#cleaver content!!!

[tapwater118]

cw: blood, gore (i guess), cannibaIism

this idea came to me in a dream, and i had to get it down on the canvas

saw except she’s like a cannibaI butcher/chef who harvests her friends’ bodies and then bakes them into her delicious treats.

she also tricks her friends into eating them because?? i haven’t decided yet. maybe she is just a bit messed up in the head

why saw? idk, ask my sleeping self. (unconscious fear garden inspirations probably. these pointy ladies always doin weird shit)

yeah

individuals under here

[wastedpotentialsblog]

Destiny players when every gun, every enemy model, and every rock and grass texture isn't completely unique and made from scratch to only be used once

"Reused assets" mfs when I beat them to death (my right fist is a mirrored version of my left fist and that's lazy development).

[new-haven-psych-ward]

Kamen Rider Geats episode 30 poorly summarized via memes with as little context as possible:

[flowerandblood]

Rip my heart, heal my soul

[ Jack the Ripper • modern!Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, stalking, violence, mention of murder and body mutilation, manipulation, obsession ]

[ description: Driven by his hatred of women, who in his opinion are mere whores, Aemond delights in killing them when they least expect it - during their rapture with him. He meets a girl whom he chooses as his next target, but it turns out that this time he is the victim of a feeling he has never known before in his life. Murder, mutilation of his victims, obsessive, poetic, dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

Aemond Inside Alphabet

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

He hated how two-faced women could be − with what ease they pretended to be sweet, innocent, warm, looking at him with dreamy eyes, only to fuck him a few hours later in their flat, moaning loudly like butchered animals.

Whores.

He loved to see their expressions of surprise when they suddenly felt a fishing lines tighten around their neck as he fucked them from behind − he smiled broadly choking them, pleased to hear them stop making those sickening sounds, trying helplessly to grab air in their lungs.

Only then did he cum into a condon with a loud sigh of relief.

He loathed them.

He abhorred them.

Women like them laughed at him when he was in highschool, after he lost his left eye − they avoided him, calling him a cyclop, considering themselves superior, beautiful inside and out.

He knew how simple their mechanism of action was − all they had to do was meet a well-built, mysterious, charismatic man and they were all wet, suddenly forgetting about his artificial eye, ready for him to fuck them anywhere and any way.

They wanted to be the unique ones, the special ones.

They kept repeating to him that "they weren't like other girls" and he looked at them with a smile, nodding.

He'd gouge their eyeballs out of their eye sockets, grinning to find that it suited them to look like this − suddenly they seemed to be some kind of terrifying beasts, demons from the innermost abysses of darkness that had come to devour him.

He quartered their bodies with cleavers, packed them in great black sacks into which he placed stones and drove many hours ahead, finding some lake into which he threw their remains, their empty shell, as he liked to think of them.

His first target was his schoolmate who mocked him, but then he began to observe women and girls outside clubs, hunting down those who behaved similarly, pretending to be inaccessible, hard to get.

He knew this was nonsense, a cover for a guy to want to try harder.

Because of what he did, he changed his address frequently, catching light seasonal jobs. Mostly he was employed in cafés, because there he could observe people, often finding new targets. Women would frequently pretend to come to work there with their laptops, but would glance at him surreptitiously, checking if he was looking at them.

One day he heard the ringing of a bell hanging over the door and felt hot in his chest at the thought that this girl was perfect.

She was wearing an oversized pastel jumper, light-coloured shorts and mid-thigh-length woollen socks, her hair partly pinned back − a typical sweet pastel girl making big eyes, thinking he didn't know who she really was.

Whore.

She smiled warmly at him as she approached the counter, but he didn't reciprocate the expression − he looked at her expectantly, throwing a cloth over his shoulder in a gesture of impatience.

"Good morning. A large hot chocolate, please." She said softly, pulling her small rucksack off her back, searching in it for her wallet.

As she opened it, looking in it for banknotes, he saw out of the corner of his eye a student card from a university an hour away from their town.

He pressed his lips together, thinking it was a perfect match.

He scooped her order onto the till and glanced down at her − she reached his shoulder height.

"Anything else?" He asked indifferently and she shook her head, undeterred by his coolness she was still smiling.

Stupid bitch.

"No, thank you." She said calmly, and he told her the amount she had to pay. She placed in front of him exactly as much as he had said, and he walked over to the machine and busied himself filling her order.

"Did you come here on holiday?" He asked her, standing with his back to her.

He heard her move uncomfortably, surprised by his question.

"In a way." She said lightly, but added nothing more.

He handed her a cup and she took it from him − she looked him in the eye and thanked him, then sat down by the window, setting down her chocolate, pulling a laptop from her backpack.

He wandered between tables cleaning them and collecting orders from other guests, glancing at her screen out of the corner of his eye each time, wanting to find something that might give him a clue as to who she was, what she was doing.

He saw that she was constantly typing something in an open text document with quick, sure movements, clicking loudly on the keyboard, taking a sip of chocolate once in a while. When their gazes met she smiled at him, but immediately went back to work again.

Despite his hopes that she would order something else, after half an hour she packed up and left, wiping her table with her handkerchief beforehand and bringing him her empty cup, throwing over her shoulder to wish him a good day.

He felt all tense and bit his lower lip, knowing exactly how he would spend the evening.

As soon as he walked into his flat, he opened the internet browser on his laptop and typed in the name of her university − it was a private institution of higher learning, so she either had to have an outstanding academic record or a great deal of money.

Another fucking nepotistic child, he thought with amusement and mockery.

He started browsing the university's website, its Facebook page and Instagram hoping to see her somewhere, but found nothing. The only thing he found out was that the university specialised in the humanities, psychology, history and literature.

That would explain why she wrote so much.

He felt impatience and frustration when she didn't come for days, unable to concentrate, thinking only of her.

Standing outside the clubs, smoking a cigarette, he caught himself not observing what was going on around him at all, replaying for the hundredth time her visit to the café − her smile, her cordiality, the fact that she had cleaned up after herself so he wouldn't have to.

He knew it was all just a shell, underneath which there was only disgusting meat.

He couldn't hide the gleam in his eye, the grimace of satisfaction that ran suddenly through face and disappeared a moment later when he saw her again in the doorway of the café − this time she was wearing a summer blue dress, her hair tied up in a braid.

She walked up to the counter and ordered the same hot chocolate again with a sweet smile.

He felt he needed to start any light conversation.

"Wouldn't you prefer something cooler for such a hot day? We have freshly squeezed juices." He suggested, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She cocked her head, curious, and hesitated, involuntarily pressing her lips together.

He looked at them, at their pink, fleshy, moist structure, at her graceful, long neck, and swallowed loudly, feeling the pulsing in his trousers at the thought of tightening the noose around it.

"Do you also have orange juice?" She asked softly and he nodded.

"Of course." He replied.

"In that case, I'll have the juice." She said, taking out her wallet again − this time his attention was caught by the small photos she had slipped into a translucent pocket, a picture of some boy, a dog and an older man.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend and furrowed his eyebrows as he pressed half an orange to the juice squeezer, recognising in his mind that this would complicate things a lot.

He set the glass in front of her and took the banknote she handed him.

"Thank you very much for your suggestion." She said lightly, with a wide, warm smile − she moved ahead to the same table as before and took out her laptop again, starting to type something.

He circled around her for half an hour until he finally decided he couldn't stand it.

He walked over to her table with a cloth and spray, pretending he had to wipe the top − she picked up her laptop, wanting to help him and make some space.

"Do you work even on holidays?" He asked her indifferently, and she blinked, surprised by his question. She grunted quietly, correcting herself in her seat.

"I have to publish academic articles if I want to keep my place at university. But I like doing it." She said, shrugging her shoulders, not even a trace of displeasure on her face. She put her laptop back on the table when he had finished, and he analysed quickly what she had said.

So it was a scholarship after all, she wasn't paying tuition fees.

"What are you writing about this time?" He asked, feeling that this was his only chance.

He glanced at her nervously, wondering if he was crossing the line or being too persistent − she lifted her warm gaze to him and cocked her head.

"I'm writing an article on the prose of Edgar Allan Poe. Do you know him?" She asked lightly, and he involuntarily bit his lower lip at her question.

Prose in which men cut out their beloveds' entrails, collected their teeth, confessed poems over their cadaverous faces, professing infinite love for them, raging with desire, with despair, with the darkness that was tearing them apart.

Of course he fucking knew him.

"Yeah. It's a pretty dark choice." He admitted, looking at her, recognising with surprise that it didn't match either her clothes, her manner or her personality.

She giggled at his words, placing her elbows on the tabletop, not taking her bright gaze off him.

"It is true, however, there is something captivating about him. His darkness is filled with pain, his inner struggle, as if he still lived in agony even when he loved, even when he seemed happy. Each of his poems, each of his stories, is a dark work of art that I could analyse endlessly. He is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for me." She finished her explanation.

He stared at her with his lips pressed together, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen and the painful throbbing in his trousers at her words, thinking that he was about to throw himself at her like an animal.

She was perfect.

"Which of his stories do you like the most?" He asked finally, feeling with surprise that his voice trembled slightly, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was looking at her as if something possessed him.

She thought about his question, lifting her gaze upwards and hummed under her breath.

"Black Cat. This is his first story I've read. I couldn't get over it, had trouble sleeping afterwards. I promised myself I'd never go back to it again, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and ended up reading the whole book." She said with a smile and some kind of excitement.

"And yours?" She asked, continuing their exchange, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that he had succeeded.

He had intrigued her.

"The Fall of the House of Usher." He whispered, thinking of the woman locked in the coffin alive, unable to get out, whose moans were heard by her own brother, but he chose not to help her, horrified by what he had done.

He thought that perhaps he too could lock her up like this, keep her for himself, only not underground, not in a coffin, but in his arms.

He shuddered when an impatient customer called out to him if he was going to serve her, and he gave her a furious look.

"Of course." He said lowly, walking up to her, asking what he could help with.

Usually if someone frustrated him so much, spoke to him in the way she did when she paid him, complaining about his tone of voice, the way he looked at her, he would find her and do to her what he did to everyone else.

However, now that he had met her, he didn't want to have to change his residence again and decided to hold back.

He saw with a sting in his heart that she had closed her laptop and started packing.

He didn't want her to leave.

She approached the counter and he felt a squeeze in his throat, his whole body tense.

"I'm very sorry this woman treated you this way. I worked as a waitress last year too and I know what a thankless job it is. Don't worry about it. See you later." She said lightly and waved at him.

He led her away with his eyes, watching as she disappeared around the corner, throwing him another happy smile.

From that moment on, he felt that he was completely crazy about her.

He stopped going under the clubs and stalking other women, deciding he didn't need to waste his time with whores when he found her, his Berniece, Morella, Eleonora, his muse, his dark inspiration, his elusive lover, the object of his desire and desperate, hot affection, his obsession.

Never before in his life had he felt so wonderful.

He had the impression that his insides were filled with fire.

After what she had told him, he realised that she must have been studying fiction − he searched for academic works published on the internet about Poe's poetry, hoping to come across her name by chance.

He was not mistaken.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip as he typed another name into the browser and her Facebook profile picture came up.

He bit his lip as he entered her profile, seeing that apart from basic information he couldn't see anything else. However, he already knew that she was three years younger than him and that she was in fact studying fiction.

He went back to her article, starting to read curiously, wanting to see if she really was that good, if her words weren't just haughty, populist feminine gibberish.

The Black Cat is the story not of a madman who murdered his cat in an act of rage. It is the story of a progressive illness and trauma, a proceeding inner agony and schizophrenia that the main character is unable to cope with − his mind and his feelings measured against his animal aggression, his desire to vent his urges and frustrations purely physically. He begins to lose his memory, able to wake up suddenly in a different place, not knowing what he was doing a few days before, losing his grip on reality completely. It is very likely that the other cat he sees does not exist at all − it is merely a figment of his imagination, his remorse, his progressive illness. The protagonist, falling into a spiral of his own madness, is unable to distinguish between his imagination and reality, terrified and filled with aggression, like a feral animal he collapses into himself, eventually leading to tragedy, in his madness walling up his beloved wife. We observe a phenomenon of slow dehumanisation − the protagonist discarding piece by piece all sorts of brakes that on a daily basis stop us from sudden, brutal, cruel acts, leaving only pure reactions, filled with anger and frustration. Despite his actions, the reader, being inside the protagonist's head, involuntarily sympathises with him, understanding that he cannot control how his own mind, that he cannot stop the inevitable, that he is doomed to fall apart completely.

He swallowed loudly, feeling the dryness in his throat, stroking his chin with a nervous, anxious gesture of his fingers, wondering why his heart was pounding so hard, why he was so tense.

He thought that he felt as if she had written about him, as if she had looked into the depths of his inner emptiness and described with tenderness and care what was happening to him.

He bit his thumb thinking that he felt understood, not judged, that there was warmth emanating from her text and what she wrote.

He thought with horror that he might have fallen in love with her.

He waited for her every day, taking more shifts at work than he had to, afraid that he wouldn't be there that day when she came again.

He felt a tickle in his fingers at the thought of seeing her again, of talking to her again, of looking at her soft, happy face.

When, a few days later, she walked into the café in a black top and shorts, he felt immediately what he saw in his trousers, ready to fuck her in his back room.

He thought he couldn't treat her that way − she hadn't done anything through which he should show her such disrespect, treat her so objectively.

She approached him with a light, pleased smile, her eyes shining with joy − he thought, feeling heat in his chest, that she was glad to see him.

"Good morning. I'll have the same delicious juice as last time, please." She said in a calm, warm voice.

He swallowed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a shy smile, which didn't escape her notice.

"Coming right up, ma'am." He said softly, and she blinked, shifting from foot to foot.

He had the impression she was blushing.

She lowered her eyelids meekly, her eyes covered by a veil of her lashes, looking down at her hands.

He tried to focus on his task and prepared her juice, handing it to her as she gave him a banknote.

"Further article writing today?" He asked her in a calm, light tone.

She nodded.

"Yes. Would you like to read it? I want to hear other people's opinions. Maybe you could give me some advice, or hint at your observations." She said softly, with no undertone or attempt to flirt in her tone of voice.

This turned him on even more.

"I would love to. Unfortunately, working here, I won't have as much time to sit down and read everything at once." He said uncertainly and she waved her hand, smiling broadly.

"I don't mean to disturb you while you're working. Give me your email if you want, I'll send you my file." She said with a smile and he nodded, pulling a piece of paper from a drawer and quickly wrote down his address, feeling his hands quiver.

He couldn't find the words with what excitement he was waiting to hear from her.

He paced around his flat taking deep sips of coffee, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding like crazy.

He refreshed his messages once in a while, and when he finally saw a mail from her he sat down rapidly, opening it quickly.

Hi, thank you very much for deciding to devote your free time to me and reading what I have written. Feel free to write me what you think, perhaps you have some comments or suggestions. I am sending a PDF of the article as an attachment. Greetings!

He swallowed loudly, immediately opened the document she had sent him and began to read − this time she was dwelling on Poe's love literature and he felt hot at the thought.

She wrote about how he describes women in his prose, seeing them as phantoms, statues, demigoddesses, elusive to him, being his constant object of boundless adoration bordering on madness.

He agreed with everything she wrote, but one thing caught his attention. He thought for a long time how to put his thoughts into words so as not to scare her away.

Hi, you've done a wonderful job, I'm very impressed. It's great to read what you write and I agree with almost everything you've written. However, I am puzzled by the wording you used when you question the sincerity of his feelings, assuming that what the protagonist felt towards his women was not in fact love, but only an obsession for an unmatched ideal − that he did not see human form in her. I disagree with this statement, looking at the fact that when she ceased to be this ideal, when she died his interest in her did not diminish, his feelings did not fade and his despair, but widened. I think his obsession stemmed from his emotionality, from loving her too much, from not being able to draw a line, sinking into his feeling instead of taming it. I hope you don't find what I've written upsetting and don't take it as criticism. Once again, very well done. Greetings.

He sent it at last and stood up, walking around his living room as if in a trance, on the one hand filled with euphoria that he had had contact with her, that he had been able to talk to her, on the other terrified by what he had written, that he had evinced in those words a hint of who he himself was, that he had shown her too much.

He started to feel anxious when he didn't get any reply for half an hour and literally threw himself at his laptop when suddenly an unread message from her appeared glowing white in his inbox.

He clicked on it quickly and began to read, licking his lips.

Your observation is quite interesting and I partially agree with your statement. I think it is true that a feeling on the part of the protagonist cannot be ruled out, as his inner dilemmas often concern matters of beauty, his remarks on the smallest details of their appearance or behaviour that rejoice him every day. Indeed, perhaps my assessment was too harsh. What I mean is that I believe − but this is my subjective opinion − that when it comes to true love, even when it is wrapped in obsession, the safety of the beloved person should be the overriding thought, the priority − and yet sometimes the protagonist chooses his desire, his psychosis at the expense of the object of his adoration, who, after all, he supposedly loved. If I were to be loved, I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me, whispering that he loves me.

He felt a shudder seeing her last sentence, reading what she had written again and again, feeling the heat in his chest, his heart pounding like crazy, feeling the tension in his trousers, his erection pulsing hard in shock.

If I were to be loved, I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me, whispering that he loves me.

He thought that he would never hurt her.

That he would make her feel safe, kissing every inch of her beautiful, soft body with adoration every day, enclosing her in the embrace of his arms, protecting her from the darkness of the whole world, including his own.

He didn't know what he should answer − what she had written seemed so private, intimate, his hands hovered over the keyboard in uncertainty.

If he could he would find her, go to her and not fuck her, but make love to her all night.

He would have cuddled her close and whispered reassuringly to her with each deep, peaceful thrust of his hips, stroking her soft, warm skin, sinking his hands into her hair, drawing in her scent with his nose.

He quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, putting his hand under the material of his boxers − he grasped his throbbing, hard manhood between his fingers, the tip of it already leaking with his wetness.

He began to jerk himself off with quick, aggressive slaps of his hand against his balls, panting hard, closing his eyes, thinking about what he would do to her, how tender he would be, how much he wanted to be affectionate, for her, just for her.

He came with a low, helpless groan, panting loudly, resting his forehead against the top of the desk he was sitting at and swallowed loudly, concluding that he had never felt anything like this before in his life.

He took a quick shower afterwards, thinking hard about his answer. He sat down in front of his laptop in only his trousers with his hair still wet, opening the window beforehand and lighting a cigarette, taking a drag thoughtfully, then began to write.

In this case, too, I have to agree with you. You don't really love someone if you can't protect them from themselves. The protagonists fight each other and fail, but does that mean that they didn't really love, or however, is it simply madness that prevails, the fear that fate will take their beloved away from them, so in order not to feel that fear anymore, they end their life first? Whatever it is, they are driven by despair.

He finally wrote and sent the message, letting the smoke out loudly with his mouth, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray standing by his computer. He received a reply from her after about fifteen minutes and managed to make himself a cup of tea in the meantime.

I think that's the key word in understanding their dilemma. Despair. Their beauty, their wonderfulness frightens them − they can't bear how much they love them. They are despairing that while their affection may be eternal, their bodies are not so, cruelly destroyed by time, that every second brings them closer to their death. This realisation seems unbearable to them. I will amend this paragraph and expand on what we have been talking about. Thank you very much. Will you be at work tomorrow?

He blinked, reading the last sentence, pressing his lips together, writing back quickly.

You're welcome, it's been a pleasure. Yes, I will.

She wrote him back after a moment.

In that case, I'm glad. See you tomorrow!

According to what she wrote she came the next day. This time it was he who smiled at her first, and she reciprocated the expression, walking up to the counter with a light step.

"The article has been sent. Thanks to you I think it's perfect. If you don't mind, I would like to invite you to a temporary exhibition at the museum as a token of my gratitude. It concerns neo-Gothic illustrations for horror novels, including Poe's, and I thought it might interest you." She said, lowering her gaze with a kind of embarrassment, playing with her fingers.

He felt a shiver ran down his spine, his legs suddenly as soft as cotton wool.

Was she asking him out?

He swallowed loudly at the thought, feeling like his heart would burst out of his chest.

"When?" He asked, glancing down at the glass he had just poured her juice into, feeling his hands trembling.

He saw out the corner of his eye that she lifted her gaze to him, hearing with hope that he hadn't declined her offer.

"And when do you have the day off?" She asked softly − he could see that she was smiling, embarrassed and happy at the same time.

He felt a squeeze in his stomach at the thought.

"Tomorrow."

Women often invited him to meetings and he came to them with relish, braiding them into his web, but this time he was terrified and flustered inwardly, outwardly maintaining his icy mask.

He combed his fair hair back, put a black turtleneck, black trousers and a watch, and decided he looked good enough − elegant but at the same time not pompous.

When he arrived at the agreed place she was already waiting for him in front of the entrance, waving at him − she was wearing a light summer strapless dress, a small rucksack on her back, part of her hair braided at the back of her head.

She ran up to him with a smile and they stood in front of each other, unsure of how to greet.

"Hi. Here, this one is for you." She said, handing him his ticket without suggesting a hug or a handshake.

Her approach was very open, but physically she kept her distance.

The fact that he couldn't touch her was driving him crazy.

They both walked into a beautiful neo-baroque building that must once have been a small noble residence and followed the signs. They stepped across the creaky wooden floor into a black room, lit only by spotlights set on each of the works on exhibiton.

For the most part, they were etchings and lithographs with depictions of agony, death, loving embraces, figures full of anxiety, ghosts, symbolic scenes, executed with great precision and care.

They both bent over each work, looking at it carefully, not rushing anywhere, wanting to analyse exactly what they were seeing.

"Amazing how artists can capture the spirit of prose, isn't it? Looking at it I immediately feel what the author wrote about, the same anxiety even though I don't have the text in front of me." She said quietly with some kind of admiration.

He listened to her but had trouble concentrating, smelling the pleasant scent of her girlish, floral perfume.

"Mmm." He hummed under his breath and nodded in agreement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He saw that she was looking at him too and they both turned away, embarrassed.

He couldn't help himself − his hand involuntarily burshed hers as they moved on to the next piece of work − he felt her flinch, but she didn't move away.

He heard her quietly draw in air as his fingers tentatively intertwined with hers, feeling like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He pressed his lips together as her fingers spreaded, allowing him to grab hold.

They watched further.

He didn't let go of her hand then or when they left the building, talking about what they'd seen, pretending that nothing had happened between them, that it was a simple friendly gesture.

He saw that her face was all flushed, her gaze lowered, a gentle, warm smile of happiness on her face − he felt a squeeze in his heart at the sight, at the thought that he was not repelling her, that she was not disgusted by him.

He walked her to the tenement where she rented a room and immediately memorised the number, knowing in the back of his mind that he would surely be passing this way often over the next few weeks. They looked at each other and he wondered if she would want him to kiss her, to go inside.

He wanted it and didn't want it at the same time.

"I hope you had a nice time. Thank you for everything." She said softly looking at him at last, her eyes big and filled with something that made him hot, their fingers still entwined in a light, non-committal embrace.

"Very nice." He murmured, looking down at her thoughtfully, at her soft, pleasant face, at her pink lips and red cheeks.

She swallowed loudly and let go of his hand, embarrassed.

"Goodnight." She whispered and opened the wicket, closing it behind her.

"Goodnight." He replied and led her away with his eyes, watching as she opened the door and disappeared behind it.

He stood and waited to see where the light would turn on − after a moment the warm glow of the night light illuminated a room on the second floor of the house.

From that day onwards, she spent long hours every day in his café, not knowing that every evening he arranged to walk around her townhouse, watching her window from afar, sometimes seeing her silhouette as she walked from place to place, or as she opened the window to let in some cool, fresh air.

Since he met her he has not killed anyone.

Since he met her he had felt no need to kill anyone.

She filled his every thought, his every breath, the vision of her and her face brought him sweet relief, the touch of her hands, their entwined fingers kept him awake.

He felt that they had formed a bond, that she reciprocated his affect − he could see it in her gaze, in the way she smiled at him as she crossed the café door and spotted him behind the counter.

One day, he couldn't stand it and such a direct proposal came out of his mouth that he felt embarrassed for himself.

"I need to spend an evening with you or I'll go crazy." He said standing over her table and she looked at him surprised, her cheeks lit up with a hot blush.

She lowered her gaze, knowing exactly what he wanted, what he was implying, and swallowed loudly − he looked at her helplessly, thinking only of the fact that he was an impatient idiot.

"I need that too." She confessed and he tightened his lips at the words.

That same evening he found himself at her door.

When she opened it for him he clung to her lips as if starved, enclosing her cheeks in the tender embrace of his hands. He pulled away pressing his forehead to hers, her gaze at once fearful and thirsty, warm and dreamy, her lips twitching in uncertainty and fear.

"− I know −" He whispered, kissing her again, capturing her lower lip between his own, releasing it with a loud click, her fingertips running through his hair. "− I know − I won't hurt you − God, I would never hurt you −"

He was delighted by her sweet, innocent sounds as he placed slow, tender kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he laid her down on her bed, running his fingers over her body, taking his time − he let her calm down, let her feel that he would not take her by force, that he would wait as long as she needed.

"− it's okay − it's okay −" He whispered soothingly, running his hot lips, swollen with desire, over her soft skin, laying between her thighs, letting her feel how hard he was, how much he needed her.

"− oh −" Rippled out of her mouth when she felt it, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted by her reaction. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her face, running the tip of his nose over hers.

"Will you let me kiss you down there?" He cooed, lowering his hand to her bare thigh, running his fingertips over it, feeling goosebumps forming where he touched her. She nodded, and he hummed before kissing her again.

They undressed slowly and unhurriedly − as he lowered the straps of her dress and exposed one of her breasts he began to place tender, light, butterfly kisses on her skin, barely brushing it with his mouth, feeling her breathing fast, her lips parted in delight.

She helped him pull off his black t-shirt and his trousers, and after a moment they were both wonderfully naked, like Adam and Eve in paradise before they picked the forbidden fruit.

He looked at her adoringly and kissed her deeply − she reciprocated his gesture, weaving her delicate hands into his hair, drawing him close, his chest pressed against her plump, soft breasts.

He began to slide his lips down her sternum, to her navel all the way down, leaving a moist, sticky trail of his saliva, feeling her writhing beneath him with arousal.

With a gentle, slow movement, he spread her thighs in front of him and noticed her glowing, sticky folds from with her moisture dripped onto the sheets beneath them.

He didn't hesitate for a moment − with a groan of pleasure he pressed his lips to her heat, running his nose over her puffy clit − his tongue slipped tentatively between her fleshy walls and teased in a circular motion what was between them. Her wetness and her taste spilled over his palate, her whole body trembled, her hand tightened on his hair, a shy cry came from her throat.

"− shhh −" He hushed her tenderly, sinking deeper into her hot flesh, his tongue with sure, intense flicks began to invade between her slick folds, licking and rubbing her upper wall just at her entrance, feeling her hidden, spongy spot from which her thighs trembled in his hands.

"− please −" She mumbled, but he shushed her again, knowing exactly what she needed, how he should caress her.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks.

He let her come on his face, felt her body lean back with a loud, pleading whine, trying to push him away − a purr of satisfaction escaped his throat when he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her − he licked it all off with devotion, teasing her over-stimulated, throbbing walls.

"− such a good girl −" He praised her with admiration and heard her sigh of pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thigh rising up, wiping his face, placing his hands on either side of her head.

"− I need to feel you − alright? − I will take it slow −" He breathed out and she nodded, allowing him to grasp her hips in his hands and cross her legs around his waist.

When he guided the fat head of his cock against her opening she moaned helplessly, trying to fit it in − he kissed her tenderly, pushing against her opening, stretching her throbbing, wet walls with himself.

"− that's it − ah − I know, baby − I know −" He muttered, hearing her moan of effort, trying hard to take in what he was sliding into her, pushing her insides to their limits − her body tensed like a string, one of his hands on her hip, the other holding her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers, her hands entwined around his neck.

They both sighed loudly when he finally filled her fully, feeling her core clench hungrily against him on all sides. He slipped his tongue between her lips as he slid out of her slowly, only to fill her to the brim again with the buck of his hips, their hands clenched tightly on their hot, naked bodies.

"− yes −" She gasped and he groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock pulsate inside her at her words, his thrusts faster but still calm, deep, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a sticky smacks.

"− just like that − oh, baby −" He gasped out loudly, losing control, slamming into her faster and more aggressively − her head tilted back and her eyes clenched shut, her mouth wide open trying to catch air loudly, her breasts bouncing up and down with each of his thrusts.

He felt her hands tighten on his hips, her body reaching out and literally impaling herself on him, her walls clenching against him, driving him crazy.

"− yes − please −" She sobbed pleadingly, as if she was going to cry, as if she was going to die if she didn't experience fulfilment with him.

He slipped his tongue between her lips, their kisses sticky, greedy, the tips of their tongues teasing and licking as his cock pounded into her brutally with every sure, deep push of his hips.

"− fuck − m' close −" He uttered, and she stroked his hair, reciprocating his kisses with tenderness and devotion, clamping her hand on his buttock, directing him deep inside her, as if that was where he belonged, as if the fact that he was taking her was the most natural thing in the world.

"− yes − please − inside me −" She mewled, and he growled loudly at her words, letting go at last, coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes. Their bodies were still moving towards each other in involuntary motions when his warm cum spilled into her hot core, giving him a feeling of fulfilment and peace.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at her face, finding to his surprise that she was still alive, that he had not strangled her, her breasts rising and falling in accelerated breath, her gaze warm and hot, her lips trembling slightly.

She lifted her hand and touched his scarred cheek, running her fingers over it.

"− you are so beautiful −" She whispered, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, unable to get the phrase out, enchanted by the sight of her − he merely breathed loudly, letting himself be touched by her.

He couldn't find the right term, the right confession to describe what he felt for her.

He kissed her all night, finally feeling accepted, beautiful, loved, her tender hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his body all night, praising him, telling him how good he was, how tender he was.

He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that she was his Eleonora, Ophelia, Helena, that he would never hurt her, that she would always be safe with him.

When he returned the next day to his flat, he packed his knives, his fishing lines, his photographs, his mementos of the murders into a big box and drove for hours, finally turning into the woods.

He poured everything he had into a big hole − dozens of blank white eyes, photos of women, their documents, phones − and doused it all with petrol, then threw a light inside and watched his past burn.

Finally, he buried it all back, covering it with mulch and moss and drove back the way he came, promising himself that he was done with it, that he would change for her.

That he would protect her.

From the world.

From himself.

_____

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

[masked-men-fantasy]

Ask about their manhood size Headcanon (Dead by Daylight)

Headcanon for my beloved masked men from Dead by Daylight. What have they got for us?

NSFW Content. MDNI.

The Trapper

In this case, you didn't ask to know his size. You learn about it accidentally when he secretly washes himself in the heavy rain.

He takes off his workwear bib and lays it on the ground; only his fully naked body is shown. He scrubbed his body to wash out all the blood stains.

That is when you find out how beautiful his body is.

Well-built, gorgeous muscle, perfect body fat ratio, thick pecs, mass thighs, and well-rounded buttocks.

And, of course, his manhood part.

The sight is not clear, but it can be assumed that he has an 8-inch shaft. Not to be surprised, there are open wounds on it as well, making you wonder if it hurts or not.

Curiosity does kill a cat; your foot makes a cracking sound because of the dried branch nearby. Notified by the sound, he quickly reached for his cleaver and walked directly to the source of the noise.

You attempt to run, but then your foot steps into the bear trap that he placed inside the bush.

Evan finally reaches you. The shadows of his body covering your entire body show how big he is compared to you.

To your surprise, he does not pick you up to bring you to the sacrificial hook. Instead, he pushes you down on the floor, and your face tastes the ground. The trapper lifts your hips up and tears open your pants.

You are in trouble—very deep trouble now. Hopefully, it is a kind of trouble that you have on your mind.

The Knight

"If I were to show you such a private matter, would you accept to be a sex slave for me and my pack for a week then?" Tarhos makes an offer. One that is very difficult to turn down.

You slowly took out the metal armor on his lower part until it revealed a thin red loincloth and what he had inside.

Around 4 inches when flaccid. Then you have to put in some work to make it hard.

6.5 inches when fully erect, and the tip of his cock is pretty red, so it can be assumed that he has not done it for awhile.

He is also uncut.

Not well-trimmed pubic hair. It is not so shaggy or dirty; you can assume that he does not have much self-grooming experience, so he might use any convenient blades he could find to cut those hairs.

Now that you know the answer, you know what is going to happen next, yes?

Tarhos strikes his sword down the ground, a green aura lights up through his sword, and the faithful three are summoned.

"Let us enjoy this slave I found," Tarhos said, his lustful eyes looking through his helmet. The same goes for those three who just show up.

You are so done for.

[rongzhi]

context: i was reading the lyric annotations by the song authors to their song "Butcher Vanity" (content warning for cannibalism if u (or anyone) decides to check it out)

im not very familiar with douyins. do u know the douyin shes talking about here? or maybe the sound effect?

also im really sorry if the image turns out really low-res. i wrote in image description just in case

The "huh" douyin sound effect can be heard in the song such as at ~1:52.

The douyin mentioned in the annotations is this one:

(Caption: "Can't let the neighbors think I can't accord to eat pork ribs")

The notes say the cleaver sounds is mixed into the song, and while I can sort of hear a cleaver near the end, I don't know if it's from this specific video. Seems unlikely, as there's a BGM both in this douyin (the most popular version) as well as the douyins that are slightly older but use the same joke. More likely, the cleaver sfx is just any cleaver on a chopping board, as they pretty much all are going to sound that way.

[deconstructthesoup]

Reasons why I'm gonna be writing the DBD swap AU proper:

-Crystal using 1920's slang and dressing like she stepped right out of a performance of Chicago

-Niko using her book-smart detective skills to the extreme

-Getting to twist Charles's arc in another direction with the whole amnesia plotline, with the added bonus of him actually having acted like an ass before he got possessed

-Charles knowing he's bi from the start

-Edwin knowing he's gay from the start and being the one to curtly inform Crystal how bi she is

-Edwin being an old-school nerd with an extensive knowledge of D&D, noir movies, and Agatha Christie novels

-Esther and the Night Nurse being bitter exes

-Thomas/the Cat King running a bakery and has a metal rolling pin as his weapon of choice instead of a cleaver

-Angie as a punk siren who takes Polaroids and listens to Chappell Roan (with a look that is, in fact, heavily inspired off of the siren from the "Casual" music video)

-Jenny as an afterlife worker with a blunt bob and a rumpled vest-dress-shirt-and-slacks combo that makes her 1000x hotter than she is in canon

-Esther in black-feathered everything

-Delirium cameo in place of Despair

-And, of course, the Palaski content

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

// Why do you like Ragatha

(Unleash it. Type out the essay.)

// ... the essay warning tag really is going to apply here ^^

ragatha became my favorite character almost instantly the moment she appeared on screen . like i could remember even around the teaser for the show i was pretty fond of her , though i could chalk that up to me liking Any design that is remotely based off raggedy ann

she perfectly fits that oddly specific character type only I love , which is 'grown woman keeps failing no matter how hard she tries and it's marvelous to witness' , like i'm not sure how to explain it too well - she's not really a girlfail or a girlboss in my eyes ... she just . never wins ! and i love that , please keep fucking losing ragatha the amazing digital circus

to break it down , what's apparent in her approximately less than 7 minutes of screentime is that she's a goofy goober who's essentially the voice of reason . she's not emotional like gangle , unreliable like jax and zooble , or out of her mind like kinger . she was essentially the only one who tried to ease pomni into the circus instead of hard-hitting her with the reality as if that won't make her abstract on the spot . it's clear through her interactions with the other characters and how she talks to pomni that she acts like the Pillar of the group , with how compliant she is with caine's adventures and has a comforting presence .

the problem is ... that all of those 'positive' traits are ... Detrimental to her own wellbeing . like i'm sure a part of her positivity is genuine , but her optimism clearly hinges into toxic positivity and her selflessness is taken to the point of people-pleasing and neglecting her own needs . it's clear that she sees her own emotions as a burden that she doesn't want to put on other people .

and . she's dishonest . my girl is dishonest . she often brushes off things as not being as bad as they actually are , she picks her words to cause less conflict as possible , and it doesn't seem like anyone else is aware of her internal turmoil ... even when she's in Literal Pain she still brushes it off as being okay - and she stayed quiet instead of telling pomni that she's upset .

which is ... hilarious . there's just something about nice characters that tell the most lies to me . bonus points if it seems like they're the one who tells the most truths out of the entire group . everything about ragatha is Dishonest .

and it's funny yet again that these Really don't help her at all ! i think it's clear just from promotional material to the pilot that ragatha is meant to be a punching bag . her teaser shows a cleaver Being Thrown At Her , was tripped by jax and Literally Most Of Her Screentime In the Pilot Is Being In Pain , and that's not counting gooseworx's doodles . my girl's fucking Losing .

and it fits her avatar well since she's a Rag Doll ... she's basically never meant to win from the start . she was never the main character .

it interests me so much on how all of these will be taken in the full series since they're all very interesting setups , especially for the setting that the story is set in . i just need to see more of my girl and i wish that a lot of her content isn't limited to ship art . you guys do not understand how desperate i am to see content of ragatha interacting with either caine or zooble . i am Not normal about them .

also i want to kiss her on the mouth //

[xnoctifers-eveningx]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼 Wild Plant Lore 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼

Some notes from my BOS of weeds / local plants that can be used in one's craft. Includes magickal correspondences, traditional uses (medicinal and culinary), and some of their folklore.

Disclaimer at the end !!

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Acorns- the nuts of oak trees. They're made of one seed covered by a tough shell with a cap on top. These nuts can be eaten and are turned into flour to make breads and pastas. Much about acorns are unknown as they are mainly unused in everyday life, but we do know that they contain a high fiber content which has been used to treat bloating, diarrhea, stomach pains, and other digestive issues. Because these nuts come from oak trees they’ve been a symbol of great wisdom and longevity in many cultures such as Celtic and Nordic. Many people have worn necklaces with acorn charms on them to bring protection

• Protection, prosperity, growth, wisdom 

Bull nettle- Thick stock and toothed leaves with stiff prickly stinging hairs, the flowers are small, white, and covered in hispid. The seed pods are lightly coloured and cylindrical, containing ~3 seeds. Touching this plant will cause a stinging, burning, or itching sensation that will last for hours. The seeds from the seed pods are edible and taste nutty but need to be harvested with extreme care as to not sting yourself. The seeds can be roasted or ground into a "cornmeal." The root of bull nettle is edible, it's similar to a potato but tougher and the core is so tough it should be discarded.

Binding, banishing, warding, baneful (to cause pain)

Cattails- Cattails are semi-aquatic plants that consist of multiple long spiked leaves with one center spike holding a sausage-shaped head that is filled with cottony seeds. Their rhizomes can be turned into a flour with a high protein content and the shoots can be cooked and eaten. The stems and leaves can be turned into paper. A poultice from the roots can be used as an antiseptic, for burns/cuts, and to reduce inflammation. When harvesting this plant please do not overharvest, it’s a very important part of a wetland’s ecosystem ! Also, always make sure the water near the cattails is clean because cattails filter pollutants out of the water so if you plan on consuming the plant, you could also be consuming those pollutants. 

Fertility, growth, prosperity, peace, water-associated magick, cleansing

Catchweed- Also known as cleavers, hitchhikers, goosegrass, or sticky weed. Catchweeds are branchy, square stems that latch onto other plants and buildings with small hooked hairs on their leaves and stems. They have tiny, star-shaped, green or white-ish flowers with four petals. They also have small burrs that contain a few seeds that are covered in hooked hairs so they can latch on to animals to disperse seeds. For those who want to risk getting pricked, catchweed is edible. Young leaves and stems can be cooked and eaten like spinach. This plant is also in the same family as coffee, meaning that you can dry and roast the seeds in their burrs to make a lower-caffeine coffee substitute and teas. Poultices have been made with the whole plant, as with tea washes from dried leaves, in many cultures for light burns, small wounds, and eczema. It has a cooling effect so it’s also used in infusions for bug bites, stings, and poison ivy. 

Energy, binding, commitment, protection during travel 

Chickweed- Also called chickenwort/weed, winterweed, and simply ground cover as that’s its primary use in modern society. Long stems with pointed, oval-shaped leaves and tiny white star-shaped flowers that resemble carnations. Its star-shaped flowers earned it the botanical name “Stellaria media”. Its flowers and leaves are both edible and are very popular in salads, soups, and stir-fries. It has a taste similar to sprouts that you’d use in a salad. Chickweed salves are used for skincare, poultices for poison ivy, and teas for digestion. Historically, it's been used for skin ailments like itching, dry skin, and even bruises or bug bites from a tisane/tea of the stems applied to the affected area. In European folklore, it was said to help promote a happy, balanced family and love life. This is believed to come from how chickweed grows so closely with all its stems intertwined but in a way that promotes each part to grow healthy, so it promotes everyone in a household getting along with one another while having their own sense of individuality. It’s also associated with perseverance (like most weeds I’ll admit), this is because chickweed is seen growing everywhere, in yards, in forests, on piles of dirt. If it sees an opportunity, it’ll take it and thrive year-round. 

Love, stability, loyalty, communication, lunar-associated magick 

Clovers- white, balled flowers with three to four small, round leaves. Every part of this plant is edible, the leaves and flowers are sweet and vanilla-y so they are good in teas and sweets. Clover has been used to ward off fevers and used in tisanes/teas for inflammation. Clover has been associated with good fortune for centuries, especially four-leaved clovers. A shamrock is a symbol of a three-leafed clover representative of the Christian Holy Trinity, it’s also believed that the Celtic druids thought shamrocks to be significant because they had three leaves possibly representing the underground, earth, and sky. 

Luck, prosperity, happiness, faith

Creeping Speedwell- Teeny tiny violet/baby blue flowers with light yellow middles, it is incredibly fast-growing and can be found in most yards. Speedwell is edible and good in salads, pestos, and smoothies. Tea is made from the leaves and flowers to help clear congestion, allergies, and coughs. Some add it to their baths to help with their allergies and inflammation, inflammation is also helped by a poultice. In some folklore, it’s said that a tea or ointment from speedwell could help one with psychic visions and faerie sight. Before I truly knew the folklore behind speedwell I had this sense that it would help with your clairsenses. 

Abundance, divination, psychic/clairsense work

Creeping buttercup- Buttercups are toxic and will leave blisters when raw so they must be cooked or dried before being consumed, even then it's not recommended to eat. A poultice of the (boiled) leaves is used for inflammation and wounds and a tea from the plant is used for its analgesic properties, but be wary of the blisters that may occur. Buttercups used to be used to ward off faeries, many farmers would plant these around their cows to prevent them from being stolen from the fae. There are a lot of stories relating buttercups to cows which is very very cute but ironic because buttercups are actually toxic to many animals! For its many associations with children, fairies, and coyotes across various cultures it can also be related to mischief  

Youth, happiness, love, protection from fae, mischief (jinxes/hexes/glamours) 

Creeping charlie- Also known as ground ivy. Creeping charlie has square stems with dark, rounded or fan-shaped, toothed leaves. It has small blue or lavender, funnel-shaped flowers that grow in clusters of two or three in the spring. Creeping charlie is edible and has a long history of being used in beer and cheese, it tastes subtly minty as it's in the mint family. Young leaves are good in salads to freshen them up and it's also really good in teas and sweets. There is a risk of it being toxic if consumed in large quantities though. For centuries now it's been used in teas to calm a cough, been said to help with headaches, and has been used on the skin to reduce pain and soothe inflammation. Some have turned it into a snuff and used it for congestion, kind of like Vaporub. It was actually brought over from Britain to the Americas for its medicinal uses, now it’s one of those weeds people will spend tons of money trying to get rid of. Alike creeping buttercup, it’s said that some may have used this to ward magick from their livestock and themselves. Some say it’s good to use to find out who has cursed you or sent the evil eye your way and in some stories, people would drink it as a tea to get rid of their shyness. 

Protection from magick and spirits, divination, clarity, courage

Deadnettle- My favourite weed :) Square stem, fuzzy leaves that occasionally are red/purple at the top, with tiny tube-shaped light pink flowers. Despite technically being a nettle, it’s not a true nettle so very few people will have a reaction when touching this plant. Deadnettle is part of the mint family and every part of it is edible, despite that though it's not very minty and is floral and sweet. My favourite parts are the tiny pink flowers which have sweet nectar in them and are good in teas, syrups, sweets, and jams. The leaves are good in teas, smoothies, pestos, and salads. A poultice or salve can be made from the leaves for wounds and teas can help with allergies. This plant is sometimes called purple archangel because it pops up around the Feast of the Apparition when it was said St. Micheal appeared. It’s associated with determination because this lil dude will grow anywhere, even in spots with the worst quality soil. 

happiness, determination, peace, healing

Dandelion- Dandelions are bright layered yellow flowers with toothed leaves that grow pretty much anywhere there is enough dirt to get their roots in. The entire plant is edible, the flowers are slightly sweet making them good for salads, syrups, and sweet. The leaves are slightly bitter but that can be lessened when harvested young or boiled, they're good as spinach replacements and can be dried for teas. The flowers can also be turned into dyes. The plant's name can be literally translated to 'healing herb' as it has been used in many cultures for it's gut health and detoxifying properties. Teas and tinctures from leaves are made for a diuretic and flowers are made into salves or beauty products to treat acne/eczema and to reduce inflammation. About dandelions being diuretics - the name dandelion comes from the french name dentdelion (tooth of the lion) but there’s actually a second French name, “pissenlit”, which means piss the bed !!

luck/wishes, communication, balance, courage, youth

Daisy- Daisies are low-growing flowers with thin, long, white petals and yellow disc florets (middles). Common daisies are edible, these are really found growing anywhere even in your lawn. Leaves can be used in salads or stir-fries and flower heads can be pickled or used in salads. Wines, soups, and teas are also commonly made from daisies. The flowers have a slightly bitter taste but look pretty in dishes. Daisies have been used in teas for coughs, bronchitis, and common colds. It's also been used to "stimulate the digestive system" to promote appetite. Daisies have been into lotions and other skincare products to treat rashes, eczema, and other skin issues. Daisies came to be associated with love and motherhood through it being the flower of Freya, innocence/purity through the story of Vertumnus and Belides where the flower gets its scientific name, and purity the popular phrases like “fresh/clean as daisies”.

Happiness, cleansing, love, purity (cleansing), motherhood/childbirth

Feverfew- Feverfew are daisy-like flowers with bright yellow middles and white petals, with yellow-green leaves in a feathered arrangement, that grow in small bushes together. Feverfew is edible but many will steer clear of it as it has a very bitter taste. It’s often made into teas and used in pastries. Although feverfew isn’t used to reduce fevers anymore, there are still many health benefits and medicinal uses of the plant, some people even calling it ‘medieval aspirin’. People will take feverfew pills or apply a poultice to relieve pain from arthritis and inflammation. A poultice can also be applied to minor cuts, scrapes, and bug bites. Teas can be made for headaches and some use it to help with menstrual pain. Feverfew is also known to show some skin benefits by reducing redness and inflammation. Feverfew may increase bleeding as it acts similar to an anticoagulant, because of this it is advised that if you are taking a blood thinner like aspirin, Dabigatran (Pradaxa), Heparin (Innohep), or others, you talk to your doctor before taking feverfew. This plant has more medicinal uses than references in mythology but I did find a few references to it being believed to be able to save the life of someone that had fallen from the Parthenon, a temple to Athena, which gave it the scientific name parthenium.

Healing, curse-breaking, love

Lesser celandine- Also known as pilewort or sometimes fig buttercup. Pilewort is a plant on the buttercup family that has dark, heart-shaped leaves and bright yellow flowers with glossy petals. Despite its pretty exterior, touching the plant could cause rashes or blistering especially when the plant is crushed. Ingesting the plant can cause dizziness, vomiting, and worse. While there may be ways to cook out the toxins, I cannot advise anyone to consume this plant without proper experience. This plant is also known as the spring messenger as it's one of the first plants to bloom in the spring. Lesser celandine was referenced a lot in literature, most being about love and foreshadowing happiness alike how it signals spring. 

Joy, love, Spring associated magick

Maple seed pods- Maple seeds, also known as helicopters or samaras, are the seed of maple trees, as one would assume. These are winged pods consisting of a papery tissue surrounding a single seed that is usually joined together in pairs of two. The seeds are edible once the outer covering has been removed and taste better while young, becoming bitter as they mature. Some say that smaller pods taste sweeter and larger ones taste more bitter. They're good in roasts, stir-fries, and salads. They can also be dried and pounded into flour ! Much of what we know about maple seeds are simply culinary and there's not much information on their medicinal uses. The majority of the correspondences of maple seed pods come from maple trees which represent balance and longevity. They also are associated with childhood after the many many years of children playing with these helicopter-like seeds. 

Longevity, growth, balance, youth

Mulberries- Mulberries come in three different colours which are red, white, and black. Different mulberries grow on different mulberry trees. Black mulberry trees have an orange-y-toned bark with toothed, heart-shaped leaves. White/red mulberry trees have a greyish bark with large, deeply lobed, oval-shaped leaves. Mulberries look very similar to blackberries but longer with each cluster of fruit containing a seed. Mulberries are edible, black ones taste the best and can be both sour and sweet and the white/red ones are duller in flavour but sweet. These are made into jams, syrups, wines, sweets, sorbets, really anything sweet and it tastes great ! These berries are more known for their culinary uses but some studies suggest that they can help reduce cholesterol and improve digestion. In Greek/Babylonian mythology, red mulberries came from white mulberries that were stained red from the deaths of the star-crossed lovers Pyramus and Thisbe which gave them the association of love and death.

Love, death, faith, wisdom

Osage oranges- Also known as horse apples or hedge apples. Osage oranges are a yellow-green fruit with a very rough and bumpy peel. These oranges grow on trees called Maclura pomifera. The wood of these trees are used for very good firewood and yellow-green dyes. The Osage natives would use the wood from the tree for many things like bows and boats as it’s very flexible. The roots of the trees are sometimes made into water infusions to help with eye conditions. People have also used the wood, or even sat out the fruit, to deter insects. Osage oranges are edible but most people, and even animals, will avoid eating them due to their dry and bitter taste. They taste like very bitter and citrus-y cucumbers. These oranges can cause skin irritation to some. 

Warding, protection, strength

Pinecones- Pinecones are geometric cones that come from conifer pine trees that produce pollen or seeds depending on their sex. Pinecones symbolize fertility and life in many cultures and have been used in artwork for centuries. The pineal gland in the brain was named after pinecones because of its shape, this gland is sometimes referred to as the “third eye” and some believe that it acts as a witch’s eye would; this is how pinecones were tied to the idea of enlightenment and rebirth as well as the fact that they have been around for so long. Some conifer cones are edible (some aren't!) but they are very tough to chew so you must boil them before eating, pinecone jam has been commonly made from young cones. Pine has been used in teas, tinctures, resins, and many other things to treat coughs, allergies, and help with sinus infections. 

Fertility, creativity, prosperity, enlightenment, rebirth

Prickly lettuce- a quite tall, red stem that contains latex with large tooth-shaped leaves that have prominent veins and spikes lining its edges and main vein on its underside. When it blooms it has small, pale yellow flowers. This plant is edible and is pretty much used like normal lettuce while having a slightly bitter taste, as usual, this gets less noticeable as it matures. Leaves can be eaten in salads or cooked/steamed and the root can be made into a tea. The latex substance that comes out of the leaves and stem when injured is called lactucarium which is known as lettuce opium due to its sedative and pain-relieving properties; the process of harvesting this substance is tedious. This can be used to help people sleep, relax, and relieve pain. Lettuce in general has a great amount of significant historical usage. Lettuce came to be associated with sex because an Egyptian fertility god, Min, was associated with lettuce as it was known as an aphrodisiac that was ritualistically ingested before sex. These effects were due to the lactucarium. In Hellenism, when Adonis died he was laid on a bed of lettuce along with other fast-growing plants. In festivals for him, they would burn withered lettuce and mourn his death, this related lettuce to death. 

Necromancy, offerings for the deceased, fertility, sex

Queen Anne's Lace- Also known as wild carrot. A tall flowering weed with a thin, stiff stem and tiny white, clustered flowers. The flowerhead consists of a bunch of separate flowers, some plants may have a singular purple/pink flower.  Queen Anne's lace's root is edible which is actually where it gets the names wild carrot and Daucus Carota, it's good steamed and boiled. It is pretty stringy and if you wait too long to harvest it can become very hard and woody. This plant is NOT safe to consume for those who are pregnant ! The stem is known to cause skin irritation and rashes to people with sensitive skin. Despite being edible, most wouldn't suggest eating it because it looks almost identical to poison hemlock which if consumed could be fatal. It also looks a ton like wild celery but that's less of an issue. Historically, the seeds of wild carrot were used as an abortant in a "morning after pill" type of way. Wild carrot was named Queen Anne's Lace after Queen Anne of England who was a great lace maker, there is a legend that when making lace one day she pricked her finger then a single drop of blood fell on it and that's why the flower has a single purple flower. Because of the association to Queen Anne, some would use it to try to attract love or make themselves look more beautiful. Wild carrot is also called bird's nest or the bishop's flower which ties it to themes of safety and sanctuary.

Beauty, love, glamours

Rosebay willowherb- Also commonly known as fireweed for its appearance or bombweed because it began to heavily grow in bomb craters/sites in WWII around the UK. The rosebay willowherb has tall reddish stems and willow-like leaves with long magenta flowers. Traditionally it's been used in teas, jellies, and salads. It has a pretty bitter taste so you need to harvest it young and cook it before eating. It's used in teas for its demulcent properties, to treat certain stomach conditions, and has been used in skincare because of its astringent properties. There’s not much folklore about this plant but it’s well known for appearing after events that devastated an area, it was one of the first plants to start growing after Mt. St. Helens, after colonizers burnt down forests, and after bombs dropped in WWII. I’ve also heard it’s bad luck to pick its flowers, either stating that a storm will occur or your mother will fall ill.

Courage, perseverance, change, bad luck

Stinging nettle- tall, heart-shaped, toothed leaves. The leaves are covered in small stinging hairs that when touched will inject chemicals into one's skin and cause slight stinging sensations. Young stinging nettle has widely been used in dishes as soaking/cooking it takes away the sting. It is very similar to spinach in taste, texture, and nutrients. Ointments are made to treat arthritis and inflammation, teas are made from dried leaves and flowers to treat allergies and hayfever. Poultices of the leaves were used for stiff joints and muscle pain by helping blood circulation in that area. Be wary of using stinging nettle on your skin as it can cause rashes and blisters. Some Native American groups used it in teas as a stomach tonic. In Celtic folklore, it was said to keep evil spirits and illness at bay, it also says that when you see thick strands of nettle it means that faeries are nearby. 

Binding, protection from baneful magick and evil spirits, strength, curse breaking

Sweetgum seed pods- Also known as witch’s burrs or witch balls. Sweetgum seed pods are hard, spikey seed pods with small holes where the seeds once were. These fall from sweetgum trees after they mature and disperse their seeds. These aren’t edible nor really used for any medicinal purpose. They’re often placed around plants to protect them from animals. Magickally, you can place them around your space to ward off unwanted energies and entities or even grind them into a powder for banishing or protection. These things hurt like hell to step on so they’re also good to use in baneful protection magick, like baneful wards or return to senders. 

Protection, warding, binding, baneful protection

Violet- There are many species of violets so I'm going to cover them in a broad sense. Violets are usually small, light purple flowers with short stems, little shrubbery, and heart/kidney/scalloped leaves. In many species of violet both the leaves and flowers are edible and contain high levels of vitamins A and C, but make sure to properly identify your plant before consuming. These can be made into teas, sweets, salads, etc. Violet syrup is my favourite ! Some leaves in wild violets will taste quite soapy, so try them out before cooking them into anything. Violet leaves have cooling and anti-inflammatory properties so they are used in poultices, salves, compresses, and oils for scrapes, burns, and bug bites. Violets have traditionally been used in teas or tonics for coughs and swollen lymph nodes. There is a lot of folklore and mythology that this flower is a part of. Violets are largely associated with modesty and innocence and this stems from two main stories; Persephone was said to be picking violets when Hades kidnapped her to live in the underworld and in Greek mythology when Apollo pursued a nymph, Artemis/Diana turned her into a violet to protect her. There are also stories in The Bible that associate violets with modesty like when Archangel Gabriel tells Mary she is pregnant, violets bloom around her. This is why sometimes when a child dies, violets are put on their grave as a representation of their innocence. There are many other popular stories of violets turning to tears when someone is crying. They’re also associated with love from a story of Venus and Cupid and were believed to be an aphrodisiac in the Middle Ages. 

Femininity, respect, wisdom, modesty, divination, love 

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Disclaimer !!: Before you consume or use a plant medicinally, make sure you are 100% sure on the ID. Speak with a doctor before using a plant, especially if you’re pregnant, and make sure you aren’t allergic and that it won’t interact with any of your medications. Do not substitute legitimate medications with herbal remedies, this is not medical advice. Always do your own research before consuming or using a plant medicinally. Some of the plants, while generally safe for humans, are not safe for animals and children. As a general rule of thumb, younger greens will taste better. As the plant matures and bears fruit it will typically become more bitter, so the best time to harvest most of these is before it bears fruit. Make sure to avoid areas treated with pesticides and always wash your takings before use. And make sure you're never over-harvesting, always make sure there's another 'patch' of the plant your taking !!

[rayroseu]

!!! book 7 spoilers

content: general lilia vanrouge chibi animation, general lilia and baul zigvolt full sprite, knight of dawn full silouette, and princess malenoa full silouette (source: @alchemivich) (advisable you use a light theme tumblr bcs u might have problems viewing the silouettes lol)

THE MOMENT IVE BEEN WAITING FORRRR WAYAUDGAUDHSHGSHA general peepaw at his 300s cracking his spine 💕💕✨💕✨💕😍

AAAAHHH hes so tired from making sure the silver owls go extinct JSHAJJS also for always dealing with the Draconia's tantrums😭💥

ITS SO OVER-- ITS SO FUCKING OVER-- EVERYONE WILL DIE BY HIS HANDS-- ITS AN HONOUR TO BE KILLED WITH A FUCKING CLEAVER STONE TURNING TO A WHIP--

do YOU see the fricking flips hes doing on top of swinging a pure stone around??? GURL, THEY WERENT JOKING ABOUT HIS STRENGTH EVEN IF THOSE ARMS LOOKS AVERAGE 😭💥💥

I love his new expressions are more sinister than what we knew ✨✨✨

HIS ARMOUR LOOKS SO HEAVY OMG GRANPA ZIGVOLT WEAPON REVEAL WHEN⁉️⁉️⁉️🙏🙏 🥺🥺🥺✨✨ I WANNA SEE HIM WHACK AN OPPONENT WITH A HUGE AXE---🛐🛐

his cape is too long Jbdjaa I cant make up his form too much AAA😭✨ I'm very interested for more lore about him thoughh-- 😳✨ knight of dawn... pls be a good and likeable guy lol

.

ALSO ALSOOO!!!!! THE MOST MAGNIFICENT FOR THE LAST✨✨✨🛐🛐🌹🌹😍😍

MOTHER IN LAW??????? PRINCESS MALENOA???? OHMYGOD I WAS WRECKED JUST BY THE SIGHT OF HER STAFF AND POSSIBLE ARMOUREDCAPE AND THE CAPE *HAS* VERY INTRICATE LACING??? QUEEN. 🛐🛐🛐😍😍✨✨✨ ALSO !!!! DRAGON TAIL LETSGOOOO!!!🙏🙏🙏💕💖💕💖‼️‼️‼️‼️

the way i gasped and she is so exuding of power and elegance ✨💕✨💕

everyone go home this is the best character design ever

WHERES HER SSR CARD I'D SACRIFICE MY MALLEUS SAVINGS JUST FOR HER HIGHNESS 💕🙏💖💖

*malleyuu insert* man, imagine introducing yourself as her son's bf/gf 😂😂💥💥 we're truly that meme where it goes -> the guy you like, his mother, his father, etc etc 😂😂💥💥‼️

HER FREAKING STANCE-- I CANT GET OVER IT ITS SO EFFORTLESSLY AUTHORITATIVE!!! Prince Levan scored a baddie holy freaking gosh--

Now, I really believe theyll release an actual sprite for Princess Malenoa ✨✨ She looks too detailed to just end it like this lol

[crypticandmachiavellianaugustine]

I Can See You

Eris Vanserra x human!Reader

Summary: Y/N is working late when her mate decides to show up.

Warnings: smut 18+, oral (f receiving)

First time writing smut, I was bored and procrastinating preparing my exams, so sorry if it's too horrible. Also English is not my first nor my second, not even my third language, in short I apologise for eventual mistakes.

_______

It was a peculiar thing, Y/N was willing to admit, her belief in all things magical.

A gush of wind was the world caressing her hair with a nonexistent loving hand. The sea was a parent and a guardian, mending her broken heart whenever she felt helpless and lonely. A storm was a scream of freedom and every animal was her friend. And every forest, every thorn covered bush, belonged to the faeries.

With a shiver of horror she remembered that every dust covered library belonged to the ghosts.

It was late and Y/N was putting away some books in their rightful places. She preferred completing her tasks late at night, when the library was empty and the moonlight shined through the stained glass of the large windows.

For some time now her belief in magic had been replaced by a frightening and incumbent truth. A world opened by cleaver hands and the most incredible eyes she had ever seen.

She could feel him watching her in the shadows and a primordial human instinct warned her to be afraid, but he was no ghost. Y/N could see the outlines of her mate behind one of the shelves when she passed by. Mate. A word that in her human hears sounded almost wrong, almost too animalistic for what she felt. But she could feel it by the tread of gold that tied their souls together that they were, indeed, mates. She preferred referring to him in other ways, words that she found sweeter. Lover. Beloved. Husband.

The last one had been recently added when in the middle of the night a few weeks before they had decided to get married immediately, the human way, so that her anxious mind could be eased and her self doubts extinguished.

Eris knew exactly how to ease her worries and anxieties before they even presented themselves, and Y/N loved to taunt him for it, to laugh at her prince from a magical land who fought bravely against all of her demons.

Y/N climbed a ladder to put away an ancient tome of history when she felt her mate's fingers gently caressing one of her legs, tracing her ankle and calf in a way that never failed to make her lose her mind, no matter which part of her body he decided to submit to that delicate torture. Eris' hand stopped barely over her knee and his fingers grabbed the soft flesh of her thigh. Y/N could feel her face burning up and she could vividly imagine the insufferable glint of satisfaction that she knew was shining in his amber eyes. Her reactions to his touch never failed to inflate his already enormous ego and she was always ready to humble him a little, when they were alone in her apartment. Part of her suspected that he found her humbling even more pleasurable than her reactions.

Y/N rolled her eyes in a showcase of false annoyance before going down the ladder and offering him her bothered look in all of its force.

Immediately Eris' lips were on hers, kissing her voraciously as if that was the moment he had waited for the most all day. Y/N was no less eager to finally have her love all for herself, in the darkness of the silent library and definitely later in her little apartment that had become the secret sanctuary of their love.

Y/N's fingers were playing with his hair, gently tugging the fiery strands, action that had earned her a silent murmur from Eris. She chuckled lightly and, still gently, finished the kiss with a bite on his lips.

Eris started attacking her neck with kisses in response and Y/N could not hold back a frustrated and contented sigh.

"You are a nightmare," uttered Y/N gasping when he left a trail of kisses and bites along her shoulder.

"And I love you too, little librarian," whispered Eris biting her shoulder with a little bit of more force before winnowing them to her apartment and quickly getting rid of her dress. He then made her sit on the table and kneeled down, starting to kiss her inner thighs and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, earning a few sighs from Y/N who had started to play with his hair.

It had become a bit of a habit for him, to get rid of the stress and frustrations caused by a day at Court by pleasuring her. And being with his head between her soft and thick thighs happened to be one of Eris' favourite ways of ending the day.

Y/N gasped when his tongue met the bundle of nerves that was already eagerly expecting the relief only he was capable of making her feel. He went for it without his usual exasperating teasing.

Eris groaned when Y/N's hands started to be rougher in playing with his hair, sign that he was succeeding in making her lose her ever present composure.

Y/N no longer held back and moaned shamelessly as he continued to pleasure her, savouring her as if he was starving and she was the most delicious fruit he had ever tasted.

"Eris..." she whispered desperately when pleasure washed over her, overwhelming her senses and making her lay there, on her kitchen table, utterly satisfied and with all her defences defeated.

He was immediately over her with his customary smug grin, picking her up and giving her a tender kiss.

They both knew that their night was just getting started.

[isabella-kr]

Underneath the Moonlight

Synopsis: Getting stuck in a far-away safehouse in the middle of a snow storm wasn't ideal. But it is during those moments that the most closed off people may reveal more of themselves, and she never expected that, of all people, her intimidating lieutenant would have such a soft side he kept hidden away.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female!Reader

Requested: No

Genre: Smut / Fluff ! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD

Warnings: Smut, mature content, inappropriate relationship with a superior, description of male and female genitalia, descriptions of male and female body, fingering, penetrative sex, p in v, creampie, soft sex, Simon is touch starved, fear of attachments, scars, body worship, Ghost is a huge softy because I said so, it also gets sad at one point but briefly

Do not repost

Word Count: 6k

General Masterlist COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine

The wind was howling and screeching as the old, rusty car struggled to drive through the mountain of snow. The freezing wind squeezed through the gaps between the door and infiltrated the space within the small truck. She shivered, her teeth chittering as she attempted to warm up by hugging herself and breathing into her hands.  

The number of layers she currently had on her didn’t seem to matter, as the cold seemed to penetrate through every gap in her clothing and stick to her skin like cleavers. She could see a faint cloud form in front of her every time she breathed, reminding her of the many times she was stranded in the freezing cold during a mission. This was starting to become a common occurrence and she was not too happy about that revelation.  

She glanced to the side, watching as her Lieutenant kept a strong hold on the steering wheel. The old thing was close to falling apart, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised when the engine revved for the first time. She was expecting his attempts to fail miserably, already preparing herself for the ten mile walk to the safe house. Luckily, her pessimism was proven otherwise. She guessed she would rather be freezing cold inside the car than have to face the storm brewing outside.  

Ghost didn’t seem to be as cold as she was. Though she assumed he could have just been hiding his discomfort like he usually did. He was one giant mystery of a man, and although he had opened up to her before, she still felt as though she knew nothing about him. Which, to an extent, was true. She knew the basics, just enough for them to consider each other friends. But she knew nothing of his past, and a part of her believed she never would.  

“We’re almost there,” his gruff voice suddenly rang out, pulling her out of her own thoughts.  

She nodded, though she didn’t say anything in return. She was only hoping the safe house would have some sort of heating system within it, otherwise she was sure she was going to freeze to death. She almost jumped with excitement when, through the thick fog of snow, she could see the outline of a small, wooden house. A sigh of relief left her lips, and her eyes closed for just a moment.  

The car soon came to a creaky stop, and she silently thanked whatever forces were out there for not letting it explode on the way there. The moment she opened the car door, she wished she didn’t. The freezing air instantly made her skin prickle, her face feeling numb as her feet dived into the sea of snow. It enveloped her calves, making it difficult to push through, but the promise of a warm safehouse gave her the motivation she needed.  

In what felt like seconds, she was already inside. The place looked awful. She was sure it hasn’t been used in years, if not decades. All hope of a heating system immediately went out the window the moment she realised how truly old the place was. She felt as though she was transported back to the 90s, nay maybe even the 70s.  

And even if it didn’t look as old as it did – click – the electricity wasn’t working. She didn’t know whether it was because of the storm outside or if it hadn’t worked for years, but she doubted it would come back on anytime soon.  

The sound of footsteps coming up behind her made her release a sharp exhale, “This is a shithole.”  

“It’ll do,” was Ghost’s reply. “Go look for blankets. I’ll start the fire.”  

It was only once he mentioned the fire that she noticed the stone fireplace hiding behind a stack of boxes. She felt relieved for a moment, watching as his tall figure approached the corner of the room, moving the stacks of boxes to the side to inspect the fireplace.  

She hesitantly moved from her spot and ventured into one of the only other rooms within the house. The moment she stepped foot inside it, she felt the protein bar she ate 6 hours ago try to come back out. The room smelt of death and mould, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she found a rotting corpse somewhere in the small space.  

The bed was broken in the middle and the mattress was a sickly green colour. She could only gag at the sight, ruling out the option of either of them sleeping soundly on a bed.  

“Why the fuck is this still marked as a safehouse,” she muttered to herself whilst crouching down, opening all the drawers she could find in search of a blanket. A pillow. Anything.  

There was nothing in the room except the vomit-inducing smell. And so, before she had the chance to actually throw up in the middle of the floor, she sped away and entered the room next door.  

The bathroom was much nicer. Not nice, but nicer than whatever was happening in the bedroom. She slowly approached the toilet and pressed the lever, grinning when she heard the loud noise of the water flushing. At least the toilet was useable, that was a relief. 

There was a small cabinet in the corner of the bathroom, right beside the lime-scaled bathtub. She wasn’t quite sure what else she was expecting to find in there, but the sight of towels made a frown pull at the corners of her lips.  

She felt defeated when she left the cold bathroom, more so when she saw Ghost struggling to light the fire with the wood that was laying around in the common space. “How’s it going?” she questioned despite clearly seeing him struggle.  

“Shit,” was all he said in return, an annoyed grunt leaving his throat as he blew on the wood.  

She let herself look around the, what looked like, a living-room. The sofa-bed was sunken in and the material was severely ripped. The arm chairs which stood at either side of it didn’t look much better, making her curse at the only option the two had.  

Sleeping on the floor it is.  

As she looked around, her eyes eventually settled on a closet which stood at the far end wall of the room. How she hadn’t seen it before, she wasn’t sure. But she was glad she eventually did, because the moment she did –  

“Bingo!” A wide smile pulled at her lips.  

Not only were there blankets in there, but also two, thick duvets that she was more than happy to see. Taking one of the duvets, she placed it on top of the carpet in the middle of the room, not too far away from the fireplace. She turned the blankets into make-shift pillows and then placed the other duvet on top. She guessed this was better than sleeping on the floor, or on the mould-ridden bed in the other room.  

A bright light made her look up, and a smile formed on her face when she noticed the fire that now engulfed the logs of wood. Ghost looked down at the ‘bed’ and sent her a confused glance.  

“Yeah, sorry, but unless you want to sleep on a mouldy bed, or on that piece of shit,” she pointed at the sofa behind her, “we’re gonna have to share.”  

Ghost didn’t break their eye contact, as if contemplating what his next move was going to be. Eventually, he sighed and accepted his fate. “Kick me in your sleep and I’ll lock you out.”  

She looked offended at his words, her brows furrowing and mouth falling open, “I don’t kick in my sleep, dickhead.”  

He nodded, as if not believing her and walked away, making his way towards the bathroom.  

By the time the two were situated in the bed, if you could even call it that, the moon had risen high in the sky, making her smile at the sight. The flames had warmed up the room, and hiding under the duvet, she could no longer feel any cold that lingered in the air.  

The two soldiers were laying on their backs, her position closer to the fireplace than his. She guessed it was a chivalrous act, or maybe he just didn’t get cold as easily as her. Whatever it was, she was glad, her eyes admiring the orange flames as though they were a painting in an art gallery.  

At this point, the two had stripped from some of their clothes, only leaving their socks, cargo pants and t-shirt on, and in Ghost’s case, also his mask. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would have to do.  

With a small inhale, she glanced over at the man laying down beside her. The black paint was still smudged around his closed eyes, and staring at his covered side profile made her wonder what was hiding under the balaclava. She guessed she would never know, but it was fun to speculate, especially when she had nothing better to do.  

Her eyes drifted downwards a bit, past his nose, lips, chin and down to his neck, right above his clavicle. There was a faint line there, almost invisible unless you paid attention. Her hand moved without her realising and before she knew it, she was pressing her index finger against the bumpy patch of skin.  

His eyes shot open, though he didn’t move. He didn’t say anything either, only letting his eyes move to gaze at her concentrated expression. Eventually, her eyes lifted, making contact with his brown ones. He was expecting her to move away, maybe even apologise, but she didn’t. Instead, she sent him a soft smile and spoke, “When did you get this one?” 

He remained silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before he decided to answer, “Five years ago.”  

She nodded with a hum and turned on her side to see him better, “Mission?”  

“Yeah,” he swallowed thickly and glanced down at her cheek, where a small scar decorated her skin. “What about that one?” 

She smiled at his words, and for a second he thought she was going to burst out laughing. “Training. Got knocked out and fell. The asshole had a ring on his finger and cut me up.” 

Ghost hummed, looking back up at the ceiling. For a moment, she thought that was the end of their conversation, but he soon spoke up once again, “Did you return the favour?”  

“Hell yeah, I did,” she grinned, “Broke his nose.”  

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he laughed at her answer. But she couldn’t be certain, not when she could only see his eyes.  

“You got anyone out there?” she asked, only realising how invasive the question was after she said it. For a second, she was afraid he would blow up on her, tell her to go to sleep and mind her own business. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he took in a deep breath and shook his head, “No.”  

“Me neither,” she told him. “I guess it’s better this way, right? No one’s gonna be sad when we get killed off.”  

Ghost hummed in agreement.  

“Though sometimes,” she laid back down on her back, staring up at the wooden ceiling, “It’s gonna sound selfish, but sometimes I wish I did have someone out there. Someone I could visit when we’re not deployed.”  

He didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even move a muscle, but she could see that he agreed. He didn’t have to tell her out loud when his eyes said enough.  

Biting on the inside of her cheek, she turned towards him with a smirk, “You ever had a girlfriend, or boyfriend?”  

This time, he rolled his eyes and turned away from her, his back facing her.  

“It was just a question,” she laughed, “Come on, don’t ignore me. I’ll pester you all night if you don’t turn back around.”  

“Go to sleep,” he told her. It wasn’t a suggestion. She knew that tone of voice, it was an order.  

An order she was going to disobey. “Come on, talk to me. We’re gonna be here for the next few days, so we might as well talk.”  

“No,” he huffed, letting himself fall on his back again. 

“No, what?” she asked.  

“Your question,” he reminded her, “No.”  

“Ah,” she hummed, “Me neither. Guess we’re both loners. Would you ever-” 

“No,” he answered before she could even finish her sentence. 

Her brows furrowed, “Why?”  

He turned his head in her direction, their eyes locking together as he answered her truthfully, “Why would I? We’re gone most the time. I die, they’re left alone. Doesn’t sound fair.”  

She hummed in thought, “I guess. But maybe they would just be happy to have spent that time with you, rather than none at all?” 

He searched her eyes for something, refusing to look away even when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “You feel that way?”  

“As in, would I rather spend time with someone and have them die, rather than never know them at all?” she asked, and he nodded, confirming her question. She pondered for a while. She would definitely be devastated and heartbroken, but at the end of the day, she knew her answer, “Yes.”  

This time, he fully turned on his side to be able to look at her, “Why?”  

“Everyone dies, Ghost,” she told him as though he wasn’t aware of the fact, “Even if we were civilians, we could die suddenly. Car crash, stabbing, or maybe even an undiagnosed illness. It doesn’t matter, we’d all die eventually anyway. If everyone avoided relationships just because of that fear, we would have died out centuries ago.”  

Simon thought over her words. He understood what she meant, because despite it hurting when he lost people – soldiers, friends – he didn’t regret ever knowing them. They lived in his memories. Memories which sometimes haunted him in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret ever meeting them.  

He didn’t realise how long he seemed to have been staring at her, unblinking, until she spoke once again. “You’ve got pretty eyes, you know?” 

She changed topics a lot, which he already knew from years of working with her. But it never failed to take him by surprise, especially when she said something like this. “They’re brown,” he pointed out.  

“Yeah. They’re warm,” she told him seriously.  

“Warm?” 

“Mhm,” she nodded, “Bet you’re pretty, too.”  

He almost snorted. “Trying to get me to take my mask off?”  

She shrugged, a smile pulling at her lips, “You caught me.”  

He shook his head, amused by her antics as he let his eyes fall closed. Just for a moment, because not even a minute later, he felt her fingers pushing back some of the dirty-blonde hair which managed to escape from under his mask.  

His eyes shot open, but there was no hostility in them. In fact, they were soft.  Softer than she ever saw them before. There was a slight glaze to them, and she didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she moved forward, her face barely inches away from his.  

He didn’t move back, and she took it as a good sign. She always did feel a certain attraction to him, his gruff voice and tall stature was sure to pull her in despite her protests. But he was her superior, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. Not when it could get them both in trouble.  

He said her name lowly, the sound of his voice making her look down at his balaclava-covered lips. She wanted to move the wretched material away, but she knew better. She didn’t move, her eyes moving back up to his, only to find them staring at her own lips.  

“Gho-” 

“Simon,” he whispered, the name sounding foreign on his lips.  

Was this permission? She could only assume it was, and so she whispered, “Simon.”  

His eyes closed at that, only opening back up when his hand was gently holding her jaw. His touch was feather-light as if he feared she would disintegrate the moment his skin made contact with hers.  

She placed her hand on his, a small smile playing at her lips when she angled her face enough to place a soft kiss on the inside of his palm. He watched her moves carefully, only moving closer towards her after watching the gesture he had never received from anyone before.  

He whispered her name again, this time placing his forehead against hers as he did so.  

“Simon,” she spoke softly, her eyes staring deeply into his. “Can I kiss you?”  

He clenched his eyes shut. And to her, it looked as though he was fighting with himself. Trying to fight against what he wanted, and what he knew was right. Yet despite all this, his thumb hooked around the bottom of his mask and lifted it just above his half-full lips.  

He didn’t open his eyes after he did so, not even after his hand returned to her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek with so much affection, she felt as though she was going to melt.  

“Can I?” she asked again.  

He nodded, moving towards her and pressing his lips against hers himself. The kiss was slow and soft, his lips working against hers with a gentleness she wasn’t aware he was capable of. She moved herself up ever so slightly, balancing herself on her elbow without breaking the kiss. They were in sync, and all she could think about how perfect the moment was. How his lips fit perfectly against hers. How his touch was soft and gentle as he used both his hands to cup her face, his palms feeling hot on her warm skin.  

She pulled away, catching her breath as Simon chased after her lips, desperate to feel more of her touch. He stared up at her, his fingers tangling into her hair as he placed his forehead against hers.  

“This is wrong,” he voiced.  

She knew it was. He didn’t have to tell her. Internal affairs would have a field day, had they found out about this. But she wasn’t going to tell, and neither was he. They were stuck in an isolated safe-house with no electricity and they wouldn’t be able to go back for the next few days. There would be no way of this ever getting out, but the fear was still there.  

She let out a sharp breath, “Do you want to stop?”  

He shook his head, “Fuck no,” and pressed his nose against hers, “Do you?”  

She breathed out a laugh, “Fuck no.”  

There was a moment of pause, neither of them making a move to enjoy the closeness between them. The echoing of the crackling fire created a feeling of cosiness in the otherwise uncomfortable safehouse, making them wish for the moment to never end.  

With a shaky breath, she pressed her lips against his again, the material of his balaclava rubbing against her nose as he angled his face to deepen the otherwise soft kiss. He pushed himself up on his arm and guided her to her back as his tongue slipped inside her mouth.  

She didn’t feel intimidated by his larger frame hovering above her. It was quite the opposite in fact, as she felt safer than ever. She felt at peace when he moved on top of her, placing one knee between her thighs to hold himself up, careful not to collapse on top of her body.  

“Simon,” she whined, her abdomen feeling warm with excitement.  

He groaned and his head fell against her shoulder, hand moving away from her cheek to rest beside her head. He pressed his lips against her neck and her eyes had fallen closed, enjoying the feeling of soft, gentle kisses being peppered from her clavicle and up to her jaw. She had never imagined him to be as soft as he was. A part of her believed he would be a rough lover, with harsh kisses and hard touches, but the reality caught her by surprise, and she could only smile at the almost loving kisses he placed upon her skin.  

She turned her head to the side, pressing her lips against his as her hands ventured downward, pulling his tucked-in shirt from underneath his pants. Her fingers made contact with the skin on his abdomen, and the man above her let out a groan. She wondered when the last time he got touched in any way was. When was the last time he kissed someone, or had someone press their palms against his? She could only assume it was years ago, if ever.  

“Can I?” She asked, tugging at his shirt.  

He nodded, sitting up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head and throw it behind him. Her eyes immediately went down to his chest that was littered with scars from missions in the past. Some were deep and long and others short and faint. There was a burn mark on his shoulder and with a frown, she pushed herself up to press a soft kiss against it.  

Simon sighed, his hand reaching for the back of her head to run his fingers through her hair. She smiled at him and reached for her own shirt, pulling it off her body and leaving her in her sports bra. He watched her attentively, half-lidded eyes taking in her half-naked form. Surprising him further, she reached for the clasp on her back and got rid of the restraining bra, a soft sigh leaving her lips.  

His eyes lifted to hers again and, with a soft look on his face, he placed one of his hands on her waist to push her back on the make-shift bed. He trailed another set of kisses down from her neck and down to the valley of her breasts, yet his hand remained on her hip.  

It was only when she placed her hand on hers and moved it up her body that his warm palm cupped one of her breasts, receiving a series of moans from her in return. She could feel him smile against her soft skin before his lips enveloped her nipple, wetting it with his tongue.  

“Simon,” she moaned, reaching for his head, only to be met with the material of his mask. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to rip the dreaded thing off his head.  

He groaned in return, stopping his ministrations against her breasts when he felt her thighs wrap around his waist. He moved his hand down to her cargo-covered leg, pulling it slightly higher up his waist.  

They shared a long look, and a small frown pulled on his lips 

“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.  

Simon moved back, and for a second she panicked. Had she done something wrong? She was about to ask him when his hand reached for his mask. She was expecting him to pull it back down, but instead his finger pulled it up, reaching only his nose before she stopped in. 

She had a worried in look in her eyes, “You don’t have to,” she told him, afraid she somehow pressured him into removing the covering.  

He smiled at her. A genuine smile that has her knees feeling weak, “I want to,” he told her as he removed the mask and exposed his face for her to see.  

She watched him with widened eyes, admiring him like he was a piece of art. And perhaps, to her he was. Every scar that decorated his skin, those half-full lips, lightly crooked nose and those warm brown eyes she found herself drowning in. Every part of him was art. 

She cupped his face and moved towards him, straddling his waist and pressing her chest against his. “I knew you were pretty,” she grinned.  

He let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners at her words. With a smile, she connected their lips again, wrapping her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Her lips left his, leaving him to chase after her with a small groan.  

She connected her lips to the skin on his shoulders, busying herself with kissing every scar she came across as her hands went down to his abdomen, pulling on his belt to undo it. It didn’t take her long, and soon the leather was hanging loosely around his hips, the metals clinking against each other. His zipper was next to be undone, getting pulled down by her slender fingers as he let out a quiet moan.  

She almost squealed when his arms wrapped tighter around her waist and pulled her up to her feet, his form towering over hers. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the metal of her own belt and unbuckled it with expert fingers, letting the leather loose. She watched as he then hooked his fingers around the top of his cargo pants and pushed them down, letting them fall all the way off before kicking them away.  

Her eyes darkened with lust as she shamelessly looked upon the tent in his boxers. He let out a chuckle and approached her, his lips pressing into hers as his arms landed on her waist, sliding downward until his hands reached her own cargos. Deepening the kiss, he pushed them down enough for him to cup her ass, letting the material fall to the floor and join his own when she kicked them away.  

They were soon back on the soft duvets, her legs wrapped around his waist as his boxer-covered cock pressed against her core. She whined at the contact, breaking the deep kiss as her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.  

Ghost sent her a soft smile, placing a kiss to her cheek before diving his head and kissing his way down her body. He stopped at her abdomen, above the line of her underwear. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and expecting, “Can I?” he asked.  

With a heavy exhale, she nodded.  

“I need to hear you say it,” he spoke in almost a whisper.  

She let out a shaky breath, “Yes.”  

With a smile and a gentle kiss against her abdomen, he pulled her underwear down her legs. He couldn’t stop his eyes from settling between her legs once the thin material was off her body. Suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, she closed her thighs.  

He looked up at her, his eyes understanding as he placed a hand on her knee, “It’s okay,” he told her softly. 

She hesitantly opened her legs up slightly and Simon placed them on either side of his hips again, not even once breaking eye contact as he did so – it was intense, the way he was looking at her. Despite his eyes remaining as soft as when their evening began, she could see a certain intensity within them. Perhaps it was due to the moonlight highlighting his face, making his gaze seem more passionate than it actually was.  

His muscles also seemed to benefit from the bright moon, the light highlighting every vein on his bicep and every muscle on his abdomen as he crawled on top of her once again. Taking her lips in his, he let his hand travel from her legs and stop between her thighs to collect the pooling arousal with his index finger. 

She moaned at the action, her legs tightening around him as her fingers grabbed onto his dirty-blonde hair. Their tongues met, exploring one another with fervour as his moved up towards her clit, rubbing it in slow circles. 

She moaned into his mouth, head falling back and eyes clenching shut as the ecstatic feeling made her move her hips upwards. Simon kissed her pulse, humming against her skin as he gently placed one digit at her entrance, the finger moving inside her with ease.  

A harsh tug at his hair made him release a low groan, though a smile played at his lips at the sound of her breathy moans. Adding another thick finger, he massaged her walls by curling them inside her. She moved her hips in sync with his movements and clenched her eyes shut, entirely losing herself in the feeling of him pleasuring her.  

“Simon,” she moaned, and the way she said his name - in such an erotic way - had him moving his own hips downward. His cock was now uncomfortably pushing against the fabric of his boxers, and she could not stop herself from using her feet to push it down his hips. His dick sprang free, and he hissed upon feeling the raw air against his skin.  

Her name fell from his lips when he felt her walls clench around his him, speeding up the movement of his fingers to chase her incoming orgasm. She looked up at him, her lust-filled eyes glassy as they rolled to the back of her head. 

She moaned his name once again as she felt herself approaching the finish line. Her legs tightened around him and arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against her. His cock made contact with her abdomen and a small hiss left his lips as he rocked his hips upwards. 

Finally, with a loud moan, she felt the knot that formed in her stomach let go, and her orgasm washed over her. Her legs trembled and walls clenched tightly around his to digits, which he continued pumping in and out to milk her orgasm. Her breathing was erratic, and with his head pressed against her body, he could hear her heart jump in her ribcage.  

He eventually pulled his fingers out and untangled her arms from around his neck, pushing himself up enough to be able to look at her. The hand that previously toyed with her was now on her thigh, keeping her leg in place as he gazed into her eyes.  

“Are you okay?” he asked, his gruff voice ever so soft.  

She could only nod, not trusting her own voice as she could feel his hard cock resting against her, leaking precum that slowly pooled on her skin.  

“D’you want to continue?” he questioned.  

This time, she answered with a smile, “Yeah.”  

Nodding, he kissed her once more, groaning when he felt her fingers wrap around the base of his cock and moved her hand up and down as their tongues met once more. She pressed his dick against her vulva, gathering the remains of her arousal with the tip. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes meeting hers as she angled him at her entrance, sending him a small nod to let him know it was okay.  

Moving her leg further up his hips, he pushed into her, his cock entering the walls which invited him with a warm hug. They both moaned in unison as he stretched her, gently pushing more of himself in until he was fully seated inside of her.  

His hips stilled for just a moment, enough for him to look at her once more and see her nod. Giving him permission to move.  

His thrusts were slow, matching the softness he had shown her the entire evening. He pulled out almost completely, making her feel empty until he dived back inside and filled her up entirely once again. His head fell to her shoulder, groans and moans leaving his mouth with every thrust.  

Despite wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and lose herself in the feeling – of his chest rubbing against her perky nipples, of his cock hitting the back of her uterus with every thrust and in the way his pelvis deliciously brushed against her clit – she didn’t. She looked down to where his hand held her thigh, keeping it up on his hip, perhaps to give himself a better angle, or maybe just because he wanted to touch her. His tattoos were almost shining in the moonlight, and so was he. His skin looked ethereal under the bright light, and she hoped the sight would never escape her memory.  

The moonlight was washed over the both of them, and the warmth from the fireplace made the moment feel more romantic than it otherwise would have been. They didn’t pay attention to the dust-filled floors, the smell of mildew in the air or even the harsh storm outside the window. All they could feel was each other’s skin, and all they could hear was the gentle moans getting past their lips. Everything else was forgotten; it was ignored.  

“Simon, please,” she whined, pressing a kiss to his shoulder to urge his movements. He sped up his thrusts, yet only slightly. Not too fast or rough, but just enough to chase their orgasms. He could feel her clench around him once again, and the wet sounds coming from between her legs gave him further motivation to get them there faster.  

His thrusts got lightly rougher, his pelvis hitting her clit more harshly than before, but that only made her moans increase in volume and her fingers dig into his shoulder blades. She let out a choked sob and with a stronger clench than before, she finally came around his hardened cock.  

Simon moaned at the feeling, hips beginning to stutter as he approached his own orgasm. “W-here?” he asked, pulling himself up to look into her eyes.  

She smiled up at him, unable to find the strength to answer him, and so she just nodded. She was still clenching around him when he thrusted deeper into her, getting entirely swallowed inside of her as he let go. He painted her insides white with a loud grunt, and his forehead fell against hers. 

They were both panting, trying to catch their breaths as they embraced one another. They stayed like that for a short while, bodies pressed against each other and his cock was still deep inside her. Despite the sensitivity they both felt in their groins, they were comfortable. They felt safe within each other’s arms, and for a moment they even managed to forget where they were. That they were soldiers and this moment of bliss would not last long.  

With a soft kiss against her cheek, he pulled out of her. She was ready to wrap her arms around him again when he stood up, moving away from her and heading to the bathroom. She was confused for a short while until he returned with a damp towel and kneeled beside her.  

“It’s not mouldy, is it?” she asked seriously when he placed the cold cloth against her hot skin, collecting the sticky fluids which stuck to her. 

Shaking his head, “No,” he assured her, momentarily watching as his own cum spilled out of her before collecting it with the towel. Once he deemed them both clean from their activities, he left the towel in the sink and laid down beside her. They wrapped their arms around one another, the duvet covering their naked forms as their legs got tangled together.  

She let out a soft sigh, “This is going to complicate things, isn’t it?”  

“Yeah,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound like he regretted anything that had happened. He kissed the crown of her head and closed his eyes, enjoying how their bodies were pressed together – how he could feel the heat radiating off her, and how he could feel her heartbeat against the skin on his chest.  

“I won’t tell,” she told him, as though that was his concern.  

He breathed out a laugh, “I know,” he told her, “Sleep. We’ll talk it out tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, closing her eyes as the crackling of the fire lulled them both to sleep.   

The two stayed like that all night; their limbs tangled together as the moon bathed them with its light, giving them its blessing.  

[erisweekofficial]

Today we're celebrating @moonlightazriel! She's such a versatile writer, having not only written for our FAVORITE character, Eris, but also Azriel and for various ships! We love someone who can do it all! Not to mention, she's an absolutely wonderful creator and part of the community!

As far as Eris fics go, we suggest checking out West Coast first. You're in for an amazing time, especially all you Lana Del Rey fans 😉

Read on to hear more about @moonlightazriel's thoughts on Eris and which game you should avoid playing with him AT ALL COSTS. 👀

What inspired you to start creating content about Eris x Reader; What is it that you love so much about his character?

Eris is a very complex character, he hides so much of his personality and I feel like we haven't seen all of him yet, the fact that he's so interesting, there's a wide variety of possibilities with him, I wanted something different, writing for Azriel is easy, but for Eris? Is so much more exciting, the whole smugness he has, he's cleaver, his astute, and I love this about him. So I would say that Eris himself inspired me, to go out of my bubble with him, to create beyond what I was doing at that point. He made me more bold. 

Can you give me a name for one of Eris's brothers? And also for one of his dogs?

I feel like one of his brothers would be names after a tree, like Aspen or Pine. And he has a puppy named Duke, who he secretly calls "my beloved baby" in a silly voice when he's alone.

You wrote some amazing angst for Eris, but what other themes do you like to explore in your work with Eris?

 Eris definitely deserve some fluff in his life, that man suffered enough but I would love to write him in a modern setting, he reeks of Old Money. 

What do you think is Eris’ favourite board game?

Eris is a pro at Monopoly and everyone ends the game owing everything to him.

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Diminishing Returns - Kaz Brekker

Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat And Violence. Dangerous Attempts At Self Sacrifice. Explicit Language. Barrel Canon Compliant Trauma. Assassination Attempts. Poisoning. Angsty Vibes. Not Beta/Proof Read. Not My Best Writing.

Maybe I can write something not angsty after this one. Maybe.

Alkemi!Grisha!Reader.

"Someone wants you dead Brekker," you say, tracing the spider webs the bullets made in his glass window.

"What's new?" He asks. Kaz does not need help, or at least that's the illusion he has created for himself, the man is forever a skilful scalpel, cutting those precise lines so directed and meticulous that you don't always know he is doing it. You... you consider yourself more of an axe, or a fine cleaver, there's no subtlety to what you do, but it's definite, it's permanent. It's efficient.

"You need me," you start and the scowl you receive nearly shuts you up, but you don't let it, "stop that Brekker, you are not a one man army."

"I do not need you, I don't need-"

"Do not finish that sentence," you warn him.

Kaz doesn't know how to get you to leave, both lies and honestly he can only see ending poorly. If he tells you that he does not need your help, that you have nothing of value to offer, if he lies you will stay, and you will fight to protect him out of spite. If he tells the truth, if some how he can pull from the dark depths of his soul some shred of honesty to actually admit he is scared for you, that he does not want you hurt because of him, then you still stay because he gave you a reason.

"You are not playing this game with me Brekker," you tell him. "You don't get to play the you don't need me card. I am the best thing The Dregs never had, and you can use me, even if you don't need me."

Kaz moves the drink he has been not drinking across the surface on the table. It draws you attention, the fizzing, the frosted glass, the way it has been sitting there between the two of you this whole time. So glaringly obvious. So glaringly untouched. You pick it up and before Kaz can say anything, before he can show his hand you've already downed the drink.

"Someone tried to poison you," you tell him. He blinks, barely able to process what has happened.

"And now they've poisoned you," Kaz says, his hand curled in a gloved fist, that desperate reminder that he cannot reach for you. "You knew it was poisoned."

You falter slightly, and slip into a nearby seat. "Yeah, well, I suspected," you admit.

"And you drank it," Kaz says.

"It felt like a better point to make at the time," you smile. You can feel the poison rattling around in your body. You focus on it, knowing that when it comes down to it, poison is just complex compounds, and if you know enough about them, enough about chemicals within the body and toxins and poisons, you can make a balance out of nearly anything.

"You've-," Kaz cuts himself off, not willing to say the words. You give him a smirk. Did he really not know? Even after all this time? You were sure he had to have figured it out by now. You were certain of it. But the way he watches you, that look in those shark eyes of his, he thinks you're dying. You are, but you can fix that. "You're dying."

"Fixable," you say, focusing on your internal balances, the chemicals, the poison, focusing on breaking it down.

"You are sitting..." he pauses, and the flicker of disappointment on his face telling you exactly the moment it hits him. "Alkemi."

"Ding ding," you chuckle, filtering the poison through your system, breaking it down until it is no longer lethal, until it is barely even a nuisance. "Did you think the title I took was just aesthetical?"

"Monarch," he says. "As in the butterfly?"

"I'd be better of having this conversation with Wylan," you admit, knowing the feeling in your legs is about to return.

"The Monarch concentrates the toxins in its own body, consuming the toxin and converting it," Kaz says, and he notices your smile.

"More than a pretty face," you mumble. He gives you a scowl. You sit up straight and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "Now we have all the pettiness out of the way are you going to let me help?"

"No," he says, "all you did is prove your foolishness," Kaz snaps, and you feel the anger but cannot tell where it is coming from, it seems to have spiked out of nowhere. You cannot figure why it is he is mad at you. "You are leaving."

"I am not... leaving," you say slowly, "and honestly? Fuck you for thinking I would."

"You don't owe me anything, and I am not asking-,"

"Brekker, we are friends, aren't we? That is what friends do-"

"No, we aren't friends, we have never been friends."

You stare at him, you know he is trying to get under your skin, trying to make you mad, upset, trying to make you leave. But you hate that it is working. "So what is this?" You ask. "A partnership?"

"An unwanted visit," Kaz says through tight lips. Too many missteps, too many people he never meant to care about, too much weakness. He cannot add you to the list, he cannot make you another chess piece, another casualty, another name in carved stone. Even if you seem half determined to jump right into the grave. "A low interest bet."

"You're being intentionally cruel Brekker, and I care not for it," you tell him.

"Then leave," he says. You want to dig in your heels, the more he protests, the move he pushes at you, you know he needs you, he is afraid to need you. You don't blame him. To need people is dangerous. Especially if you're like Brekker. Closed off. Caught in the cycle of revenge and wrath. But you can only fight him for so long.

"No," you say.

"I don't want you here," he states.

"Am I supposed to believe that, or to care?"

"Why are you trying to get yourself killed?" he asks. "There are simpler ways."

"But this way ruffles your feathers king of the crows," you say, keeping your lips as straight as you can, not breaking eye contact. He wants you to turn around, he wants you to walk out and leave and never see him again. He wants you to make it easier for him. But you won't do it. You won't. You know him better than he wants you to, which means you know him too well for that.

He looks at you, knowing you should run, knowing you should know better. Knowing that a reasonable person should have walked away from him by now, because they'd know they deserve better, they deserve to be treated with honesty and compassion. But you don't know better, or rather you do and are ignoring it anyway.

"Someone wants you dead Brekker," you state, "and I am not going anywhere while you're in danger."

[bloomingdarkgarden]

An altar for Elain Archeron.

This also serves as a multishipper-friendly space. I enjoy and create content for most ACOTAR characters. Appropriate tags are used, please don’t join unless you are prepared to see content regarding various pairings. I don’t believe in supremacy. Be kind.

Original work below the cut.

Elain x Azriel

What Bloomed in the Darkgarden 42 chapters, Canon-Compliant, Slow Burn, Explicit.

Elain Archeron is not the trembling fawn everyone believes her to be.

Years after Hybern’s war, she feels an awakening. She then begins mastering the arts of divination under the guidance of an Oracle of the Day Court. All the while waging an inevitable war of passion with a holy mess of a shadow-wreathed male. So perhaps a little more softly, a little more lethally, Elain begins her journey down the path unknown. For there’s something blooming within her- something softer, darker, and wilder than she can name, reaching for the song of the Void.

Elain x Lucien

In Fading Hush of Eden Lost 12 Chapters, Canon-Compliant, Slow Burn, Explicit.

Elain Archeron takes up residence in an empty cottage in the highlands of the Day Court to study native plants. Lucien Vanserra is stepping into his role as a future High Lord in the city nearby, and visits her once a week to bring her provisions. Thus in the soft, desperate, hushed winds of summer’s end, what was once lost between them becomes found.

Viviane x Kallias

Upon A Midnight Clear 7 Chapters, Canon-Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Explicit.

There was loss. There was war. There was ruin. But before it all, there was him. And Viviane would freeze over the burning heart of hell itself to keep him from harm. To hold him close. To bring him home.

Lady of Autumn x Helion

Autumn Burns Eternal 12 Chapters, Canon-Compliant, Slow Burn, Explicit.

She had a name. Not that anyone in the room was using it. But she had a name.

Visual Storytelling

The Archerons Sisters

Nesta’s Monologue

Nesta's Violent Heart

Valkyrie

Lord of Bloodshed

Azriel’s Poetry

Nesta Became a Wolf

Elain Through Azriel's Eyes

Helion Spell-Cleaver

Azriel Through Elain's Eyes

Feyre Cursebreaker

Elain in Darkness

Elain’s Secrets

Elriel in Autumn

An Elriel Sketch

Elain’s Gentle Strength

Lucien’s Flame

Moon on a String

Court of Nightmares

Night Triumphant + Stars Eternal

Neris

Rhysta

Kallias

Viviane

Males of ACOTAR

Males in Turtlenecks

Males in Pink

Males in Pajamas

Males at Solstice

Headcanons

Elain Wears Pants pt.1 | Elain Wears Pants pt.2

Elain Torments Azriel in Blue

Lucien’s Hands

Lucien Undone

Cottagecore Lucien

Lucien as a Big Brother

Lucien's Grief

Elain’s hair

Elain’s Ass

Azriel’s Hands

Azriel’s Food Trauma

Azriel’s Smile

Azriel’s Sexy Grip

Nesta in the Summer

Day Court Attire

ACOTAR Zodiac

Evajacks

Jack's Confession

Let Me Pretend

Cheeky Jacks

Evajacks share a gift

[ladyvialana]

Very much enjoyed the first season of The Dead Boy Detectives.

It was fun, with great characters, interesting storylines, good pacing, and a fantastic ability to balance light-hearted storytelling with some pretty fucked up content at times.

Episode 1 was a little clunky and exposition heavy, but it's only really in that first episode (unlike fucking Wednesday!) and it's pretty easy to look past once they get into the main story. The rest of the episodes are much smoother.

Character interactions are great and all of the characters feel rounded with an actual backstory that influences their interactions and distinct personalities and traits that affect their actions. They're not just plot devices or vehicles for narrative.

Before going into any more detail, I'll just say I really enjoyed it. It's probably not as sophisticated or polished writing or style-wise as The Sandman, but it's still a really good spin off. I'd almost put it in the same vein, tone-wise, as The Umbrella Academy, though perhaps not as irreverent. Much better than similar Netflix teen supernatural dramas like Wednesday or Sabrina (and probably more mature and sophisticated, storytelling-wise than those shows).

I really enjoyed it, am looking forward to/hoping for a second season, and will definitely be watching again.

*

More detailed spoilers under the cut for those interested in my opinions about a few specific storylines/characters/episodes:

*

SPOILERS:

I am honestly surprised we don't have more people hitting on Charles. He is genuinely charming and charismatic as well as kind of open and sincere. Like, Edwin's a standoffish Edwardian public school boy with weird interests and zero people skills. I adore him. But he has negative charisma, especially compared to Charles' eyeliner and grin. Like, why is everyone chasing after Edwin? It's a role reversal I can definitely get behind, but no one is trying to get up into Charles' personal space aside from Crystal? Really??? And even she probably wouldn't have gone for it if he hadn't made it obvious he was interested in her first. Like, I really do get what the writers were trying to go with here, but it's one of those choices that kind of stretch narrative believability a little.

In saying all of that, I'm kind of a sucker for queer pining arcs that could go either way. So the not-so-subtle reveal of Edwin's feelings was both beautiful and painful in the best ways.

Episode 7 was a highlight for me. I'd been waiting for the pay-off from Edwin's backstory and the hellfire sword hanging over his head. But the flashback to Charles' death was probably my favourite scene in the series. Everything about that episode was fantastic, from the tension to the individual mini character arcs in the episodes (Nico coming in clutch with her reading comprehension skills! Crystal finally kicking David's ass!), to the beautiful release of the confession in Hell. I loved all of the insight we got into all of the main characters, knowing the truth of the kind of people they are. Knowing that, yeah, these are all good people who would do anything to help, and who love fiercely. But also, that doing what you can for the people you love sometimes involves meat cleavers and Molotov cocktails.