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[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[fidogo]

ghost x reader in a winter apocalypse au | wc: 1.4k | warnings: cannibalism mention, guns, vague predator/prey kink

part 1 part 2

damn 2 within hours cause my brain was pumping and with a header now

“You’re not going to eat me, right?” 

It’s a stupid fucking question to be asking this late into the night. Ghost stares at you, flames flickering his eyes. He keeps his skull mask on, making it extra difficult to deduce what his silence implies.

Something inside you told you to follow him. He hadn't hurt you, and you've got nothing left in your cabin. It sits empty right now, windows smashed, door torn off. All your hard work at making preserved and cured meats, down the drain. In the brief moment that Ghost began to walk away, you made a decision. Better to be traveling in a pack with a wolf than being hunted by one.

God, this was so impulsive of you. When he let you go, you should’ve hightailed it back to your run-down cabin. Instead, you've turned yourself into a pet, hoping to get fed off of scraps.

Ghost had built a fire effortlessly, his survival skills methodical and precise, clearly leagues better than you're own. But he introduced himself and let you sit at his fire anyway.

Up here, society had essentially collapsed when the freeze happened. Survival skills in the back of your mind prickle at Ghost being fine with you camping with him for the night. But then again, with how quickly he restrained you earlier, he knows you don't pose a threat to him.

Your stomach churns as you think, the woods silent save for the cracking of the fire, and the gentle calls of nocturnal birds.

There’s a chance Ghost might kill you still, or worse. He told you his name is Ghost for fucks sake. You felt the thickness of his body when he straddled you, pinning you to the snow. Felt the effortless strength that kept your bucking hips from freeing you. Felt the warmth lick its way up your body at the pressure and friction-

A piece of jerky lands at the snow by your feet.

You blink up at Ghost. His mask is partially pulled up to reveal a jaw covered in blonde stubble. There are deep gashes in them, scars that make you shiver. Shadows dance along his face, the pockmarks, and chunks of missing flesh slashing along his jaw in an ugly manner.

He chews on a larger slab of jerky, teeth gnashing into mystery meat. Fuck, you hope it’s not another person. Maybe he’s letting you stay so he can eat you later. Going to keep you safe and fed until he runs out of his current supply. Your muscles tense, seconds away from sprinting deeper into the everwinter woods when he speaks.

“‘ts cow. You can eat it.” His mouth is full, and he doesn’t even bother to look at you. You pick up the jerky, mentally cringing at how tough the meat is. It's hard to get through, nearly leather at this point, but at least it tastes like beef. You chew slowly, savoring the feeling of eating after a long day of stupidly tracking him.

“I don’t eat people,” Ghost says. You believe him, letting yourself relax a little. He’s still a threat, but he’s not a cannibal at least. 

“Except for pussy, I guess.”

You choke on a piece of your jerky, coughing unexpectedly. He fucking what? Your body heats up, and you stare at him, not entirely sure what to say. He’s already tugged his mask back down, and he gives you a look you can’t decipher.

You stare at the fire, jerky abandoned for now, and adrenaline pumping. You should've gone home when you had the chance.

"Why didn' ya use that?" You reluctantly look at your odd companion, your body somehow still too warm despite the ice-chilled air. You follow Ghost's gaze to your rifle. Oh. That.

Perhaps the only thing of objective value you still own (you're partial to the pictures tucked safely inside your dry bag). The rifle kept you alive. It was either learn to shoot or starve, so you learned.

"Never shot a person," you answer flatly. It was one thing to shoot a squirrel or a buck, but another human being? You feel heavy at the thought.

"Lucky then," Ghost grunts staring at you. He's not wrong. You know you had been fortunate to only come across the lone trader and not anyone worse. You think of the people who broke into your home and feel a wave of nausea. If you had been home...

You stare at your rifle.

"You've shot people?" you ask, already knowing the answer. He chuffs at you, sending you an incredulous look as if to say 'Of course I've shot people. How daft are you?'

Ghost sets up a little sleeping area too close to the fire, and pats a spot on his tarp next to him.

“C’mon. Too cold for ya to sleep without my body heat.” He’s wrong of course. Between the fire, your own little bedroll, and your parka, you’d be fine for one night.

You set your bedroll down by his anyway.

The plastic tarp he's placed will keep you further insulated from the snow. And a little extra body heat couldn’t hurt. When you let your eyes finally close, you pretend your thighs squeezing tight is to somehow maintain heat, and has nothing to do with you imagining the man behind you between your legs, scarred lips savoring the wetness of your cunt.

You wake up to sunlight streaming in your face. You wince, turning into your bedroll, trying to block out the light while your brain slowly reboots.

Ghost is already awake; you hear him packing up his gear already. The fire has almost completely died, nothing but smoldering embers left.

He pushes at your arm lightly, as if he was waiting to do so until you woke up on your own.

"Need ya to get up," he says, voice gruff but somehow still soft. Your sleepy mind puzzles over the contradiction. "Need to pack the tarp."

The logic makes sense to you, but you stay stone-still, focusing on the slight pressure of his hand stroking your arm through your parka. You wonder how his skin would feel against yours, warm and rough and demanding-

You practically jump up, thoughts propelling you into action. Ghost stares at you from where he's squatting. His gaze is pinning, and you feel as if you were a beetle stuck on its back. Fleshy underbelly exposed.

He eventually drags his eyes down to your bedroll, and then back to you. You huff a little, feeling embarrassed before you start to pack your things. Ghost rises to his full height, waiting.

"Going to the safe zone. You can come with me or not." He says it so casually as if it were normal.

The nearest safe zone was maybe a week or two away by walking. It's dangerous; this territory's full of large predators, cannibals, and weirdos in general. Not to mention the weather itself...

But he seems like a man who could make it, someone who knows what he's doing. And he just offered you a get out of jail free card.

You stare up at him. Frozen, as little snowflakes begin to swirl in the air. They land on his eyelashes, dusting his white camo jacket.

Your eyes widen slightly, as it finally clicks that he's probably military. Or some crazy doomsday prepper who happened to correctly guess "snowpocalypse." Regardless, better to stick with the predator at the top of the food chain.

Another thought bubbles to the front of your mind: he didn't try anything with you. He had talked about eating pussy and then had his thick body huddled against yours for warmth and....nothing.

You should feel elated at that, but something hollow rings through you. A hungry emptiness; you shove it deep down. You cannot afford to give those aches any legitimate thought.

"I'll go with you." You nod at him, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You turn back to your bedroll, packing it up as quickly as you can. Pangs of excitement jolt through you, your heart feeling light for the first time in a long time.

Ghost grunts in acknowledgment.

"A'right then. Gotta feed yourself though. Can ya do that?" he asks, and you can see his eyebrow raise in question. He's not going to hold your hand through this, not going to carry you to the safe zone.

You nod at him, glancing at your rifle. This is your best chance, and you've hunted a few critters over the last 8 years, what's a few more for a week or two.

You were finally going to the city.

[dewitty1]

Header by @thusspoketrish

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2024 Secret Santa Holiday Gift exchange collection for the DCC Discord server!

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Were there two beds? No. Only one.

wave by desert_forest @hollyhawthorn

You can't seem to stop washing up on each other's beaches. (Words: 100)

adorn me by desert_forest

Draco likes you jewel-encrusted, just like everything else he owns. (Words: 100)

cleave by desert_forest 

A marriage is only as strong as its foundation. (Words: 100)

when the birds are heard again in their singing by cosmoscorpse @matredaen

The wolf pulls back like the tide. Harry is left changed, shivering, bloodied. Another month, another Moon—the wave has taken him. It has borne him up and dashed him against the rocks. The potion had worked, this month. Mostly. Harry hadn't been able to make it to the Hound and Hare's Thursday Trivia Night, which was a shame because Draco had specifically invited him—but unfortunately the moon waits for no man. Or, well. No wolf. He expects to spend the grey dim light of his Friday morning licking his wounds, both literal and metaphorical. He doesn't expect the barn owl, or the little care package clutched in her talons. (Words: 2,924)

Right Place, Right Time by Poljupci @poljupci

Draco wouldn't say the holiday season makes him maulding necessarily, but there is certainly something in the December air that makes him more... irrational than usual. Why else would he decide to finally confess his blasted feelings to the Man Who Conquered? And try and try again when the first attempt doesn't go as planned? or: 4½ Draco tried confessing his love to Harry + 1 time Harry actually confessed his love to Draco. (Words: 13,017)

twirled around his finger by desert_forest 

Draco has a surprising talent. It just so happens to be Harry’s secret kink. (Words: 2,412)

Can You Hear My Heartbeat? by boshspice @basiatlu

It rattles in its cage for you.

[PODFIC] Beautiful by edieblake by AllureReads (its_the_allure) @its-the-allure

Harry allows himself a few moments of (sappy) reflection. (Words: 12)

The (Chaotic) Courting of Harry James Potter by arminaa @arminaa8

Harry's being courted. It's a shame he has no idea. (Words: 7,587)

[ART] In the Heat of the Cabin by valushka_emosh1t @valushk4

Harry and Draco end up trapped in a cabin with a snowstorm raging outside. Unsure on what to do now, a fight ensues. In the heat of their argument, something else might flare up.

Through the Seasons by Bichol @bicholsdrarrysideblog

Draco promises to make himself quiet and unobtrusive in his eight and final year of Hogwarts. It's not like a certain someone is going to notice him anyway. Fortunately for him, Harry has other plans.

[ART] Collar instincts by putridpommes @putridpommes

Harry wants it a little harder

Holiday Shenanigans by frm9pm @frm9pm

Harry and Draco decorate a tree, drink eggnog, and cosplay Santa.

Assignment 523-DM by harDeehar (dryrsheet) @dryrsheet

Three years into his captaincy of the team that doesn’t technically exist, Harry is given a new informant: Draco Malfoy. (Words: 2,792)

Generosity, Thy Name is Draco by HeyJude19 @heyjude19-writing

Comforting people is revolting, in Draco’s limited experience. His friends all know not to bother him with petty problems. But Draco has one dragon-hide boot wedged in the door to Potter’s life and thus sacrifices must be made to continue to open that door, enter fully, and slam it shut behind him, sealing the two of them within. (Words: 3,633)

Love the way you're running out of life by literatebly @literatebly

Potter smells of pure magic, and Draco is teetering on the edge of sanity. (Words: 1,352)

Oroboros by its_the_allure @its-the-allure

Through eight years at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy cannot keep his eyes off Harry Potter. (Words: 558)

We hope you enjoy this fun Drarry Collection! Happy Holidays!❆(੭ु ◜◡‾)੭ु⁾❆˚̊̊⌖∙⚛˳̊☃˚̊⌖♡

[dual-wingbeats]

Intro Post 🪽

I haven’t made a Rotumblr in years, but I’d thought it’d be worth it to get into it again. It’s not like I have the most interesting life anyways, so why not?

Hey. The name’s Valeria, I use she/any pronouns, and if you can’t tell from my header, I’m from Anistar City in Kalos.

My family comes from a long line of Flying-type users, but none of us want to bother being Gym Leaders or Sky Battlers. We’re falconers; raising avian Pokémon of prey for sport and to deepen the bonds between us. If you have any questions about falconry, I’m your girl.

I’ll just use this to post whatever’s on my mind or what I feel like.

[OOC UNDER THE CUT]

hi its @crimsonflowersss/pandorias-box again with another pokemon irl sideblog. this one is not connected to pandoria in any way, in case you were wondering.

Blog Guidelines

Pelipper Mail is on, but Musharna Mail/Malice, Magic Anons, Union Circles, Mystery Gifts are all off atm until I develop Valeria a bit more.

Anyone can and is encouraged to interact! She can be a bit skeptical to all of the Rotumblr nonsense, but she’ll get used to some of it. This includes sapient Pokemon, eebies, fallers, etc.

IC anon hate is okay. Please do not harass me outright.

TAGS:

#brave bird - general discussion on falconry

#chatter - inbox questions/asks

#present - pelipper mail gifts

#oblivion wing - personal history/lore stuff

(more tags to be added later)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Since Valeria is a falconer, she will often talk about Pokémon death and consumption. Other TWs to look out for in the future is general death, existentialism, violence, religious trauma, child abuse, and cults.

[whats-that-comic]

📌 USER IS TYPING...

call me orion. crediting panels in hopes that knowing where to find them makes more people read the comics people talk about. user is he/him.

icon is from birds of prey (2023) #15, header is from anarky (1997).

i will add to this as i remember, and may one day have a FAQ.

submissions are open!

[citrusinicake]

snowsancuary evidence collection

some of these may not be as significant as the rest but whatever

warning for mild horror, mentions/implications of stalking, and scopophobia

header: link (can get a copy by replacing edit with copy)

header with brightness, saturation, and contrast turned up, doesn't seem like anything's hidden but maybe i did it wrong idk

actual doc has a prose in playfair display font that i will call the mesite poem, it has generally proper punctation with the exception of a few misspellings which im guessing are not intentional (unless they are?), strangely placed commas which im not sure are intentional or not (i dont read poems idk how they work lol), and a few strangely capitalized letters: R U E T H E D A Y M E S I T E (RUE THE DAY MESITE)

it references a few things from the castle arc such as a snow abode which is later referred to as a cage (zam's base, his safe space later turning into a hostile one), the bird singing to those it should not (zam talking and teaming with ppl dualityduo dont approve of or even actively hostile towards), the bird going out to eat bugs and worms then hiding in the dark (the eating is possibly(?) a reference to zam only ever killing ppl when he needs to/when he thinks theyre evil and then hiding away in his base for the rest of the time), the dog lifting the bird with its two bruised hands to its heart (could be a reference to ro and mapicc and team awesome but maybe im reaching), a feeling of freedom and confidence due to being flightless and therefore disadvantaged and having nothing to lose (zam losing like 14 hearts or something), the bird that starts fearing the dog that stalks outside its cage (mapicc literally stalking zam in mc and zam slowly getting increasingly paranoid each time)

it also specifically mentions the 30th (i didnt watch the streams and havent caught up with the vods yet so idk if thats referencing anything) amd a red house on the street

mesite according to wikipedia (made the interesting parts bold):

"The mesites (Mesitornithidae) are a family of birds that are part of a clade (Columbimorphae) that include Columbiformes and Pterocliformes. They are smallish flightless or near flightless birds endemic to Madagascar. They are the only family with more than two species in which every species is threatened (all three are listed as vulnerable).

"The mesites are forest and scrubland birds that feed on insects and seeds; brown and white-breasted mesites forage on the ground, gleaning insects from underneath leaves as well as low vegetation. The subdesert mesite uses its long bill to probe in the soil. Other birds, such as drongos and flycatchers, will follow mesites to catch any insects they flush out or miss. Mesites are vocal birds, with calls similar to a passerine song, used for territorial defence. Two or three white eggs are laid in a stick-built nest located in a bush or on a low branch. The Mesitornis species are monogamous while Monias benschi is polygamous and, unlike the other two, shows significant sexual dichromatism.

"Historically, mesites’ phylogenetic relationships were not very clear; they have been allied with the Gruiformes, Turniciformes and Columbiformes. Recent phylogenomic studies support Pterocliformes (sandgrouse) as the sister group of mesites while some more recent studies place this clade with another clade constituted of Columbiformes and Cuculiformes (cuckoos)."

mesite according to rankred.com:

"Brown Mesite is a flightless bird species found only in Madagascar’s humid evergreen forests. The Brown Mesite is classified as a vulnerable species. Due to its preference to remain in low altitude regions of the forest, where dogs and other common predators are widespread, they are an easy target to prey upon. Loss of habitat is also a major factor for their declining population."

bio: binary code

[01001111 01100011 01110100 01101111 01100010 01100101 01110010] translates to [october]

log 24: weird smiley

the fact that this is the first log implies that the first 23 logs were writtenon the walls which i would honestly like to see

log 25: morse code

[- …. . .-. . … / … --- -- . - …. .. -. --. / -- .. … … .. -. --.] translates to [theres something missing]

the tag before it says [i cant put my finger on it.], idk if tag order was intentional or not, probs doesnt matter either way lol

log 27: cheating scandal

idk just thought it was something to take note of for later

log 28: crown

the only log so far with the crown symbol

could just be because of the competition

log 29: only one with 1 dot at the title rather than 2

milk post: red, first evidence of stalking

log 31: binary code

leads to this link which leads to this picture (poated for those who cant access it):

original vs edited

no idea what the text behind says, interesting that this is specifically on the log that mentions getting robbed and "him"

to watch post: purple, idk theres just something weird about it

the fact its not a log and the fact that zam seems irritated in the drawing means theres a non-zero cahmce he didnt write it

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @trout-scout​

Chapter 15: A Changed Man

The first of the lycans made their appearance halfway down the misty mountain path that led to the village. Green glimmered between the trees, darts of movement, low snarls through the wind. Rose kept her hand on her sword, but Dimitrescu just smirked.

"Let them have their fun," she said. "I'll show them I haven't forgotten when they cowered at my feet."

Donna led them down the path, a long, winding road through lonely forests and over a ravine, so dense with mist only the distant sound of rushing water told Rose it had a bottom at all. Before she left the house, Donna had hidden her face behind the black silk of a mourning-veil, and as the wind blew it fluttered behind her, a dark flag against the stark white and gray of the landscape.

The rickety rope bridge juddered and swung as they crossed it, but Donna stepped from plank to plank like she was walking down the sidewalk, even in her high-button boots. She must have crossed this way hundreds of times in the past, so much it became second nature.

"Here," she said, suddenly, stepping off the path and heading toward a rocky outcropping beyond.

Rose's heart gave a hard knock against her sternum. She clutched her sword strap tighter as she crunched through the snow and joined Donna on the ledge.

Before her spread the village.

What was left of it, anyway. She'd seen glimpses of it in Heisenberg's memories, had hundreds of times imagined what it must have looked like, sometimes a nightmare of blood and crooked houses and horrors behind every door, sometimes a strange fairy-tale place, vines growing over walls, the land trapped under some strange enchantment. A village of shadows, lost in the forest.

The reality was neither. This...this was devastation. Vast, calcified constructs of mold, like crystalline trees, sprouted from the snow, twisting over houses and churches, courtyards and streets. The broken towers of a red-brick fortress rose through the constructs, one side of them blackened and twisted, facing a crater in the landscape.

It looked unreal: a huge burned hole in the world, its edges crumbling stone crusted with ice, circled by crows that at this distance looked like nothing more than scattered scraps of ash thrown to the breeze.

"The bomb," Rose whispered. That was where Ethan had died. That was where he'd be, if Ouroboros was right and his remains were still intact, in some way.

"Indeed," said Dimitrescu, her voice dripping with loathing.

Rose tried to make out more detail in the crater, but they were still too far off. The castle rose beyond, spearing into the low gray clouds, cast in blue at this distance. Against the backdrop of the snowy mountains, its windows dark, it looked like some great, ancient beast laying down before the ruins of its den.

"Oh, no, no, no," Dimitrescu breathed. "What did they do to you?"

"It looks all right from here," Rose said, squinting.

"No." Her voice dropped into a snarl. "No. Something is wrong. I am certain of it, now. Something is terribly wrong."

She turned on her heel and stalked off. With a glance at Donna, Rose hurried after her, breaking into a run to keep up with Dimitrescu's stride.

The mist thickened on their descent. They passed through graveyards, through thick underbrush, through snowbanks heaped higher than Rose was tall. Her pulse strengthened with each step. Growls split the silence. The lycans were coming. Eyes glimmered; teeth glistened. They hung back, still not descending on them. Dimitrescu, her claws half-unsheathed so they looked more than ever like the talons of some vast bird of prey, had to be a pretty strong deterrent, but Rose couldn't get her proclamation out of her head, that something was wrong.

Past an ancient, half-collapsed gateway, a moon-and-sun sigil affixed to its apex, the path opened out into a kind of arena, its rocky walls so thickly knotted and entwined with crystallized mold-vines that it looked like tree roots bursting through the cliffs. A stone pedestal in its center showed a place that must have once allowed something to be mounted there.

Rose's nerves stung. Dread mounted. A baby's cry echoed in the back of her mind.

My Eva...

"She resurrected me...there..." Rose murmured. A pathway led off through the mold-vines, its limits lost in shadow. Still, Rose saw it in her head. The statues of four kings encircling the ceremony site.

The great stone chalice, ancient thing, bubbling with liquefied mold.

And in its depths-

She pressed the heel of her hand to her head as the memories came thick and fast, rising to the surface as if through water. She'd been so close...so close...reaching out, grabbing hold...leaves scars, tears pieces-

Then, of course, she'd been distracted by a magnum shot to the face, her lycan army torn apart by Heisenberg's metal soldiers. That was about where her memories ended. Heisenberg would have taken her, then, or been given her, and that was when he'd fled.

The others were already a ways on. Donna had paused, but she kept darting glances at the circle of lycans, closing in.

One gave a snarl, leaping down from the root mass higher up. Rose drew her sword in a slash; the monster skittered back, snapping, a weapon made from a horse jawbone lashed to a stick clutched in its hairy hand.

"And stay back," Rose spat.

She backed after Donna and Dimitrescu, down a slope. The smell of rot hit her as she approached what through the mist appeared to be an irregular gated archway spanning the path. She faltered as it came into her view. A vast arch of animal parts, rotting or desiccated, lashed together into ghastly form. Antlers and limbs stuck from the arch's upper edge, spikes and juts of broken bones, glistening.

A couple lycan heads were impaled on the points, eyes picked to jelly by the circling crows.

Black flesh dripped gobs of rotting matter onto the gate below, wrought-iron with a pattern in animal bones tied onto the struts. A circular pattern, Rose realized. Six-winged- real crow wings torn off at the joint- and fetal, curled up as if sleeping.

The lycans must have made it. Rose saw that it stretched to either side, forming a crude fence that must encircle the entire village. And they must add onto it with frequency- some of the pieces looked downright fresh.

"Facilis descensus averno," Dimitrescu said.

"Huh?" Rose tore her gaze away from the archway.

"The descent to hell," Dimitrescu translated, "is easy."

Rose wanted to grumble wow, high school English class, much, anything to steady her nerves, but Dimitrescu's description was way too apt. These lycans weren't attacking. They were just letting them walk right in.

Easy. More like too easy.

There was no time to turn back now. They crossed beneath the lycans' archway and into the village itself.

The mists rolled away before them. If it had looked bad from on high, then at ground level, it looked like something from some alien landscape. The crystalline growths- the remains of Miranda's mold constructs- burst from the ground, the walls, the houses, some demolishing buildings, sprouted straight through their foundations and arching over the streets. They formed tunnels, thickets of glittering growths, the houses so deeply trapped within their translucent, milky boughs they looked nearly fused together.

From most hung long charms made of bone and scavenged shiny objects, clacking and chiming with each gust of wind. More evidence of the lycans lingered- the rotting ribcage of a deer or other large animal, detritus dragged from a house to form a kind of lean-to or nest in a hollow between two growths, scratch-marks in the crystal as if to mark territory.

Only near the entrance, though. As they delved deeper into town, Rose saw less and less until they were gone altogether. The carrion crows retreated, circling high above. Nothing was left but the treelike growths, crystal gleaming in the thin daylight.

Even Dimitrescu looked unsettled, her eyes bright, tendons standing out on the backs of her hands. This was her home, Rose reminded herself. The place she'd lived since before her transformation, the place she'd been reborn as the powerful monster she was now.

"Mother Miranda did all this?" she said as they began further down the pathway. They passed the statue of a young girl holding a sword and shield aloft, strangling tentacles of calcified mold twining round her throat and wrists. "Her power was so great?"

"Yeah," Rose said. She paused to duck under a calcified branch. It snagged at her hair, pulling a few silvery strands loose. "Chris told me it was your deaths that allowed her to get so powerful. Your biomass plus all the slaughtered villagers...well, I guess it gave her lots of play-doh to mold into whatever she wanted."

She glanced sidelong at Dimitrescu. "She wasn't your mother. She just wanted to use all of you. You know that, right?"

"I would have done anything for her. Anything."

"Why?"

She smirked. "She made me into this. Would that not be enough for you?"

Rose considered, clambering over a root-growth that burst over the street itself, forming a barricade. "Yeah, I guess you have a point there."

Dimitrescu turned her attention to the castle, stepping over the barricade that Rose had just climbed. "She gave me that. And with it...truth. Of who I was. A legacy, settling upon my shoulders like wings. The means to mold the world at my command. There is something in that castle I need, child, if I am to fight a war for what is mine."

"Oh?"

"My armor," Dimitrescu said. "In antiquity, I learned, the leaders of the great House Dimitrescu would ride into battle at the fore of their army. They never quailed in fear. They defended what was theirs. And they wore the ancestral armor of our house while doing it."

She made an elegant movement with one hand, talons singing against the wind. "As shall I."

"Armor?" Rose's mouth fell open. "No freaking way-"

Dimitrescu lifted her head. "Indeed. Made to fit."

She glanced sidelong at Rose, the edge of her lip lifted from one incisor. "Drenched in blood, I shall cut an...intimidating figure, I think."

Rose did think. Still, she glanced around herself again, watching the lycans as they circled them, leaping and scrabbling from rooftop to rooftop, staring down at them but not advancing.

"I don't like this," she said.

"Mm." Dimitrescu eyed her in turn. "Curious."

"What's curious?"

"Perhaps they smell you."

"Oh, come on," Rose said, in a rush. "They-"

"Stop," Donna whispered.

Rose faced front, lifting her sword. Dimitrescu's claws slithered to their full length. A figure stood in the mists ahead, swathed in a robe, bare feet squelching in the icy mud. Their hands were lifted.

Rose narrowed her eyes. Those fingers didn't end in claws.

"Not a lycan?" Dimitrescu muttered.

"Oh!" The voice wailed forth. "Great ones! You have returned to us once more!" The stranger tottered forward, hands still lifted- in...exaltation? Rose's frown got deeper. "You...you have been away for so, so long...so long...this place has...suffered, yes, suffered without your harmony providing balance to the land-"

"Stay the fuck back!" Rose ordered.

The stranger stumbled with an 'oh!' and collapsed to their knees. Their hood fell back, revealing a woman in her late twenties with a fine-boned, almost starved-looking face. Her head was roughly shaved, covered in tufts of hair and bloody scrapes. She wore a heavy collar of small bones and rocks; it jangled as she knelt there in the mud, her hands and feet blue with the cold.

"I beg your forgiveness," she cried. "Please, please, I am merely the messenger..."

"Messenger for what?"

"To invite you!" One arm swung back, pointing up toward the castle. "To my Great Lord's holy dwelling."

"Your great lord's?" Dimitrescu strode forward, lifting her claws. "I will show you who is the great one among-"

"Wait, wait." Rose hurried in front of Dimitrescu before she could slice the strange woman into lunch meat. "Wait. You live here? In the village. With the lycans?"

"Oh, yes. Since before! Before the Cataclysm." She nodded, her huge, pale green eyes glistening. "I cleaned the blood from the cells in the dungeons. Up in the castle. I was just a fool-headed child. No one paid attention to me. So when the dying started..."

She let out a little giggle. "...I hid, and watched the flames light up the skies, the Black God consumed! Devastation! And then, afterward, when the dark flooded in, I was found, and I was saved. By my Great Lord. He saved many of us. As many as he could wrest from the lycans."

Growls rippled through the darkness around them. The lycans had followed them. Rose's eyes darted from side to side; everywhere she looked shone eyes, teeth, fangs and crude weaponry.

In the distance-

A huge bellow shook the air, echoing through the mist. That sounded a hell of a lot bigger than the other lycans.

"Is your lord keeping them back now?" Rose asked quickly.

The other girl nodded. "It takes much of his power. But yes! He wished for you to be safe during your travels through his village."

"And if we don't accept your invitation?"

Those pale eyes widened. "Oh, please don't do that," she said.

Rose took a slow breath. The taste of rot, barely masked by the cold, burned in the back of her throat.

"Fine," she said. "Take us to your leader."

"He'll be so excited!" the stranger cried, scrambling ahead with a loping, stumbling gait that gave Rose the impression she was about to fall onto all fours. "There haven't been any new visitors for...for a long time! Just the lycans."

She giggled again. "And they aren't very good conversationalists."

Up the path, past the ruins of a tiny, ancient church. Rose blinked at the ornate stone gateway that had once heralded the entrance to the castle, had once borne the carvings of the warrior maiden and a demonic beast.

Now, the entire thing was swathed in a thick coating of glutinous green slime. It pulsated slightly, frog-spawn and membranous tissue, the smell bringing tears to Rose's eyes- worse than the rot, it smelled like when she'd pilfered a fifth of cheap whisky from Heisenberg's stash and chugged it all at once. She'd thrown up for what felt like hours until her mouth tasted like acid and regret. This was that, magnified.

A barrier of the stuff stretched over the gateway, but as their guide approached it melted away into a hissing, writhing pool.

Beyond the gateway-

The entire castle was covered in the stuff. What had once surely been a stream was now choked with the slime, the drawbridge caked in it, the castle walls dripping with a seemingly-endless coating. Through a gatehouse, up a long, curving path hemmed in by sheer stone walls- all was warped under a sea of green slime, plumes of steam rising from its surface to obscure the pale sky behind a muggy layer of clouds.

Inside was even stranger. Through a vast pair of bronze double-doors, shuddering wide at their guide's push, a once-gorgeous entry hall now flickered and hummed with the static from countless televisions.

Rose thought of Heisenberg's workshop under their apartment building, the dozens of televisions there, but these were stuck together with yet more slime. They cast their cold glow over gilt and Baroque fixtures, broken windows and parquet floors. A couple bore not static, but- Rose looked, incredulously, closer- old movies. Black and white.

Ooh, that one wasn't so old.

"Is that-" she started, then let out a laugh. "Holy shit, is that Fifty First Dates?!"

"Impossible," Dimitrescu said.

"I, I mean, unlikely, but-"

"Not that," she snarled. "This. This ruin."

She seemed to crackle with a kind of seething rage. She broke away from the group, approaching a huge painting set beneath a gilded arch. Even through the damp stains, Rose still made out the three young women on it, pretty brunettes dressed in 19th century gowns, their hair curled and set with ornaments.

Now, a particularly large television was shoved in front of them, blocking them from view.

"No!" Her howl echoed through the halls, scraping at Rose's guts. She turned and stalked away, ripping open one of the doors from the entryway with such force it cracked off its hinges.

"Wait!" their guide cried, wringing her hands together. "Wait- please!"

They hurried after her, through dark hallways encrusted in mucus, shattered picture frames and mauled furniture, the walls smeared with dark fluids for which Rose had no name. The stench of stomach acid, rot, and bile grew stronger as they wound deeper into the castle, at last emerging through a set of carved double doors and into a vast hallway.

Dimitrescu stood in its center, between four angelic statues now overgrown with slime, barnacle-like growths sprouting like extra eyes from their pale marble. She breathed hard, staring up a sweep of steps, at the thing waiting for them above.

For a heartbeat Rose thought it was a part of the slime that surrounded them, some mutant mass that had grown straight through the walls, busting open the gilding and gorgeous wood panels to become half creature, half architecture. Great tumorous swells of flesh and goo. Long, ropy tentacles, twisting and writhing slickly against the marble floor. Gills fluttering in random places, exposing incongruously-delicate interiors. What looked like fleshy sacs, pinkish and translucent and webbed with veins, inflated and deflated, and orifices gaped, expelling spills of radioactive-looking liquid that hissed on contact with the floor.

It towered over them, and past them, a vast, ever-moving, ever-twitching wall of fleshy matter, and Rose wondered for a lightheaded moment whether it extended back into the castle, taking up rooms like some fungal growth, propagating itself wherever there was empty space.

Eyes rolled within the mass, gleaming iridescent gold like a squid's, their U-shaped pupils contracting at the sight of Rose and Donna and Dimitrescu at the bottom of the stairs.

"You...you came!" The voice sputtered from one of the thing's orifices, along with a spray of green fluid. "My family...I thought...I thought I would never see you again!"

And Dimitrescu, who for the first time looked like a gust of wind would knock her down, said with blistering incredulity-

"Moreau?"

***

"Yes," Moreau said. "I look a little different, I...I know, but it's me! Are you not...are you not happy to see me?"

"No," Dimitrescu said. "I could never be happy to see you, you...you misshapen wretch, what have you done to my castle?"

She advanced on the thing at the top of the stairs, lifting her talons, pure fury in her eyes. "You've spread your foul rot and filth over my home! You've stolen what is rightfully mine! You've desecrated the tombs of my daughters!"

"Dimitrescu," Rose said, holding out her hand. "Don't- this isn't...this argument isn't worth it right now-"

"You dare," Dimitrescu screamed, drowning out Rose. "You dare to make a mockery of my castle!"

Rose glanced over at Donna, who'd retreated back toward the angel statues. There was another door there, stout and metal. Maybe they could get through it, if all this went to shit, if Lady Dimitrescu attacked Moreau.

But shadows rose from the slime- robed figures, like the girl with the shaved head, who'd gone to stand by the mass of flesh Moreau had become, one hand set lightly on his side, just over a set of gills. The others- worshippers? Devotees? Moreau-cultists?- all held weapons, ancient, corroded broadswords and battle-axes and maces, probably scavenged from the guts of Castle Dimitrescu when Moreau had taken it over.

Rose's hands were slick with sweat on her own sword, her mouth dry as she turned, looking for another way out, some way there wouldn't be a fight, but there was nothing.

They were surrounded.

"You...you aren't the queen bee here anymore, Alcina," Moreau said, from a different orifice. The voice from this one was lower-pitched, more slurred, vibrating in Rose's guts with a sinister note. "It's my turn now. You always hated me. All of you!"

One of the massive tentacles- its suckers barbed, Rose noticed with a white-hot jolt- heaved into the air, then slammed down, shaking the entire room.

Rose stumbled against Donna, clutching Angie, her too-quick breathing audible even through her veil.

"Every! Single! One of you!" Moreau shouted. "Always looking down on me, always making fun of me...I was the one who made the varcolac! I did! I figured it out! And I invited you here, and I was gonna be nice, I was gonna give you cheese and crackers and cookies and tea-"

"What do we do?" Donna whispered, her voice shaking.

"I don't- I don't know-" Rose hadn't planned for this. Salvatore Moreau was supposed to be dead, blown into sashimi and seagull food. How the hell had he survived? Had he regenerated like Dimitrescu? Not important questions right now.

Could they kill him? Maybe Dimitrescu could, but- but that stuff dribbling from him looked like acid, and Rose didn't know, with Dimitrescu's lack of fresh blood, how long her regeneration would hold against that. Without her, against the massive beast Moreau had mutated into, they wouldn't last a minute.

"Can you make him see stuff?" she stammered. "With your hallucinations?"

"No- there aren't any flowers- and it might just make this worse-"

There came the wet sound of blades in flesh; Dimitrescu had thrown herself at Moreau, tearing into the closest part of him she could reach, a blinding storm of blades and anger, snapping black hair and pale flesh and eyes ablaze.

Not for long.

Tentacles lifted, whipping through the air and slapping wetly against her, the ropy masses swiftly winding round her limbs and torso. She roared and slashed out, carving great, pale gouges into them, but they kept coming, and coming.

A tentacle snagged one wrist, then the other, wrenching Dimitrescu's arms straight out to either side. Her muscles bulged, veins standing out against her skin, but she was held in place, completely immobilized.

Donna screamed. Rose whirled as tentacles lashed around her, too.

"Donna," she gasped.

"Go-" Donna shoved her backward as a tentacle struck out, aimed to close around her own wrist. Rose sliced it in half; the pieces tumbled to the ground, splatting into goo on impact.

She dodged another tentacle, another, then tore her hand through the air, summoning a seething mass of mold around her that kept back the worst of Moreau's onslaught. She clenched her teeth against the strain, like supporting a weight over her head; sweat beaded on her forehead, her whole body shaking.

She couldn't hold this for long.

"Moreau!" she yelled. "Moreau, stop! We aren't here to hurt you-"

"Everyone says that," Moreau rumbled, somewhere in her periphery. His slime slithered toward the distant, painted ceiling, closing over the tangle of classical figures, transforming the entire castle hall into a cage of goo and bizarre aquatic growths. Acid seared down Rose's throat with each ragged inhale. White spots swam in her vision.

"Everyone always comes to hurt me," Moreau went on. "Always. Always. Mother said she needed weapons but she was lying, she just wanted...you. Her special child. And she was gonna hurt us all to get you. Ethan...Ethan wasn't ever meant to...he was supposed to be trapped, I was gonna eat him up and then he wouldn't hurt anything anymore-"

"He got out, right?" The strain was unbearable; red crackled in the corners of her eyes, muscles screaming for release. "He got out and he hurt you too?"

"I only wanted to do what Mother said. To protect the flask! But I wasn't important. I...I should have died rather than let her down-"

"No, no," Rose said quickly. "No, you deserved to survive, to...come back, look at all this you made- you were so smart to keep yourself safe in here so the lycans couldn't get you and all these people you helped-"

"And now you." This was the deepest voice yet, a subsonic rumble that ached in the back of Rose's teeth. There came the slick crackle of tearing flesh, and to Rose's horror, a split opened down Moreau's front, widening as she watched with wide eyes into- oh, god, into a mouth. A sawblade tangle of sharp teeth glistened within, broken-glass teeth, tiger shark teeth, dripping with acid and saliva, going down and down the maw forever.

"Mother's special girl," Moreau went on, a mocking twist darkening his childlike tone. "You came back to be like your nasty father. With my family, making fun of me, saying I don't deserve anything."

"No!" This time the word was a scream. Her whole body was on fire; she had seconds, if that. "Moreau, I came back to help you, to help you all, to save everything that was lost all those years ago- I just want to save you-"

"Liar!" Moreau howled. "Just! Like! Mother!"

The tentacles crashed in. Rose had no time to protest, no time to react, no time to cut herself free with her sword before a tidal wave of goo cascaded over her, sweeping her under and in, straight into the toothy maw of the monster itself.

[the-maidofmischief]

hi! i wanted to ask if you might do headers and icons for black mask/roman sionis in birds of prey, wearing his mask. ty <3.

sure!

Please like or/and reblog if you take any!

made by the-maidofmischief

200x200 px

[religious-access]

[PT: "Hermes is the god of birds no matter how you slice it." with god of birds in bold and italicized text. /end PT]

[IMAGE ID: A screenshot. It reads "God of Animal Husbandry" as the header, and then below reads "Hermes was the god of animal husbandry, including cattle-herding, shepherding, goat-herding and even the breeding of horses and mules. In this role he represented both the protection and flourishing of the herds and their destruction by wild beasts (lions, wolves, boards, birds of prey). He was also the god of cattle-thieves. Birds of prey is highlighted in blue. /end ID]

[IMAGE ID: A screenshot. It reads "Homeric Hymn 4 to Hermes" as the title, and below reads "[Hermes] tends the wild roving, horned oxes and horses and patient mules... Zeus himself... commanded that glorious Hermes should be lord over all birds of prey and grim-eyed lions, and boards with gleaming tusks [i.e. the predators of herds], and over [herder's] dogs and all the herds and flocks that the wide earth nourishes and over all sheep." Flocks that the wild earth nourishes is highlighted in blue. /end ID]

[IMAGE ID: A screenshot. It reads "God of Birds of Omen" as the header. Below it reads "Hermes was the god of the brids of omen, birds despatched from heaven under the divine inspiration of prophetic Apollon. Only seers, under the god's patronage, could distinguish birds of omen from those idly-chattering and interpret their divine messages. Hermes was heaven's herald and so was naturally regarded as the source of those other winged messengers of heaven - the birds of omen /end ID]

Hermes is the god of birds no matter how you slice it. It's a part of multiple domains of his, aside from the overall history of many birds as messengers (heralds), guides (more like aiding or showing the way/hope though), and their intelligence. There are also the sources below for this, starting with it being a part of Hermes being a Master of Animals, those we rely on and those that are wild:

[doodleduck]

what bird is in your header and you pfp?

ANON IM SO SORRY I JUST SAW THIS NOW

It’s a American Woodcock! They are also called timberdoodles or bogsuckers. They are pretty stupid looking with their eyes set so far back on their head, but it gives them excellent vision. They do a little dance that may help them disturb prey and their long bill helps them probe for worms. Their courtship display is pretty impressive. Males will make the iconic “peent” sound and fly up to 300 ft and then spiral back down in a flutter of feathers. They are also considered a shorebird even though they live in more forested areas.

[raginginsomniac]

adhd is rough. i wanted to start partially moving to other sites, so i started making a carrd to put all my links on, and then while i was doing that i opened my tumblr to get the link to it.

i saw my blog theme (bright pink) looked absolutely atrocious on desktop and changed it, then started making other visual changes. i looked through my phone for a photo for an updated header image and found one - but i needed to edit it.

i went downstairs to use my tablet for image editing and decided to put on a show in the background. i spent like 30 minutes adding stuff to my hulu list. eventually i opened hbo (not calling it max, sorry warner bros) and settled on the movie birds of prey. i got so wrapped up in the movie i stopped working on the image.

hours later i realize i never saved the carrd. i have also not finished editing the image for my tumblr blog header. i did finish birds of prey though (better than i expected, 8/10) and i went down a wikipedia rabbit hole looking up the film creators.

what was the point of this post again?

[embracethedits]

please, “ ♡ “ or reblog if save/use