my whole life trying to change that. I may no longer have my old power... but I still have it in me to help one person. So tell me, Inquisitor..."

He takes a step closer, and for some odd reason, Una feels her cheeks burn.

"What in particular do you wish to know?"

"Everything," she mouths — which is the whole truth — and he smiles.

This fucker.

[jeeyuns]

HI i wanna know about ur tattoos please sorry for being deeply nosy mwah

OK, YOU ASKED. PREPARE FOR PICS

so i like symmetry, comes with my virgo moon ass, so i try to have pairs on both sides of my arms. one is a lonely single, because tattoos can get expensive

inside forearms below inner elbow facing out, a serene medusa and a dancing fanned out flower, with the green match

right below my inner elbows, facing in, a dream catcher that's also a wise owl (since i found out my birthdate is called 'day of the dreamcatcher') and a garlic flower for my love of garlic in food lolol

outside of forearms, verve and a very badly photographed liminal (although i did intentionally make liminal hard to read hehe)

inside forearms, above inner elbow, facing out, sorry about the blurry quality, couldn't find the nice fresh photos. a blue crab from my family's favorite brand of fish sauce and gwen stacy, needs more color added and finishing touches of shading, more blue and pink definitely

on my wrists, a rose in remembrance of my brother jj, with his initials twirled into the stem and leaves and another snaky design of ouroboros, geometric style

my true loves on the back of my arms above my elbows. a too-good-for-you moth lady supreme and a squatting shiitake mushroom butt (he might be one of my faves even though i can't see him)

upper forearm pieces that i need to add shading to, my bull skull with 3 types of intertwined flowers, and my (sorry for heinous video still) thai elephant with buddhist festival flower adornments

front forearm, facing outward, my latest one is the single lonely one, because i need to decide on the design and designer for my piece on the other side. this is what i call my portal into my writing place, all mutuals welcome so that we may frolic and scream about blorbos and occasionally write :)

last but not least, from reading @transboybuckley's transcendant you were the wilderness i crossed into. i wanted to get gingko leaves but MY PARTNER ASKED IF THEY COULD INSTEAD. SO I LET THEM. LIKE THE KINDEST BITCH YOU EVER DID MEET >:|

instead, i shall get an ash tree, probably as a pair to my lovely portal instead from rowan's second part to that story series, blind hope's my home. i might want the quote 'it takes guts to be gentle and kind' somewhere around it since it's something i def live by

thanks for looking at my skin with me!!!! mwah

[waywardvagabonds]

On the subject of art, I should just get the bull skull in the earth symbol surrounded by lilies as a tattoo. No more of this “it’s probably self-centered to get a tattoo of your own art” bullshit my brain keeps going back to. I drew it for ME in the first place. I still like it even after four years, which I can almost never say about my art. It would actually make a pretty sick thigh tattoo. I should do it.

[offender42085]

Post 0529

Zachary Quinn Bieski, Michigan inmate 480452, born 1993, incarceration intake in 2018 at age 25, scheduled for earliest release 11/19/2032 with full release on 11/19/2042

Homicide, Child Abuse

Tattoos:

-1- Chest - Longhorn bull skull -2- Left Arm - Left arm full sleeve containing a deer, fox, hawk, owl and wolf -3- Right Arm - elk skull & "Pabst Blue Ribbon" -4- Right Forearm -5- Right Hip - "Amber" -6- Right Leg - Orange Browning deer logo

A Midland man has been sentenced to 15 to 25 years in prison for the death of his 20-month-old daughter.

Zachary Quinn Bieski, 25, was sentenced on charges of second-degree homicide and second-degree child abuse for the death of his daughter, Delilah Quinn Bieski, last fall.

Bieski and his attorney, Robert J. Dunn of Bay City, stood directly in front of Midland County Circuit Court Judge Michael J. Beale who levied the sentence for the second-degree murder charge. For child abuse in the second degree, Bieski also will serve 86 months to 10 years. Both sentences are to run concurrently. Bieski was given credit for 311 days in jail.

“It is unfortunate that this is the defendant’s first criminal conviction of any sort,” Beale said.

A packed courtroom included some family members wearing memorial T-shirts that reminded everyone of their, “SUPERHERO Delilah.”

“The very person that the child should look to for safety and comfort is the very person that took away a life. There were so many things along this timeline where things might have been reversed. Where things might have been done to prevent the ultimate result,” Beale added.

Before Beale pronounced the sentence he gave Bieski a chance to comment.

“I feel horrible for my actions and all the pain and suffering I’ve caused the family,” Bieski said as he choked up.

After Beale pronounced the sentence, a Midland County deputy ushered the teary eyed Bieski out of the courtroom.

Both Midland County Prosecutor J. Dee Brooks and Beale mentioned that hopefully others will learn the terrible consequences that an action might have.

“As he has acknowledged, Mr. Bieski did an act that he should have known better, and he should have known how serious of an injury it could cause, and it did cause, and it took little Delilah away from us forever,” Brooks said. “Just the slightest decision and bad act can have tremendous consequences on the child and family forever.”

At an earlier plea hearing, Bieski admitted responsibility while pleading guilty to charges of second-degree homicide and second-degree child abuse in the death of his daughter.

Bieski was originally charged with first-degree homicide, first-degree child abuse and second-degree homicide.

At the plea hearing, Midland County Prosecutor J. Dee Brooks described the plea offer, which entailed dismissing both first-degree counts and an agreed upon sentence of 15 to 25 years in prison for second-degree homicide. The maximum sentence for second-degree child abuse is 10 years in prison.

Bieski has been jailed without bond since the conclusion of the Midland Police investigation that began on Oct. 26 when officers were called to MidMichigan Medical Center-Midland for a report of an injured child.

Delilah was transferred to Covenant HealthCare in Saginaw, where she died the next day.

An affidavit filed in the case states investigators learned Delilah had been in the care of Bieski's girlfriend when the child fell to the floor, began having a seizure and stopped breathing. The girlfriend dialed 911 and was instructed to perform CPR until paramedics arrived.

Doctors found Delilah had suffered a skull fracture on the back of her head, retinal hemorrhaging and bleeding in the brain, the affidavit states.

3f

[pall0r-mortis]

'Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.' ~ Mary Shelley

Sidney Lawrence Philips

Nicknames: Sid

Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them

Magick Status: Magick - Sorcerer (Out as an abomination sorcerer, actually an alchemy sorcerer)

Nationality: American/Boiling Isles

Ethnicity: White

Accent: Mix of American Midwestern and Boiling Isles English

Height: 6"2'

Build: Skinny, sharp edges, but stronger than he looks.

Complexion: Pale with visible scars.

Eye Color: Icy blue

Hair Color/Length/Style: Black, naturally straight, worn short and rarely styled but when it is it's usually slicked back.

Tattoos: (CW: skulls, medical imagery) Has a multitude covering his upper arms, ribs, part of his chest and shoulders, primarily in a minimalist or geometric style centering on medical illustration. He designed all himself, did most of them himself as well; his casting scars from spellwork are part of the designs. Full tattoo post link can be found below.

Piercings: Ears, left nostril but rarely wears it.

Daily Jewelry: Always has some collection of metal rings on both hands, it varies from day to day, as he uses them as conduits for his magic, and most are variations of poison rings that he stores Humors in small powdered amounts in. Typically has at least one silver, gold, copper and steel on each hand, but the amount changes depending.

Occupation: Delivery and general staff at Pizza Planet, and mechanic at Gadget's Garage.

What would you find if you Googled them? 

(TW: Illness)

Nothing about him, but his father Paul Philips is a well known plastic surgeon who catered to high end and rich clientele for the past twenty or so years, predominantly working in the US. There was a small scandal mentioned in some tabloids about his wife having an affair, and their divorce in the years after.

Most recently the Philips name was known due to Paul's sudden decline in health that forced him to mostly retire and relocate to an unknown small town. The circumstances of the sudden illness are still considered a mystery to the public.

What natives would know about them:

Very little. Sid doesn't make a habit of being too friendly. He, his father, and his father's live-in caretaker Lavenza moved to town recently, to the Southern Isles neighborhood. The family wealth is obvious, the house had remodeling going on for several months before they arrived, but overall they all seem fairly secretive.

Boiling Isles transplants would, however, know the Philips family, depending on how well they knew Sid or his father when they lived there.

Other:

Sid's dog Scud, a white and black bull terrier, is often spotted around him or sometimes roaming around the neighborhood. He's friendly but becomes very aggressive at hostility towards Sid. Otherwise he may roam up to strangers for attention, but is notably uncomfortable around older men and shies away from them due to his fear of Paul.

Sid always wears some variation of black, fingerless gloves to cover his crafting circle scars. If they are seen he just lets people think they're scarification tattoos. As an OOC note though alchemy has become so forgotten over the years that they wouldn't be recognizable for what they actually are to most. Some very old sorcerers or those who study magic history/magic overall intensively might though. (just ask me ooc and we can discuss who would know)

At this point Sid is openly approaching powerful sorcerers for reagents under the false motives of trying to break a curse that has resulted in his father's condition.

[Full Bio] [Tattoo Post] [Alchemy] [Coven of the Divine Exchange]