#i am a shallow beast at heart.

[benbamboozled]

Okay as someone who only tangentially knows about nightwing, I enjoyed the grayson series. I'm a whole-ass lesbian but watching him walk shirtless through a desert carrying a baby? I suddenly understood the whole "being straight" thing. Grayson cured my heterophobia lololol.

ANYWAYS it seems like you've actually read other nightwing comics so I was wondering what your take on the grayson series is? Is it OOC? If not, do you have any other comic recs where I can 👀 that 🍑?

Lol I actually haven’t read Grayson! Because…lol, okay, THIS IS STUPID I AM FULLY AWARE OF THAT, but because I resent the idea that Dick Grayson needed a series where he’s ALSO a super cool hot spy who’s a badass hot spy. ~~~OOOOH GOOD FOR YOOOOOU!!!!~~~

(Yes this is one of my personal foibles, sometimes I resent things for existing because I am odd and petty.)

I’ve thought about reading it for The Pretty, but I know certain fandom circles are, uh…less than enthusiastic about it, and certain other character fans are less than enthusiastic about it (*cough* Midnighter), so I just haven’t decided that I’m open to potentially being grumpified in favor of The Pretty yet.

Basically, I absolutely cannot speak on how IC or not it is. 🙃 I do know that I’ve read two things by Tim Seeley—one I like that a lot of people don’t (Robins) and one that was ABSOLUTELY ATROCIOUS LIKE TERRIBLE ON EVERY POSSIBLE LEVEL GAG VOMIT UGGGHHHH (Countdown to the Wedding: Red Hood vs Anarky—do not punish yourself with this it is so bad).

Sooooo I have no idea what that says about whether or not I’d appreciate Grayson!

Honestly, though, my Dick Grayson absorption is all over the map, so I’m not so much a great person to give recs I think.

Like, my foundational Dick run (hm) was Devin Grayson’s Nightwing run and, uh, that run is CONTROVERSIAL (to put it mildly), for some reasons that I agree with and some that I don’t. It also left me with a…very particular set of preferences when it comes to Dick Grayson In Comics.

(You know how 1984 starts with “imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever”? Yeeeeeahhhh.)

If you’re in just for the pretty, the current Nightwing run—Leaping Into the Light (kind of a soft-reboot of the premise starting with #78 of the 2016 run)—is REALLY gorgeous. Like…wow. Not so much on a beefcake level necessarily, but like…gorgeous man f-i-n-g-e-r-s-t-r-i-p-e-s acrobatics long legs strong back mmmmmmmm. (I cannot be more coherent than that, just…guh.)

(I do NOT keep up with this book for the plot. The plot is…sigh. Lackluster. And the characterization is…kind of generic. AND IT TOOK NIGHTWING #93—A CONTROVERSIAL YET IMO GROUNDBREAKING ISSUE—AND BASICALLY RE-DID IT IN A WAY I FIND FRANKLY PRETTY OFFENSIVE BOTH TO STORYTELLING IN GENERAL AND THE WAY IT TREATED THE ISSUES ORIGINALLY HANDLED IN THE COMIC. ANYWAY like I said, I’m shallow and into it for the pretty pictures. Also it’s DC, and my evergreen tag “comics are bad and I hate them” is evergreen for a reason.)

I’m certain that other people who follow me have better recs/suggestions, so if anyone who follows me has insight on Grayson or feelings about good Nightwing runs for (*cough*) 🍑-purposes and wants to chime in, feel free! Reblog, reply, whatevs!

(Just, you know…if you have STRONG feelings, try to remember the “don’t yuck someone’s yum” principle. Criticism/analysis+discussion is great, but I try to keep things not suuuuper OTT negative. I don’t want anyone to feel bad about liking things.)

(No yucking anyone’s yum unless it’s Tim Seeley writing Red Hood vs. Anarky. I will never be nice about that comic and nobody can make me.)

Hopefully you’ll get some better info, anon!

[goddessofvalyria]

THE SWEET TASTE OF BLOOD | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen was a vampire and he always dreamed for centuries of her, a princess from a fallen kingdom destined to be his. One day, that dream became true.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, SMUT, She/Her pronouns, oral (f receiving), fingering, sexual tension, sex, blood, blood sucking, biting, blood play. A little bit of Dark Aemond. This one shot is inspired/has the vibes of "Bram Stocker's Dracula".

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4230

The wind howled through the twisted branches of the dead trees, a mournful sound that echoed through the desolate, mist-laden landscape of the Foreign lands. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the land. The castle loomed in the distance, its towering spires piercing the darkness like the fangs of a monstrous beast. It was an ominous sight, a place that had long been abandoned by the living but was far from empty.

The Lost Princess stumbled through the dense fog, her feet dragging over the uneven ground. She was weak, her clothes torn and dirty from weeks of wandering through the wilderness. Her kingdom had fallen, her people scattered, and she had been left with nothing but her dreams—dreams that had led her here, to this cursed place. Dreams of a castle, a dark prince, and a destiny she could not escape. She had thought they were mere fantasies, the desperate imaginings of a lost soul. But now, as she stood at the foot of the castle gates, she knew the truth. This was where she was meant to be.

“Who… who lives here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.

Suddenly, the great iron gates creaked open, as if summoned by her words. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn by an unseen force, a compulsion she could not resist. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the wild pulse of the storm around her. She knew she should turn back, that no good could come from entering such a place. But something—a whisper in the wind, a shadow in the corner of her eye—compelled her forward.

Inside, the castle was as she had seen in her dreams: vast, dark, and foreboding, with high ceilings and walls lined with ancient tapestries. The air was cold, the silence almost suffocating. She moved through the hallways, her footsteps echoing off the stone floors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

And then she saw him.

He stood at the far end of the great hall, bathed in the dim light of a dozen flickering candles. He was tall, with silver hair that fell to his shoulders and a sapphire glinting in place of his left eye. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the candlelight, and his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as he watched her approach.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen" he whispered, recognizing her from his dreams. The name sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mix of fear and familiarity. She should have been afraid, and yet…

"Welcome, my princess" Aemond's voice was smooth, a dark velvet that seemed to caress her very soul. "I have been waiting for you."

His words were both a greeting and a confession. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his desire. It was as if he had been waiting for her, not just for days or months, but for centuries.

"You… you know me?" she stammered, her mind reeling.

"I have seen you in my dreams, just as you have seen me, I know" he replied, stepping closer. "You are the one I have been searching for, the one I have longed for. You are mine."

The princess felt a rush of emotions—fear, confusion, anger. "I am no one's" she protested, taking a step back. "I am my own."

Aemond's smile widened, revealing the tips of his fangs. "You say that now, but soon you will understand. You are mine, as I am yours. We are bound by fate, by a destiny that cannot be denied."

She turned to flee, panic surging through her veins, but the doors slammed shut behind her with a force that rattled the walls. She was trapped.

"Let me go!" she cried, her voice breaking with fear. "Please, let me go!"

Aemond was upon her in an instant, his movements faster than her eyes could follow. He caught her by the arm, his grip firm but not painful. "You cannot leave" he said softly, his breath warm against her skin. "Not now. Not ever."

Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against him, but he held her fast. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need you and you need me" he whispered, his voice almost desperate. "Because I cannot be alone anymore. You are the only one who can understand my pain, my suffering. You are the only one who can save me from this eternal darkness."

She looked up into his eyes—his one remaining eye a vivid violet, the sapphire a cold, unfeeling blue. For a moment, she saw the truth in his words, the loneliness, the despair that lay beneath his cruel exterior. And in that moment, she felt a strange, inexplicable connection to him, a pull she could not resist.

"I… I don't understand" she murmured, her voice trembling.

"You will" he promised, his lips brushing against her temple. "In time, you will" and then he locked her in her new chambers.

"Let me go!" she screamed knocking the door, but he never came back. "Let me go, fucking bastard!" after hours spent to screams, she knew that she needed to surrender. Those dreams were too vivid, too realistic and she never have talked to anyone. After the fallen of her kingdom she was the only one survivor and she left in the night or she will be dead from her enemies, those rebels who let the war begins.

It was her dreams that had led her there.

Two moons passed soon, and the princess lay in her chambers, feverish and weak. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and labored. She had grown ill from the cold and damp, and she had not fed since she had arrived, or rather, she had refused. Aemond watched over her, his expression unreadable every night, entering her chambers. He had promised himself that he would not harm her, that he would not give in to the darkness that consumed him. But now, as he watched her suffer, he knew he had no choice.

If he did not bite her, she would die.

Aemond Targaryen sat in the dim light of the chamber, watching the Lost Princess as she lay feverish on the bed. Her skin was pale, a sickly sheen of sweat covering her body, and her breaths came in short, labored gasps. The fever had taken hold days ago, and nothing he did could break it. Her suffering was like a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper with every pained breath she took.

“I cannot let you die” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I cannot lose you.”

The princess trembled, her body wracked with fever. She turned her head away from him, her eyes wet with tears. “Stay away from me!” she pleaded, her voice weak but filled with a resolve that surprised even her. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, a silent testament to her fear and despair. “I would rather die like my family than live like this.”

Aemond flinched at her words. He could feel the sting of her rejection, the pain of her fear. She still did not understand—could not understand—the depth of his love for her, the madness that gripped his soul for centuries, compelling him to do whatever it took to keep her by his side. His obsession, his love, his need—it was all-consuming, and he could not bear the thought of losing her.

"You do not mean that" he said, his voice low and urgent, trying to reach her through the fog of her fever. "You do not understand what you are saying. You are confused, and the fever… it is making you delirious."

She closed her eyes, as if trying to shut him out, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants. “I would rather die” she repeated, her voice a mere whisper. “I would rather die than become a monster.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, anger and fear warring within him. “You speak of death as if it is a choice,” he hissed, his control slipping. “But I will not allow it. I cannot allow it. I need you, and I will not lose you—not to fever, not to anything.”

The princess turned her head, her eyes blazing with a feverish intensity. “It is not your choice!” she spat, her voice trembling. “You cannot decide my fate. I would rather die with honor, as my family did, than live as one of the damned.”

His face darkened at her words, a shadow passing over his features. “Your family is gone” he said coldly, his voice like ice. “They cannot help you now. But I can. I can save you.”

“Save me?” she cried, a desperate, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Save me by damning me? By turning me into a creature like you?”

Aemond’s patience snapped. He moved swiftly, his hand reaching out to press her down against the bed, his strength easily overpowering her weakened form. “I do this for you” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “For us. You do not understand now, but you will. In time, you will see.”

She struggled beneath him, weak and feverish, but defiant. “No,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Aemond… don’t do this. I beg you, let me go.”

His expression softened for a brief moment, a flicker of pain in his eye. “I am sorry” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against her throat. He could feel the weak flutter of her pulse beneath his touch, a fragile, fading thing. “Forgive me” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Then he bit her.

She screamed, a sharp, agonized cry in the moment his fangs pierced her skin, he felt a rush of warmth, of life, of power. Her blood filled his mouth, hot and sweet, and he drank deeply, savoring the taste, the connection, the bond that formed between them. He could feel her life mingling with his, their souls entwining, becoming one.

The princess gasped, her eyes flying open as the pain of his bite gave way to something else—something deeper, something primal. She could feel him inside her, his thoughts, his emotions, his desires. She could feel his love, his obsession, his desperation. And she realized, with a sudden, startling clarity, that she had always known him. That she had always been his.

As he pulled away, her body went limp, her eyes closing as the fever broke, her breathing evening out. Aemond cradled her in his arms, his heart pounding with a strange mix of relief and fear. He had done it. He had saved her. But at what cost?

"You are mine" he whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Forever."

And deep within her, the princess felt a stirring, a dark hunger that mirrored his own. She was his, now and always. Bound to him by blood, by fate, by a love that would last for eternity.

The castle doors swung shut behind them, sealing them inside, together, forever.

Outside, the storm raged on, the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls, mourning the fate of the princess who had wandered into the darkness… and never returned.

The black castle in the Foreignlands had grown colder since the night Aemond Targaryen had bitten his Princess. Shadows moved like living creatures along the walls, and the ancient stones seemed to hum with a dark energy. The castle was a place out of time, a twisted realm where day never fully broke and night reigned eternal.

The princess wandered the halls, her steps light and cautious, the silk of her gown trailing on the cold stone floors. Her body was different now—stronger, faster. Her senses were sharper; she could hear the faintest whisper of wind, see every detail of the darkness, smell every scent that wafted through the air. But more than anything, she could feel a new, gnawing hunger that clawed at her insides—a hunger she didn't understand and was afraid to satisfy.

Aemond watched her from the shadows, his single violet eye following her every move, his sapphire eye cold and unfeeling. He knew the transformation had been difficult for her. He could feel her fear, her confusion, and her anger. She had not yet embraced what she had become. She did not yet understand the power that flowed through her veins.

"You must feed, my love" Aemond whispered one night, stepping from the darkness to stand beside her. "You cannot resist it forever."

The princess turned to face him, her eyes wide with a mixture of longing and fear. "I don't want this" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I never asked for this."

Aemond reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "No, but it is what you are now. It is what we are. You are mine, and I am yours. We are bound together, forever."

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know how to live like this" she confessed. "I don't know how to be… this."

Aemond's expression softened, a rare flicker of tenderness crossing his features. "Then let me teach you" he said gently. "Let me show you how to embrace what you are, how to wield the power within you."

One night later. . .

Aemond sensed the stranger before she did—a faint heartbeat in the distance, a whiff of human scent. Someone had dared to enter his domain, his castle. His lips curled into a predatory smile.

"Tonight, my love" he whispered to the princess, who stood beside him, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Tonight, you will learn what it means to be one of us."

Together, they moved through the shadows, silent and swift. The princess could feel the energy coursing through her, the thrill of the hunt awakening something deep inside her. She glanced at Aemond, his face a mask of calm, predatory intent, and felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence. He had promised to teach her, and she trusted him, even in this.

The stranger—a lone traveler who had lost his way—wandered through the darkened halls, his torch flickering in the gloom. He was muttering to himself, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. The princess could hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic, like a frightened animal. She could smell the fear on him, a scent that made her mouth water, her fangs itch.

"Go to him" Aemond murmured in her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "Feel his fear. Taste it. Let it guide you."

She hesitated, fear and hunger warring within her. "I… I don't know if I can."

Aemond's hand was on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. "You can" he insisted. "You must. There is no other way. Trust yourself. Trust me."

She looked at him. "Do it" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Claim what is yours."

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, moving closer to the stranger. The man turned at the sound of her approach, his eyes widening in surprise and fear as he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, she was upon him, her new strength and speed carrying her across the room in an instant.

She could feel his warmth against her, the frantic beat of his heart beneath her fingers. She hesitated, her fangs poised over his neck, and for a moment, she thought she might pull away. But then she felt Aemond behind her, his presence a dark, comforting shadow, and she knew she could not turn back.

With a surge of determination, she sank her fangs into the man's neck, a rush of warmth flooding her mouth. The taste of his blood was intoxicating, a dark, rich elixir that filled her with a powerful, primal energy. She drank deeply, feeling the stranger's life force flow into her, feeling his heartbeat slow and then stop altogether.

The man whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut, but before he could utter a word, she sank her fangs into his neck. The moment his blood touched her lips, she felt a rush of warmth, a surge of energy that flowed through her veins like fire. The taste was intoxicating, a dark, rich elixir that filled her with a heady sense of power and pleasure.

Aemond watched her, his expression one of dark satisfaction. “Yes” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. “Yes, that’s it. Drink, my love. Drink deeply.”

She did as he commanded, drinking deeply, feeling the man’s life force flowing into her, mingling with her own. She could feel his heart slowing, his body growing weaker, and it filled her with a dark, thrilling pleasure. She felt Aemond move behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive growl. “Do you feel the power, the life flowing into you?”

She nodded, unable to speak, her senses overwhelmed by the rush of blood, the heady mix of fear and pleasure. She could feel Aemond’s hunger too, his own desire mingling with hers, and it drove her on, urged her to drink more, to take more.

Aemond lowered his head to the man’s other side, his own fangs sinking into his flesh, drinking deeply. Together, they drained him, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling in the cold, dark air. The man’s life faded between them, his struggles growing weaker until, finally, he went still.

When it was over, they pulled away, their lips stained with blood, their eyes glowing with a fierce, predatory light. The princess felt a surge of exhilaration, a thrill of power and satisfaction that she had never known before. She turned to Aemond, her chest heaving, her body trembling with the aftershocks of their shared feeding.

Aemond looked at her, his face flushed, his lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile. “You see?” he said, his voice a low purr. “This is what we are. This is what we can be together.”

She stared at him, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her body alive with sensation. “I… I understand now,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I feel it… I feel everything, Aemond”

He reached out, pulling her close, his hands sliding over her blood-slick skin. “Good” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers, tasting the blood still lingering there. “You are very good girl, princess.”

They kissed, the taste of blood mingling on their tongues, their bodies pressing together in a fierce, primal embrace. The princess could feel the heat of him, the hunger, the desire, and she responded in kind, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

They moved together, a slow, seductive dance, their bodies slick with blood, their hearts pounding in unison. Aemond pushed her back against the cold stone wall, his lips trailing down her neck, his hands roaming over her body. She arched against him, a low moan escaping her lips, her body alive with need.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding over hers, tasting the remnants of their shared feast. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the hard press of his body against hers, the heat of his skin, the intensity of his desire.

“Do you see now?” he whispered against her lips, his voice a low, seductive growl. “Do you see what we are, what we can be?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes half-closed, her body trembling with need. “Yes, I see.”

He smiled, a dark, wicked smile that sent a shiver down her spine. “Then let us become one,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “In blood and in body.”

Without another word, he swept her into his arms, carrying her to a stone altar in the center of the room. He laid her down upon it, his hands roaming over her body, his lips trailing kisses along her neck, her collarbone, her breasts covered. She moaned, her body arching beneath him, her skin alive with sensation.

He moved over her, his body pressing against hers, his breath hot against her skin. She could feel his hunger, his desire, his need, and it mirrored her own. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, urging him on.

"I need you" she whispered, Aemond began to undress her, he brought his hands to the laces of her dress starting to undo it, he brought his hands to her bodice, then to her slip undressing her frantically. Her body was beautiful, divine, a temple to be loved and honored. Her skin was white and smooth like that of any noble, perfumed and fucking inviting.

Their kiss was fierce, primal, driven by a hunger that went beyond mere physical desire.

Aemond whispered her name and then pressed his mouth against hers again, stripped of his clothes, naked above her he looked like a devil: the strongest, most beautiful and dangerous. He was like that, an enigma. He had the body of a warrior, toned abs and a strong and soft chest that she wanted to kiss. His arms were long and veiny just like his hands. Under the soft moonlight that entered the castle windows, the vampire prince looked at his princess, caressed her blood-stained face and went down with his blood-stained hands on her body, both dirty and covered in the scarlet red liquid.

"Mine for eternity" he hissed leaning down, kissing her where her heart was. Her blood-stained skin was fucking hot, the feeling of his lips wrapped around her breasts drove her crazy, she arched her back when he wrapped his lips around her nipple and she ran her hands through his silver hair. Aemond felt her melt under his touch, he slowly moved down with kisses and opened her legs.

"Aemond…" she whispered feeling the blood running down her body, dirty as well as Aemond's. "My beautiful damned princess, my… bride." he gently opened her legs, placed a kiss on her wet cunt.

"Oh!" a moan escaped her lips when she felt Aemond's mouth press against her pussy. She began to move her hips against his face, her legs tightly wrapped around his head, shaking, arching as she moaned his name that echoed through the dark walls of the castle. All she felt was his mouth and fingers making her feel pleasure.

Aemond curled his fingers inside her, his tongue licked her clit and felt her come, she cummed over his lips. "Aemond…oh!" she trembled so much. Her prince rose from her body, took his long, hard, wet, precum-tipped manhood in his hand and rubbed himself against her.

"I've never done this before" she whispered feeling small against the rock beneath her. "I'll be gentle" Aemond whispered licking his lips, their bodies claiming each other. "And with that I take you as my bride" with a sharp thrust he began to move slowly inside her. "And I take you as my husband" she whispered feeling the invasion between her thighs.

"Wet, tight, ready just for me" he whispered unable to hold back his little moans His hips suddenly slammed harder against hers.

They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies slick with sweat and blood, their cries echoing through the darkened halls. She could feel the power building within her, a dark, consuming force that threatened to overwhelm her. But Aemond was there, guiding her, grounding her, his touch both tender and demanding.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Do you feel the power, the strength, the life flowing through you?"

"Yes," she gasped, her nails digging into his back, drawing blood. "Yes, I feel it."

He fucked her against the stone altar, his cock tearing her open with every thrust, her moans echoing off the stone walls of the castle. She moaned, a mess, letting herself be used. Lost in pleasure, lost in those kisses that tasted like sin.

Aemond kissed her, drawing a moan from her, making her submit to him and his thrusts. Hell, he was drunk on her, on his bride, on the woman he had waited for centuries and who he could now love and who was his.

He groaned, his body shuddering against hers as he reached his climax, his fangs sinking into her neck, drinking deeply. She cried out, her own release following moments later, her body convulsing beneath him, her vision going white with pleasure.

When it was over, they lay together, their bodies intertwined, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Aemond held her close, his lips brushing against her forehead, her cheek, her lips. "You are mine" he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender. "Now and forever, wife."

She nodded, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of their lovemaking. "And you are mine" she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "Forever, husband."

The castle was silent once more, the shadows creeping back into their corners, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. Outside, the storm had passed, the wind dying down to a soft, mournful whisper.

They lay together in the darkness, their bodies entwined, their souls bound by blood and by love, forever.

This was the sweet taste of blood.

[the-californicationist]

Just wanted to drop you a note to say that I just found you and I am loving the fact I am not the only Price lover here. When I can think straight after all the sexiness....I may think of something to ask you for... Like Female Reader and Price reconnecting after years apart or somesuch Meg xoxo

Thank you so much! You are definitely not alone. If you ever need a Price fix, you know where I'm at 😅 over here! obsessing. lol.

Hope this is sort of what you envisioned!! A million thanks for the ask!

Origami Tigers

It had been a long time since you had crossed his mind. But, as he gingerly plucked the intricately folded origami tiger from his desk, he knew you were there. You were on his base, somewhere. 

Part of him wanted to rush off to find you. He let his thumb slide over the shining golden paper, thin as tissue, folded and folded and folded in on itself to make this tiny, stalking beast. It was soft, and so carefully made, and it reminded John of those same qualities that he had found in you.

Why had you left? 

It had been out of your control. Your career and his career and the bombs and the guns… it was all a blur. But, ten years had passed since he had held evidence of your paper menagerie in his fingers, and even the thought of your return made his body tingle with the numbness of his shock. 

The tiger fit in his chest pocket, right over his heart, and he went on the hunt. 

He stalked through the main rooms, searching faces, looking in office windows, waiting for that shock of hair to catch his eye, that shallow sloping shoulder, those tiny frag scars on your left hand… 

Just when he thought he had lost you again, he spotted you. You were sitting on top of the hood of his TAC-V, flipping through pages on your datapad, lost in your work. He couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of you. Ten years had been good to you. A woman’s wide hips, a body full of hard work and muscles to show for it, that same glowing skin. He felt like a starving man who had just been fed. He was a machine that had just been plugged back in, a paint pot ready for a brush. Alive. 

“Sparrow?” His voice cracked, low and dark in the quiet of the warehouse.

You turned to him and took him in. He had deep smile lines at the corners of his eyes, and his beard had grown out in full. But, that voice. He was your John. 

“Hey, tiger,” you grinned, “You found me.” 

You jumped down from the vehicle, not knowing how this first meeting would go. Would he be distant? Had he moved on? Did he string a golden ring through his neck chain every morning, or was he single? Did he even want you anymore?

Your questions were all answered at once. 

He scooped you up in his arms, big and heavy, crushing you to his chest. You cried out in relief, saying his name, muffled, your face pressed into his broad chest,

“John…”

“Little bird.”

He pulled you away from him, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and you saw those bright blue irises gleam with fresh, unshed tears. Worry and concern were at war with hope and certainty all over his face, and without so much as a breath of hesitation, he crashed into you with a kiss.

The softness of his lips was so familiar, so comfortingly known, your body responded on instinct, remembering all of the rewards that came with this feeling of his skin on your skin. You celebrated in each other, tasting the inside of your mouths, licking each others’ tongues, trying to scent the other’s past. 

It was as if each kiss and suck and nip at each other was asking: Where have you been? 

Another kiss answered back: Away from you, my love. 

A deep caress with his tongue begged for clarity: Away? Come back to me.

You convinced him with a chaste kiss on his shaven chin: I’m here. 

And here was all that mattered.

AO3 Link

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Little rant about how amazing Dazai is as a character.

I am just so blown away by how much depth there is to him. He is probably the best version of a morally grey character I've ever seen, it not that he isn't too evil and isn't too good, but he has done SO many evil things and SO many good ones that he can't fit either side.

He is both the scariest and most heart-breaking, the most uncaring and the most desperate for help. Every characters perspective changes who he is completely and that's something ive never seen before in fiction

Thinking about Akutagawa makes Dazai seem like a heartless, abusive monster.

Thinking about Ango makes him seem petty and cruel, as well as unable to let go of the past.

Thinking of Atsushi make's he feel reassuring and comforting, a source of hope and kindness.

BEAST made me want to hug Dazai for a thousand years, but also hate him for what he did to Atsushi

Stormbringer made him seem both terrifying and cruel to Chuuya, but also his ultimate protector and the person who most believed in his humanity

In 55 minutes he's a source of hope and reassurance, in Entrance Exam he's sinister and mysterious, as well as super funny and entertaining. In the Dark Era, Oda sees both sides of him and chooses to focus on the side that no one else ever saw, the lonely child who was so buried inside Dazai that even he didn't know it was still there.

We have seen more of Dazai then any other character in the series, he is the only character to appear in every single light novel (minus gaiden cause that's a different story). He plays a super important role in the main series, and we have seen so many sides of him throughout the story. Infact, we've seen way more of him then Atsushi, the literally main character.

But despite all of this, he is somehow STILL one of the biggest unknowns in the series. Despite everything we've seen of him, it still feels like we have just scratched the surface of his character. and the characters in the story feel the same way, the only person to get a glimpse of Dazai's true self is Odasaku, and maybe soon Atsushi.

The deeper you look into Dazai the more you can appreciate him, the light novels especially do the best job of capturing how complicated and interesting his character is, I think most of the Dazai haters out there, are just people who prefer more shallow characters (Not saying that's a bad thing, it doesn't mean those characters are any worse, just that you don't need to think about them to understand them). and if you look at Dazai like that, then of course he seems like a terrible person, you need to actually try to understand him to see how tragic he is, that's what Oda did and that's what a lot of people need to do.

[ptolemaeaxstarters]

quotes that go unexpectedly hard ;

ask memes edition

" God may judge you but his sins outnumber your own. "

" I am a monument to all your sins. "

" Violence for violence is the rule of beasts. "

" To become god is the loneliest achievement of them all. "

" I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. "

" If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight just like I always have. "

" I will face god and walk backwards into hell. "

" All knowledge is based on that which we cannot prove. "

" Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog? "

" Do you think god stays in heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he's created? "

" Too many people have opinions on things they know nothing about and the more ignorant they are, the more opinions they have. "

" What is better- to be born good or to overcome your evil nature through great effort? "

" Pick a god and pray. "

" I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are. "

" Dude, sucking at something is the first step towards being sort of good at something. "

" Your gendered hands can't hurt me. "

" Tonight you spoke with the devil. The devil looked a lot like you. "

" Kill me. Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you won. "

" You can't kill me in a way that matters. "

" Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? "

" The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. "

" I thought there were no heroes left in this world. "

" You kneel before my throne unaware that it was born on lies. "

" Take this gift, for the gods surely won't. "

" If you shoot for the moon and miss, the cold vacuum of space will suck out your eyeballs. Failure is not an option. Go kill them. "

" You could sooner divert a river from its course than deny my nature. "

" You can't shake the devil's hand and say you're only kidding. "

" No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle. "

" There's no light at the end of this tunnel so it's a good thing we brought matches. "

" Impudent of you to assume I will meet a mortal end. "

" This is hell's territory and I am beholden to no gods. "

" Bury me shallow, I'll be back. "

" One day you'll decompose and I'll be here to see it. "

" The rage in your heart warms you now but it will leave you cold in your grave. "

" Then become the dirt I walk on. "

[suuuupernovaaa]

txon

txon [t’on] n. night

Anonymous Request: Can I request a Neteyam fic where the female reader that he likes is very shy at first but one day he sees her going into the forest alone at night and he follows her from a distance and eventually steps in to save her from one of the animals like Neytiri did in the first movie, and she asks him why he protected her which eventually leads to him confessing his feelings for her which gives her the confidence to kiss him and hug him.

Neteyam sits near the fires, watching Y/N from a distance. While most eat together and talk, she sits quietly, just a little apart, eating and staring into the dark distance.

He wonders what she's thinking. He always wonders that, when he sees her; she seems to always have so much on her mind.

She stands then, and turns, disappearing into the night. Something propels him forward, and without another word, he slips away, following the beautiful girl.

--

The sounds of Home Tree are too much for me tonight, so with my bow in hand, I take off into the forest to enjoy the beauty of our home at night. Pandora is beautiful at every hour of the day, but something about it at night, the way it glows just as we do, is so calming to me.

I walk for a long time, slowly, dipping my toes into shallow pools and running my hands along leaves bigger than I am. It rained all day, and everything is damp and you can really smell the sweet earth beneath your feet.

Someone is following me, and they have been for a while, but I think I know who it is, and I'm not nervous.

Well, not nervous that it's someone who might wish me harm.

I've seen him staring at me, the eldest son of our chief, and he thinks I don't notice, but I'm very observant. He looks at me with narrowed, confused eyes, his head tilted to the side, and it seems like admiration mixed with confusion.

Maybe tonight will be the night we finally speak to each other.

--

She moves with grace through the jungle, and Neteyam struggles to keep up without alerting her of his presence. He loses site of her just for a moment, and when he does, he hears her cry out.

"Y/N!" he shouts, pushing leaves and branches aside, charing forward to find her.

When he does, she is on the ground, and above her is a thanator, snapping at her neck, held off only by her bow which could snap any second.

He removes his long knife from his belt, and sinks it into the beast's neck, silencing it in seconds. It slumps onto the girl, and together, the lift it off of her, rolling it to the side.

"Oh, Great Mother," she says, her voice hoarse, and her eyes wide with fear. Over her shoulder, Neteyam sees why the beast attack - her young are nearby, and Y/N stumbled into their home without realizing.

A protective mother.

Neteyam bends down, grabbing both of her arms and pulling her into a sitting position. She sets her bow by her side.

"Are you alright?" he asks, examining her. It's dark, but he doesn't see any obvious wounds. The blood on her doesn't appear to be hers. "Do you need Tsahik?"

She shakes her head. "No. Thank you, Neteyam. I would be dead if it weren't for you."

Neteyam isn't sure what to say. It's the most the two have ever spoken, and up close, the gentleness of her voice and the beauty of her face are mesmerizing.

"Why?" she asks, panting, dusting the dirt off her legs. 

Neteyam narrows his eyes and tilts his head ever so slightly to the right. “Why what?”

“Why follow me?"

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t following you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I heard you an hour ago. Tell me why.”

He reaches behind his head, pretending to scratch, stalling for time and looking anywhere but at you. 

“Well, I…”

--

I grab Neteyam's arm, and he helps me stand on my feet. My heart is still racing, I can feel the thanator's breath on my face; I thought I would surely die because of my own foolishness.

I had been paying attention to the sounds Neteyam was making behind me, and had not noticed the beast's babies until it was too late, and she was on me.

Really, I have no right to ask Neteyam why he was following me. I should only be grateful. But curiosity reigns.

"I noticed you leave, and just... wanted to see where you were going."

"Oh. Nowhere. Just walking. Why did you want to see where I was going, though?"

He looks awkward, put on the spot, but I am not going to give up. I don't know when I'll get the chance to talk to the oldest Sully again; I need to take advantage now.

"I think you're... interesting. Beautiful, and quiet. I wanted to talk to you but, didn't know how."

I try to keep the smile on my face from spreading too wide. "Well, I'm glad you followed me, Neteyam. I would be dead if you hadn't."

"No, you would have fought him off," he says with a grin, but we both know he's wrong. That thanator was gigantic, and she was protecting her children, who are now motherless. They are behind us, too small to fight, and I feel sorrow for what I've done. The pups sniff at the mother's body, and I wonder if they will die without her.

Neteyam must be able to read the expression on my face, because he reaches out and grabs my arm. "They'll be okay. Another mother will come along. They're communal. We should go, before that happens."

I nod, and slip my hand into his, letting him guide me away.

The walk back to Home Tree is long, but not quiet. Neteyam asks me many questions about myself, and I talk more than I ever remember talking before. With every word, he listens intently, nodding and meeting my eyes with his. I feel so seen and heard, I nearly blush.

We return home and stand, awkwardly unsure how to part ways.

"Thank you again, Neteyam. I owe you my life."

He shakes his head. "I'm just glad you're okay, Y/N." He steps in closer, his eyes drifting down to my mouth, and back up to my eyes.

It gives me the courage to stand up on my tip toes, and press a soft kiss to his lips. I shouldn't, it's not appropriate, but he's so handsome, and so kind, and he saved my life, and all I want to do is kiss him.

I pull away, but when I do, he wraps his strong arms tightly around my waist, pulling my body flush to his. With my ear on his chest, I can feel his heart, beating rapidly to match mine.

It feels like the beginning of something great.

[azzysmate]

Back From the Dead - Part 1

Azriel x RhysSister Fanfic

Summary: Rhaen, sister of Rhysand, was supposedly dead for centuries, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was only trapped by something no one ever dreamed of being so dangerous? And what will happen when she appears at the border of the Spring Court and human lands barely alive?

1st Person POV - Rhaen

I wonder how long I've been gone for. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it's been more than a hundred years, but when you spend your days as I have in an entirely different plane of existence, you begin to stop counting the days since you last saw your family. You stop hoping there will come a time that you will see them again. All you can do is pray to the Mother that your time will come soon and that the people you love have moved on with their lives without you.

The misery I have witnessed plays in a loop behind my eyes. Not just my own, though I have certainly felt more than my fair share, but that's not what haunts me. No, the screams of agony that live in my nightmares are of other females who were trapped with me. All shapes and sizes. All ages. All types of fae and human kind. And one in particular.

Dahlia.

My poor, sweet, innocent flower. I see her tearful eyes widened in death beneath me. There's blood everywhere. Her blood everywhere. In her hair, staining her clothes, pooled on the earth under her, all over her face and my hands. Just a child, dead, because of my idiocy.

Her blood. On my hands. I'll never be able to rid myself of the scarlet color in my ledger. Not hers.

I feel my breathing become shallow, coming in as gasps, going out as pants. Then the rest of the defenseless women around me go silent. It's only my voice I hear now that bellows a cry of rage, of grief, of vengeance.

Someone grabs my wrists, pulling them away from Dahlia. I fight them, yelling for them to let me go, to let me seek my revenge, to let me slaughter every last one of these beasts who have damned me.

If they think me a monster, then so be it. I will be what they fear me to be.

But when I wrench my arms out of the unknown grasp, I wake up. I'm sitting up in a bed with a fae female staring wide-eyed at me. Sweat soaks through my clothing, and my left arm is tangled in wires. My throat is raw, my heart is pounding, and whoever this girl in front of me is, she must be strong considering she held me back for as long as she did.

"It's alright," she speaks, "You're safe. Nothing is going to happen to you, Rhaen."

I blink at her, trying to steady my breathing as I ask, "Who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Feyre," she replies softly and places one hand on my calves, as if attempting to keep me from spiraling further.

I wince at the touch, not from pain, but from distrust. She pulls away as I say, "I don't know you. What do you want with me? Where am I?"

"We're in Velaris. In Madja's clinic." She pauses for a moment, studying my face in awe. "I don't want anything from you, but you need to remain calm. You were very badly hurt, I don't want you to be any more uncomfortable than I'm sure you already are."

"Velaris?" I repeat, knowing if she knows of my hidden home in the Night Court, we must be safe like she says.

She gives me a small smile. "Yes, you're home."

I let out a sigh of relief at her reassurance, trying to shake off the remainder of hellish recollections. She stares at me for a moment, taking in my face like she's seen me before, and I notice that the rims are slightly wet, like she's been crying for me.

"I-I'm sorry..." I tell her, "Do I... know you?"

"No," she answers softly, a bit of amusement appearing in her tone, "but I've heard so many stories, I feel like I sort of know you. And you just look so much like your brother..."

"My brother?" My throat tightens again. "You know Rhysand?"

"Very well. We're-"

"Rhaen..." another calls my name, and we both look towards the door.

And despite everything I've been through, despite how hard it is to breathe without my chest aching, I smile at him. "Speak of the devil."

He chuckles through a sob and drops the bags hanging off of his fingers to come strutting to my bed and wraps his arms around me. I groan because of the tenderness of what I'm sure are thousands of bruises, but I return his gesture, clinging to him for dear life.

I ball the material of his shirt into my fist and let teardrops flow freely down my face. "Rhys..."

"Rhae," he breathes out against my hair, "I can't believe this is real."

"Me neither."

He pulls back abruptly, making flinch once more. He holds my face in his hands and asks, "Where have you been? What happened? Tamlin told us you were dead, that he had your wings for proof. How is this possible? How did you end up back in Prythian? Who the hell hurt you?"

"Take a breath, brother," I remark, "We have time for explanations later. For now, I'd just like to take some time to heal and enjoy seeing my family again."

"I know, I... I'm sorry, my mind is reeling, little one, and I can't seem to get a grasp on any of it."

"So how about we put a pin in the heavy stuff for now, and you tell me what's been going on here."

Feyre lets out a little laugh behind him, catching my attention again. "If you're looking to avoid a complicated topic, you may want to be more specific. A lot has happened in Prythian, in the last ten years alone."

"Never mind that," Rhys dismisses gently, climbing off the bed to go stand next to Feyre, "You're right, we should let you acclimate a bit first, so we can start with introductions. Feyre Darling, this is my sister, Rhaen. Princess of the Night Court. Little one, this is Feyre. My mate."

"Mate?" I exclaim with eyes and mouth opened wide, "You have a mate? And here I was practically interrogating the poor girl."

"That's alright," Feyre says kindly, "We weren't expecting you to wake up for another hour or so, Rhys was getting us something to eat."

Rhys glances down to the bags he dropped, wrinkling his nose a bit at the mess he'd made. "And it looks like I'll be going back for more."

"That can wait," I wave him off, "Feyre, tell me how awful it is having to be tied to him for the rest of your life. Is he still the biggest, most arrogant Illyrian prick ever?"

"Hey," he whines while she giggles, "That title is, was, and always will belong to Cassian, little sister, and you know it."

"Oh, Cass," I coo, "Gods, I've missed his hugs. How is he?"

Rhys smirks. "Doing pretty well for himself. The Lord of Bloodshed is now my General."

"What?" I laugh and immediately regret the sudden act as another wave of sensitivity throbs inside of me. I lean back against the pillows to try and get the pressure off my torso, then continue, "Wait a second, your general? You're telling me, not only is that brute the commander of armies, but you're High Lord of the Night Court?"

"Most powerful in a millennia," he confirms smugly, and Feyre rolls her eyes. "You can act annoyed all you want, Feyre Darling, but if it weren't true, would you be my High Lady?"

"High Lady?" my jaw drops, "Cauldron boil me, was I gone that long?"

"It's a very long story," Feyre exasperates, "Another that we'll have to put a pin in. However, it will not be one that your brother takes credit for." She lifts a brow in challenge, daring him to argue.

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. She earned it. But the even bigger shock? Cassian is mated to her sister, Nesta."

"No way... Cassian has a mate?" Rhys nods in amusement. "She must be a firecracker, and I'll bet she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"Nesta is something, alright," Rhys mumbles, "but they're perfect for each other, that much is certain."

"And Mor? How is she?"

"As cheerful and vain as ever."

"Amren?"

"As terrifying as ever. Although, she is high fae now, no longer whatever god-like creature she was trapped in a fae body."

"Really? I assume that's another added to the list of conversations for later?"

They share a hesitant look, one that I don't prod for clarity on, and then nod at me slowly.

I take a breath, knowing that there's only one other curiosity to satisfy. My stomach knots up when I think of my next question. The one person I'm dying to ask about, but also the most terrified to hear of finding a mate.

I clear my throat, and as I muster up the courage to finally get my query out, I feel my face burn bright, "And what about Azriel?"

"You could ask me yourself," a gravel filled voice comes from the doorway, and when my eyes meet his, all my worries fade far from my mind.

I swallow heavily under his scrutiny, the gold irises drinking me like he's scared I'll disappear right under his watchful gaze.

Did I imagine that he was the one to find me? Was it only my mind playing tricks on me, making me believe he lifted me up into the air and told me to stay with him?

No. With the way he's looking at me now, I know it wasn't all in my head at all. The Shadowsinger saved me. He saw me half dead and pleaded to the Mother for me to live.

"Azzy..." I croak out.

He takes a deep breath. "Princess." He takes a few steps in and lifts one eyebrow. "If I hadn't just found you barely breathing, I'd be so pissed at you for waking up before I got back."

I let out a breathy laugh, trying to fight against the tears that threatened to fall. "Yeah, lucky me for almost dying. Again."

"Hey, don't feel too bad, Az," Rhys chimes in, "I was out getting food for Feyre and I when she woke up."

The Shadowsinger's eyes don't leave mine as his lips turn upwards ever so slightly. "I see you still enjoy giving people a hard time."

"Don't think I'll ever get over that," I reply with a smirk.

He sighs and playfully rolls his eyes, and I see Feyre tilt her head in confusion and then share a look with her mate.

I look between them before asking, "Is this going to happen a lot? You two having secret conversations in your head? Because I can play, too."

"See?" I say to both of them with them daemati powers.

Feyre's gaze widens at me. "You're daemati, too?"

"And she'll never let anyone forget it," Rhys answer for me, causing me to let out another weak laugh, "In response to your question, yes. As High Lord and Lady, we often have private discussions in front of everyone."

"Oh, and I'm sure it has everything to do with the safety of the Night Court and never inappropriate?" I tease them. I see Feyre's cheeks pink.

Rhys closes his eyes and tucks in his lips. "I have to say, while I'm glad you're still your old, troublemaking self, I did not miss how uncomfortable you could make me at times."

"I've got a lot of time to make up for," I smile brilliantly.

Amusement flashes in Azriel's gaze before he makes his way to my side. "Has Madja been in to check her out?"

"No," Feyre states since she was the one her when I opened my eyes, "She seems to be acting normal though."

"That's quite the understatement, Feyre Darling," my brother inserts.

"I'm sore, that much is certain, but other than that, I feel fine. I would like to go home if she doesn't notice anything alarming."

"I'll go find her," Azriel declares.

Rhys walks towards the door as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll join you."

Feyre gives them a bewildered look as they leave, and this time, I don't hold my tongue.

"What's the matter?" I inquire of her.

She looks to me, then the door, and back at me. "I've never really seen him act like this before."

"You mean Az?"

"Yes," she confirms with a nod, "It's almost as if he's... flirting?"

I scoff, then rub my chest to alleviate the irritation it caused while checking, "With me? No way."

Humor passes through her features before she schools them back to neutrality. "Right. He must just be happy you're back."

Although I don't believe her assumption is accurate in anyway, I find my stomach flurrying with butterflies at the thought.

But there's absolutely no chance that Azriel is, was, or ever has flirted with me, his best friend's little sister, someone he views as his own little sister. Even if I might wish he did...

Thank you guys so much for liking the prologue! You have no idea how much the support means to me… I hope you guys continue to stay tuned for Rhaen’s journey. These first couple parts are basically just going to be her reentering Velaris and acclimating as best as she can. Again, leave a comment if you want to be tagged for the next part. Ilysm🤍

@projectcampbell @acourtofsmutandstarlight @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @anainkandpaper

[wanderneverlost]

Please forgive me... but I am in dread (and maybe denial?) and in no form am I emotionally ready for tomorrow.

Here's a short, spurr of the moment, heart destroying fic.

Crosshair's head faded in and out of black. Ringing sound shrill in his ears. What was going on? He tried to sit up, finding that he was already on the floor. His hand began to shake violently, chest tight, breathing shallow. Why am i shaking so much? Panic rose in his chest as he figured out why.

One word.

Tantis.

They came back. This time, he wasn't a prisoner. But something was still wrong. He breathed in and closed his eyes like Omega had taught him, it helped a little. He looked around to get a grip on what was happening.

Pert of the ceiling had come down, he and...

And then he remembered, he and Hunter were trying to help create a diversion so Omega could let out some creature. Thats when it happened: the beast had gone on a wild rampage and was wrecking havoc in the mountain.

Hunter? Wait. Where-?

He saw movement in the corner of his eye, a slight shift in the debris. Oh, no. Hunters lower half was under the rubble, his torso seeming to be fine. Crosshair rushed beside his brother, immediately relieved to see him still breathing. Unconscious, but breathing. He'd lost his helmet somewhere during the chaos.

"Hunter. Hunter, can you hear me?" Crosshair looked up at the damaged ceiling as the mountain groaned from the destruction. We need to get out of here.

He tried to look for a possible place to gain enough leverage to pull his brother out. When he tried to lift, the rubble shifted and Hunter groaned from the pain. Kriff.

"I hope you weren't planning on leaving." Hemlock's voice was on the intercom, "it's as I've said before," up in a vent, the familiar green gas seeped into the room, "you don't leave, unless I say."

He frantically looked from Hunter to the gas and the debris.

Minutes felt like lifetimes.

He strained and tried to lift the ceiling off of Hunter, screaming in an effort to be as strong as Wrecker, only to be left with little to no change.

No! It can't end like this.

Hunter began coughing from the toxins, and without hesitation Crosshair removed his helmet and pulled it over Hunter's head.

"Hunter," his voice faultered, "I- I'm sorry..." he began to cough, "Please, Maker, I'm-" he tried to choke back his sobs. The eerily familiar numbness was getting to his head, tingling sensation in his hands, he was kneeling next to Hunter. He went to reach for his brother's hand, feeling the world fall away, fingers just barely in Hunter's palm.

"I'm sorry..."

The next few moments were strange. Hearing his name called out in echos. His hand being firmly held. Lights in and out view. A face closely resembling Mayday. Hearing and feeling his heartbeat drum slowly. Each bteath taking ages to get.

And then.

All black.

He felt like a cadet again. Harsh nights when the regs were at their worst. Hunter would spot out a quiet, unnoticeable and dark space for him. He would tell him where it was most times, but on the worst of the worst... Crosshair would just have Hunter lead him to it. They'd hide together, and just let the emotions go. Hunter's arms bracing Crosshair as tears drenched the shoulder of his blacks.

He felt like he was there now. But the room was gone. Just empty space. This would be a good place to leave from.

Hunter was still there. He stayed for what seemed like forever. Too soon, he was gone too. Leaving Crosshair in a dark void.

He noticed, finally. He wasn't shaking anymore. He looked down at his adult hands... they weren't trembling. He placed them on his lap and bowed his head.

So, that's it, then?

And he waited there.

Waited for punishment.

For a guide.

Resolution.

Just waiting.

Strangely enough, the dark void began to shift into lighter colors. Something like a morning was around him. He began to hear familiar sounds, voices of his squad.

Family.

A sharp ache forced his eyes open. Sunlight bled throughout the room of the... ship? He wasn't certain where he was. But he knew exactly whose voice cried out his name and whose arms flew around his neck. His arms naturally embraced her back like he had done it his wgole life.

"Omega?" His voice was more hoarse than usual but no less filled with glad surprise.

She filled him in:

Tantis, destroyed.

Hemlock, dead.

Clones, free.

Children, rescued.

And at some point he stopped listening to her words and just became calmed by the sound and rhythm of her voice. When he tuned in again, she was on about somwthing Echo and Tech were working on. Hmmn, I'll let it alone. I'm probably not awake all the way.

Her voice continued, and he felt Hunter's eyes on him. He chanced a smile. Omega went quite, and he felt his heart throb. Home.

Hunter took Crosshair's hand in his, fingers firmly holding his brothers. Crosshair returned the grip, nodding. He felt tears prick his eyes.

He was home.

Sorry, that was longer and more detailed than I was expecting it to be. I was only going to go up to the first half and stop when Crosshair passed out and then my brain went, "Oh! No, that's not the end. Here just keep going!"

So ta-da!

I kinda got inspiration from one of the 9-1-1 episodes where Buck gets lost in a Sanitizer factory and gets lost and hopeless. Anyways, praying that i wont have a meltdown tomorrow! (Who am I kidding? Of course I'm gonna have a meltdown) 😂😭👍

@lightwise and @andymendez2354 for helping me get out of my shell

[lanymme]

hi this is rose (wavers huswife) Can I put in a request for Kiara yuri violence with Nero who is feeling her own encroaching Beasthood crawl up her back. can be chaldea or CCC setting but I am curious to see kiara taunting Nero into becoming a beast and getting gay with it too

What a fantastic request. Fate/Extra CCC is a game about showing the most embarrassing parts of yourself to others, and I always felt like dear Saber didn’t get her chance to shine in that light. And wow, I had fun with this. Thanks for giving me this opportunity to write some of my favorite characters!

This takes place during the CCC True End, so, spoiler warning for that!

CWs: gore, consent

--

Saber’s heels clack and splash through the shallow wine-colored water, blood roaring in her ears, fire burning in her veins, as she charges toward that howling mass of disquieted spirits and the manifestation of depravity at its center.

A swirling mass of magic rises above that horned head as the incantation end, and with peals of indecent, unrestrained laughter, hundreds of streaming trails of souls peel off it fly toward her. She dodges and weaves and turns as they spatter the ground, sword cutting sheets in the water as it trails behind her, eyes fixed on the prize: the newborn goddess she will bring crashing down to honor her dear Praetor’s beautiful path through life, that lead her from knock-kneed fawn to eagle-hearted worthy, who would stand alone against certain ruin, head held high without even a knife at her hip.

But her Saber is here now, and even as she takes a few bolts in the shoulder, she reaches her foe and brings up her sword, clashing against that outstretched palm. Kiara, that enigmatic but approachable holy woman who always gave her Praetor advice, who heard her worries and made their struggle possible, smiles down at her, bemused, loving. Saber pulls her sword—tries to pull it back, but that palm has curled forward, and the grip of those fingers are irresistible. Desperately, she pulls on her blade to removed it.

Kiara leans forward, so close that Saber can smell her, incense and flowers and something unnamed.

“Ah, Saber,” she lilts, voice sweet and slow. ”I thought you had unlocked your Origin and donned that mythological Mystic Code to play with me, and yet your sword has no strength behind it. Have you decided to accept my love, after all? Please, if you are ashamed, don’t worry—shame, humiliation, disgrace: to the enlightened, these are perfumes of life.”

She grits her teeth, uninterested in responding, fighting for control. The Rose of Olympia is better than this—her dauntless partner deserves better.

Kiara laughs, and her Praetor cries out to her, and shame brands her like bitter inelegant wine.

For a moment, she remembers. Tacitus, blind to the glory of her art, ignorantly wounding her pride; Seneca, dismissing her brilliance. That gaping, yawning emptiness opens up in her heart.

She never wants to let that person down, never wants to see her disappointed in her Servant, to be unable to protect her.

Digging deep, she jerks her blade out of Kiara’s grasp, and delivers a quick duelist’s strike to her wrist, tasting blood. Turning, she spins to strike again, but her blow is deflected, unseen, and Kiara’s open palm takes her in the chest, an overwhelming flood of sensation shattering her concentration, bringing her down to a knee. Weakly, she raises her sword to defend herself, but just as Kiara bears down on her, throwing her full bodyweight into both hands, her Praetor rescues her, healing her just at the brink.

The blow is crushing, agony beyond reason seeping into her, but she survives. She survives, and she leaps back, disengaging: battered and bent, she remains on the stage.

Hakuno’s hand touches her arm, and she meets her concerned gaze, smiling proudly to reassure this precious woman whose life depends on the mettle of her sword.

But inside, her heart is shaken. She can’t disappoint her, can’t let her down—can’t fail to measure up. Anything but that.

“Good grief, Kiara. Even now, you’re playing with your food? I suppose the last dregs of your self-restraint truly rotted away in that chrysalis.”

“If you would like to fight her yourself, by all means, allow me to support you as your Master.”

“As if I could stop you from showing your ass, you gutter-side slut! Go on, embarrass yourself. I’ll just watch from here.”

She takes her Praetor’s hand in hers as she steps away, letting it drop when only their fingertips can reach.

“Keep your eyes on me!” she declares, an edge of insecurity in her voice, like it’s a plea, not a declaration to reach the ears of the gods. “I will show you how I shine!”

She turns before she can see the flash of worry in Hakuno’s eyes.

For a moment, she remembers that awful moment, repeated again and again—the eyes of the people falling, turning away, as she begins to sing.

Kiara giggles, staring at her, eyes burning. Delicately, a hand comes up to her cheek, one finger to her lips—an indecent perversion of that considerate, sisterly gesture she often showed in her rapport with Hakuno. “Oh, Saber,” she intones, voice ringing and sticky-sweet. “You’ve shown me something so interesting to inaugurate my ascension. Please, let me reward you—let me bestow favor upon you, who pleases me.”

“Foolishness! I am my Praetor’s instrument, to be wielded by her hands! The only thing I require from you is a triumph for the stage!”

Striking a ready stance, she calls up her power, the power of Rome, of a people ripening and flowering, whose aspirations and dreams she carries on her shoulders. “Fountain of Flames!”

Something stirs inside her.

Aestus Estus ignites, and she rockets forward to rejoin the fight.

“Let the arc of my blade signal the curtains to fall! Rosa—”

Kiara pulls her hand back, and a hundred magical threads entangle her, jerking her to a halt. “Ahaha! Please, don’t be so hasty!”

Saber jerks and struggles, a mere fly caught in a web. Despair runs through her heart. She can’t bear to turn around and see the face of her Praetor, who has faced adversity time and time again to bring her here, entrusting her fate to this sword now frozen in the air.

Kiara smiles at her, pityingly. “You speak of triumphs, and yet, to my recollection, you never had one yourself, did you, Heroic Spirit of the Sword?”

Saber glares at her, sword raised uselessly above her head. Kiara begins to step closer, howling spirits and death’s head encroaching alongside her.

“When I saw your impressive Mythological Mystic Code, I was so surprised to learn that one with such few achievements in the eyes of humanity would have such sealed inner mysteries to unlock!” She claps her hands together, smiling sweetly, the very picture of an innocent young lady, curved crescent ox horns titling with the motion. “I thought the Moon Cell must be unexpectedly generous, to put such thoughts toward you.”

She stands before Saber, who struggles desperately, mortally, in her bonds. But she’s too weak to free herself, to weak to respond to her Praetor’s cries, to weak to stand on the stage to which she had devoted her life.

Those beautiful, baleful eyes glint wildly, conspiratorial with dark enlightenment. “But as we have… fought,” she offers, and it stings like a knife between the ribs, “I have come to understand: the Moon Cell, the eye of god, sees things as I do.”

Kiara’s scent envelops her, running like lightning through her body. One hand strokes down her sword arm, and her face passes close enough that Saber can feel her warmth, feel the tickle of her breath agains there ear, wine and blood and smoke, and a shiver passes down to the base of her spine. “Suffering and bliss. Favor and disgrace. Pride and shame… they are each one and the same. So please, comfort yourself: your name is exalted above all others, immortalized, celebrated, in the eyes of all the world.”
 Something, something is rising inside her. Her knees are wobbling, her chest burns. Her head hurts, ah, it hurts, as bad as that day, when flames reached the heavens.

Kiara looks conspiratorially over her Saber’s shoulder, at her Master, and then back to Saber, eyes twinkling, conspiratorial.

She leans in, so close, to whisper breathlessly in Saber’s ear.

“Nero Claudius. Whore of Babylon.”

Lightning strikes through her—a fire, dark and sweet, in her gut—singing, calling, hollow craving, devouring her shame, blissful, forbidden.

At the edge of her vision, tiny flames lick at her corners of her eyes—fledgling embers, things to be nurtured, on blood and wine, on the engorged hearts of humanity.

She squirms and struggles in her bonds, panting and jerking, trying desperately to look over her shoulder, while Kiara coos to her, and smiles, and presses a kiss just behind her ear.

“Please… no.” she cries, voice melting. “Not, not in front of her.”

“Mmmm… if you want to break free. Then all you have to do is stop holding back. Right? Do it for her sake.”

It’s true. It’s true. Ah, she’s been so foolish. Disgraceful. But even in her disgrace, there’s something, something she can do, to respond to that hand that reached out to her, that accepted her, that chased her back until she could stand beside her, that rescued her when she was injured, that returned for her: Hakuno, who sacrificed her body to free her from that eternal sleep.

“…”

I’m sorry.

She can’t bear to look, can’t bear to see the expression on that face. But all of a sudden, she snaps her bonds, and strikes her blade deep into that shoulder. Blood, rich and red and plentiful, gushes from the wound, even though this is the Moon Cell, and such things are normally impossible.

Kiara laughs, full and throaty, and with a backswing of her hand, a wall of force swats Saber away, desires and foibles and vanities sizzling and burrowing through into her.

But now, it is devoured, into that hollow, hungry emptiness burning inside her.

All too soon, she sees that wound close, fading away to nothing. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. To… to find victory, for her Master.

Her stomach growls.

She refocuses her attention on Kiara, and all of a sudden, she is dazzled. How could she not see it before? Decadence, vanity, satiety and want—a cradle of sin, a body offered up, mother-sacrifice to all of humanity: the ripest, burgeoning fruit of the intersection between wilderness and civilization, the she-wolf that suckles the world at her breast.

Breathtaking.

“… You really are the most graceless, despicable manifestation of a woman,” Andersen says, disgust permeating his voice. “Come on then, Kiara. If you’re done wallowing in your own filth, let’s get this over with.”

“As you say. Come, Saber. Shall we dance?”

“…I smell the scene of rot in you, woman. The time has come to pluck you from the vine with my own hands. As you have set the table, so I shall sit down to feast.”

Kiara claps her hands together, delighted. “Oh my, how lovely! I’m so glad to see you have accepted my invitation and received my teachings honestly with your heart. After all, the first step on the path to enlightenment is to renounce one’s heavenly desires, is it not?”

“… Saber?”

She shuts out that frightened voice. It hurts, it hurts, but… win, win—she just needs to win. To cut this woman down, so she can…

So she can?

So she can devour her heart, bite by bite. So she can reclaim the throne that belongs to her, the cracked egg in the branches of the blooming Sakura tree, shining down the light of civilization on them as they stand in the blood of humanity, so that she can gather it in that grail, her crystal glass, and watch as it pours over onto the earth below, as the fire spreads at her feet.

Her head hurts. Blood seeps down through her hair, and she catches some of it on her tongue as it passes beside her nose, into her mouth. Rich, salt, iron. The fruit of conquest, of germinating empire.

“Saber!”

She charges forward again, and as she sees those rapid mudras begin once more, she rends her sword through the waters at their feet, and a foul scarlet wave rushes ahead of her, floating lotus blossoms bobbing up, turning over like helpless ships in an angry sea.

She laughs, imperious, hollow, anguished, as she charges forward, bursting through the swell.

Kiara raises a hand to stop her, the wave parting around her, but Saber bursts through it at her side, flanking her, and puts her whole weight into spinning, stabbing forth with all her strength—shattering that barrier, taking her foe in the side, drawing out a cry somewhere between scream of pain and heat laugh, her burning blade hissing and crackling as it rends through spiritronized flesh. She groans in satisfaction at the first taste of this extravagant gift.

“What a delicacy you will make. The appetites of a dozen burgeoning cities, fallen and decadent, condensed down into the body of one woman.” She looks into those gold eyes, wells to the hollow where all the desires of humanity collect to steep and mature. She twists her blade in the wound, and Kiara’s body jerks. “I shall be sure to clean my plate.”

Kiara steps closer, approaching like a lover through a doorway, sword sliding deeper into her body, and strikes Saber in her sternum. Flashes of muddied, amalgamated desires tear through her thoughts even as the blow fractures bone: the unfulfilled promise of decadence, starvation after feasting, an unending cycle. Sharp pain, the dull and intoxicating burn of want, mingle together like a dizzying, fragrant wine. She shudders, overcome, and then seizes that wrist and bites into it deep, like ripe fruit, like meat, raw and bloody, tendons and bone, the deeply marinated craving of a myriad living souls swirling down to the hollow in her gut as Kiara moans in agony.

(Somewhere far away, someone calls her name. The echo of mortal shame tugs at her, and she pushes it away).

But Kiara offers her arm up to Saber’s face, does not so much as flinch to pull away. “There you are,” she soothes, voice hot. “See?” Her other hand comes up to stroke the back of Saber’s neck, softly, encouraging, even as she licks at her bones, lips and tongue and teeth, inside her. “I—ahh—always knew our tastes would be aligned, if you could only let your hair down. Would you please me, down on Earth? Live in depravity, voluptuary, chasing your own ends?” She tucks a hair behind Saber’s ear, the wet sound of consumption smacking like a deep kiss. “Accept my love, and your place in paradise: an endless banquet where the ten thousand-colored decadence of humanity blankets the land, want and excess and prosperity swelling and withering on the vine.”

She salivates, and gnaws, and dreams. City after city, conquest and shattered spears, empires at their apex with gravity just taking hold—hers to savor and take in forever. The unquiet spirits that roil behind Kiara reach out to her, dozens of beseeching hands grasping toward her. All the while, the fantasy smoulders in her gut, tempting, yearning.

But she has to kill this woman here. To devour her.

She releases that arm, and wrenches her sword free, and Kiara gasps, eyes fluttering and rolling, legs going weak, as Saber pulls back into a high guard, preparing to shear those generous arms off by the shoulder.

But in that moment, those binding threads cast by Kiara’s quick hands steal her momentum, long enough for her target to dance back out of her range.

“A pity,” Kiara laments. “But you have been wonderful. I can at least content myself to thoroughly enjoy you at your fullest, in the end.”

All the hairs on her body stand up.

Andersen is saying something. She doesn’t hear it. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. Kiara clasps her hands together—her wrist is already better, like new.

Spiritrons gather with foreboding density, and she can feel the laws of the space they occupy run thin.

Saber races toward her, all agility, animal quickness.

But too slow. She won’t reach in time

“The hour of salvation has arrived. Those who are still alive—nghh!”

A familiar ring of energy collapses around her, disrupting the flow of spiritrons, and Saber instinctually takes advantage of the moment, landing a clean strike across her chest, mangling one of those perfect breasts—but a moment later, all evidence of the strike is gone.

They clash again, sword inches from outstretched palm.

“Your Master is persistent. Unshakable, unlike her Servant.”

A pang runs through her.

Again and again, the two of them exchange blows. Clashing, feinting, riposting. She takes a hit to her ribs, and then her shoulder A cut across Kiara’s thighs, across her stomach—rich, satisfying, but so fleeting: unlike her, her opponent doesn’t flag in the slightest, and is back to full condition in a second.She can feel her grip on victory slipping, desperation setting in.

A blow to her head makes her vision swim, and she steps back, covering the distance with her blade as she disengages. She begins to warily circle Kiara, who stands still, watching her.

Those sharp, accepting eyes pick details from her face, from her body, and Kiara smiles at her, patient, kind.

“You understand, don’t you? Yes, we truly are compatible. Your seeking fang, your hungry flames…” she sighs, a hand coming up to her impassioned lips, eyes dewy. “Ah, it’s like a dream. You truly are giving it your best. But, dear Saber, did you forget? I have an Authority over craving. All The World’s Desire is pointed at me, and living things take succor from my flesh. But in that fleeting satisfaction, want is never satisfied: and so that craving returns again to me.”

A cold sweat breaks out on Saber’s body.

Kiara smiles, sweet, radiant as the golden clouds that surround their battlefield, while that formless mass of spirits that lies behind her struggles and clutches and cling to her, a hundred grasping hands, and that giant smoldering death’s head lurks, watches, from above. “I see you understand. If you would like to indulge yourself in this body, by all means, continue. But if your object is victory… triumph…”

Desperation. Humiliation.

“I think you may find that more difficult to come by.”

Crush. She has to crush her, like a ripe tomato between her teeth.

The ground trembles. A peal of distant thunder rumbles through the throne room, and tiny ripples form in the water.

For some reason, a pang of sorrow runs through her. But she knows this is the only thing left.

She lifts her head—

And startles, as two hands slap the side of her face.

“You stupid Emperor! You were the one who said you would always answer if I called for you! Listen to me when I try to get your attention!”

Oh. There are tears in her eyes.

Her Master is standing there before her, in the middle of the field of battle, her back to the enemy. Of course she is.

Of course she is.

She takes hold of her waist with one hand, pulling Hakuno behind herself, and the other comes up to parry Kiara’s killing strike.

“Aha, I see you—“

“Silence! My Praetor is speaking!”

Her riposte strikes Kiara in the kneecap, smashing the intricate bone there, dropping her too her knees with a scream.

Leaping backward, Master in tow, she creates a wide berth of distance between them.

Midair, she makes eye contact with her foe. Kiara glares at her from the floor, water lapping up over her hands, horns bent low. Her eye twitches.

They land, and Saber sets her Master down. But she won’t meet her gaze.

“Look at me.”

“I need to—“

“Saber, look at me. I mean it. Please.”

She can hardly bear to do it. She has thrown away all her pride, tarnished and bloodied the gold that she wears, shown a side of herself that even the lowest would sneer at. She has nothing left to offer her Master of that bounty she brought from the Throne: neither reassurance, a steadfast back to chase, nor the strength to stand as her champion, as she promised so long ago, in that place of death at the bottom of the Lunar Sea, far away on the Near Side of the Moon.

But she does still have faith. She has the faith they’ve built in each other.

And so she looks again into those eyes.

“There you are,” Hakuno Kishinami says. “Thank goodness.” She smiles.

Her lip wobbles a little bit. But she does not cry.

That kind hand, with only one command seal remaining, touches her face. “It’s okay, Saber.”

She knows that nothing is okay. But still… still, it’s comforting, to hear those words from that voice.

“I don’t think any less of you, you know. I just… learned more about the person you choose to be. Surrounded by darkness, but still shining on that stage… That’s my Saber. The person I admire, who taught me how to live as a human being. To lead a beautiful life.”

She does sob, this time.

It’s undignified, unworthy of her, but perhaps… perhaps in front of her Empress is the proper place for an Emperor to show that side of herself.

Behind her, she hears splashing, as Kiara stands.

“Even so,” she starts, voice wavering, as Hakuno wipes a warm tear track from her cheek, “even so, I… I’m not strong enough.”

“Nothing we’ve done has ever been certain,” Hakuno says. “We’ve always been the underdog. All we’ve ever promised each other was our best.”

Truly nothing, nothing can soothe her the way this woman can.

Kiara’s fist is clenched, but her eyes are misty and lost

“… I don’t understand. Surely my sermon was without fault. How could this be the outcome? It makes no sense.”

Her Servant laughs at her openly.

“Seriously, Kiara! You were so embarrassed about reading fairy tales, and yet you still couldn’t see this coming! As a reader, you should reflect on yourself a little!”

Hakuno takes both of her hands

“I need to keep this last Command Seal for when we win. But… but if I can ask anything of you, as your Master… I want to see you perform. I want to see you shine brighter than you’ve ever shone. And whatever comes after, I’ll be satisfied. Can you do that for me?”

She brings herself to her full height, chest puffed out, smiling through the tears.

Really. She never needed anyone else’s love, anyone else’s regard. So what has she to fear?

“Umu! You need not even ask! But hearing those words, I must raise my sights beyond the heavens! My Master, my Praetor. Your loyalty is just! Allow me to show you the art of a genius that reaches the very gods!”

She turns to face their opponents once again, emboldened, blood singing, blinking the last tears from her eyes. A pristine rose in bloom manifests in her fingers, and she closes her eyes as she takes in its familiar fragrance

Kiara begins a series of mudras, but her Master, whos heart beats as one with Saber’s own, preempts the attack with the codecast she inherited from Leo, setting the stage as she has so many times before.

Heart full, pride and love and wonder ringing throughout her body, she tosses a single rose into the air and as she charges forth, she declares:

“Behold my genius! Listen to the thunderous applause! The glory of the Empire is here!”

With a flash, a single magnificent stroke in one impossible stride as she passes over that glorious inlaid golden floor, she cleaves past Kiara’s defenses just as that flower comes to rest on marble.

“Throw open the doors like a flower in bloom…”

Once again she stands on that stage where all the beauty of the world’s beauty gathers, where storms of rose petals fall like snow: stands proud before a beloved audience who truly appreciates her art, stands in the light of the sun where she can shine unparalleled like she has so often in her dearest dreams.

“… to my Golden Theater!”

[ikarust]

trésor      /      single star in the sky, twilit night. crack the moon open and     see the opal in the center. translucent   glowing   sun-struck   cosmic jewel.

tesoro   /      rarest pearl in the heart of the sea. slay the guardian beast and     take it as a trophy.   luminescent   sparkling    dawn-dusted    ocean's diamond.

                               you are every first drop of rain of every summer storm       i want to catch you on my tongue. feel the break in the heat, the sweetness of the sky.

      the gold at the underside of every strike of lightning.     you are the most unseen of summertime enigmas   the kind that you only witness if you are    out of your mind*.      you smile at me with the sweetness of shaved ice in a summertime fruit drink      and i melt for you like i am what's at the edge of the glass that touches the sun.

you taste like cold honey when i kiss you      we lay together, and i watch the way you watch my eyes, my reflection in yours like you are in mine       and i think that we could drown like this      off the coast at the deep end where the shallow sea floor gives way and there is just an endless void of high noon blue.   

    will you return to the sky, trésor? will you sink into the sea, tesoro?

make me into a man on a mission. send me into outer space to look for you. lure me into the ocean like a legend. i will follow the sound of you to the end of the world and back       i will weave us into a modern retelling of orpheus and his lover       dig myself into the ground for you, climb into the astral plane for you        anything. my summertime enigma, my cosmic jewel, my ocean's diamond.

my trésor       /       my tesoro

[cherryflavoredprettyboy]

My 2024 Trend Predictions

Disclaimer! Trends are bullshit!!! What’s “in” and “out” is totally subjective and fashion is an art form, public opinion and new crazes have no impact on the real art and following trends is your choice. Trend cycles are sped up so violently by capitalism and fast fashion as a beast, fashion is supposed to be fun.

This list is my opinions as a 19 year old boy who spends too much time online and read too much vogue as a kid. I am not an expert, I just like to talk.

Indie Sleaze

I’m already seeing this one happening, the colored tights under shorts, the fur vests, I think especially with the popularity of saltburn and it’s aesthetics we’ll see a lot more of this in the beginning of this new year. Graphic t-shirts with ironic phrases were already big in 2023, glitter and silver makeup especially is on the rise, this is already happening and I am excited. I fucking love indie sleaze. Nostalgia is a huge impact on trend cycles, I think we’ll see a lot of 2000 and 2010s trends seeing as the generations looking up to teens following those trends in their childhoods and longing to live those lifestyles are now old enough to embrace that dream. I think for people more into alternative fashion this will translate into a emo and scene resurgence that I’ve already been seeing.

Twee

This is based off the nostalgia again, I think a lot of folks who gravitate more towards cottage core-esque fashions and aesthetics are going to start embracing twee. 2024 is going to be a year of embracing cringe and quirky “individualism”, it is the year of the manic pixie dream girl, is is the year of pissing off boring men with “annoying” femininity. I think cutesy patterns, lace, buttons, diy big jewelry and hair accessories are gonna be on the rise. I can see girls making videos about their craft nights on tiktok already. Skater skirts, Peter Pan collars, bangs, Jess from new girl eat your heart out.

“Humble” Classy/reverse flexing

People are getting tired of the insistence on being “classy”, I think in 2024 we’re going to see a lot of celebrities trying to seem humble and average and down to earth. I think we’ll see a lot of brand mixing, super expensive designer paired with cheap every day brands, I think we’ll see this in clothes and especially in food. I think we’ll see a lot of branding for fast food popping up alongside that “classy” aesthetic. I think that this will also show up more with thrifting becoming popular again amongst influencers but specifically thrifting for designer/up cycling designer (badly). They’ll sell it under a veil of sustainability, it’ll be infuriatingly shallow.

Lightning Round

Pom poms

Feathers (especially hair feathers)

Fur in mens fashion

Metallic makeup

Grungy makeup looks

Full coverage foundations/matte foundations

Peplums (somehow)

Skinny jeans

Jewel toned nails

Short nails

Dainty chokers

Statement earrings

Wood/leather jewelry

Flats

Vintage anime merch

2000s/2010s brand mascots

Mod style

70s resurgence moments throughout (this is wistful thinking I just love the fashion of the 70s)

My Trend Timeline

End of winter into spring- indie sleazing our way into the new year, I think it’s a versatile enough fashion that can be easily executed with what people already have from previous trends in 2023. Everything is set up rolling out into the warmer months.

Summer- I think this is going to be prime time “trashy” early 2000s party girl kind of time. We got a little of it last summer but I think it’s going to really hit this year. Whale tails, chunky low lights, messy makeup, bedazzled jeans. I think we’ll also see some keywest kitten esque looks from the preppier side of things, lots of bright colors and fun jewelry. I think we’ll also get a lot of vintage Americana moments, once again we got a bit of it last year and I think it’ll be brought back.

Fall- peak twee season, especially nearing the holidays. I think we’re gonna see a lot of rich color this fall too, jewel tones, beautiful deep greens and reds, not a lot in clothing but I think definitely in makeup and accessories. Around this time I think the preppier leaning folks will get back into skinny jeans. I think vintage graphic Ts will also get popular around this time, something easy but still interesting. Men’s fashion doesn’t cycle through as quickly so I think the kind of 70s aesthetics I’ve seen a lot of dudes into will continue (but I think they’ll also get in on the indie sleaze, I think for mens fashion it will stick around for fall). I think we’ll see more textures, lace, fur, leather, etc.

Winter- this is right around when I think the forced “casually classy” down to earth bs will start. Twee will continue amongst a smaller group and we’ll see a lot of cute diy gifts and stuff for the holidays, this will also impact the up cycling I think we’ll see from influencers and celebrities. I think hyper-feminine aesthetics will really kick back up, Pom poms, whites and pinks, skirts and big sweaters, Ralph Lauren teddy bears everywhere. It’ll be contrasted by a new interest in grungy/intense makeup looks, thin brows and dark lips, messy eyes, glitter.

I’m very excited for these all to turn out totally wrong and for me to make a fool of myself! But who gives a shit, I’m just saying this all for fun. Happy new year everyone!

- Valentine <3

[dantesunbreaker]

NSFW: In the Night Part I

(Terzo x AFAB!Reader)

TW: Blood, implied character death, vomiting blood

You find Terzo waiting in your room, ready to begin a night of carnal bliss. But you can't shake the feeling there is something you are missing. That something is wrong. 

This is something I've been working on since before Halloween! If everything works out as I hope, it should be a three part story!

Something seems off the moment you step into your bedroom, sensing something is different, an eerie chill drifting in from the open balcony doors. But.. you don’t remember leaving them open. A figure stands at the railing, their back to you, dressed in fine and crisp black dress clothes. Slowly you make your approach, unable to see their face, but you can feel the heaviness of their presence. Your heart rate picks up. There is an unfamiliar tension in the air, a feeling that something is not quite right.

But as you reach a hand out, the figure turns towards you. Familiar, comforting mismatched eyes gaze back at you, eyes that you would know anywhere. Terzo. A smile splits across his face, the lines at the corners of his lips pronounced, wrinkles moving to express the mirth. His smile is infectious, tugging at your own lips as Terzo closes the distance between you. In an instant you don’t even think to question that gnawing feeling at the back of your mind telling you something is amiss. With Terzo here with you, how could anything be wrong?

“Oh amore mio, as always it is so wonderful to see you,” Terzo beams as he reaches out for you, hands reaching out to cup your cheeks and pull you close.

But you gasp at the feeling of his hands on your flushed cheeks. They are ice cold.

“Terzo, you’re freezing!” The tremble in your voice gives away your rising concern, but cold lips pepper you with soft kisses until your heart rate settles.

“Guess you will just have to warm me up then,” Terzo pulls away, giving you a playful wink as his hands settle at your hips.

The cold still seems to seep through even the layers of clothes, but you can feel it steadily begin to fade. Your body becomes the fuel to warm you both. Terzo always has a way of putting you at ease.

“Alright, I think I can help,” you finally respond with your own teasing smirk, pulling him by the front of his shirt for a kiss. 

Together you stay lip locked until you can feel the warmth gradually return to Terzo’s lips, becoming soft and malleable, allowing you to properly melt into the kiss. Allowing you to completely succumb to his dark, seductive charm. Terzo walks you backwards towards the bed, never breaking your kiss until the back of your knees hit the edge. The look Terzo gives as he watches you shuffle up the bed is near ravenous. As if he were some hungry beast looking at what would soon be their next tasty meal. You can feel the throbbing between your thighs as Terzo crawls up the bed after you, descending upon you.

Teeth graze the pulse point of your neck, hands gliding down your body until one hand cups your clothed sex. You jolt, arching further into him at the stark contrast of Terzo’s freezing touch on your heat. Terzo grins against the delicate skin of your neck. Adding light pressure, he rubs you through the layers of fabric separating you. 

“Dolcezza,” Terzo punctuates the pet name with a nip of your flesh. “Oh how I have missed you, missed the feeling of your warmth.” For a moment  you are unsure if he simply means the heat of your body, or the heat of your sex as he presses his entire body up against yours, as if  trying to absorb as much warmth as he can into himself.

Muscles coiled tight from the cold, you let out a shallow breath as you snake a hand around the back of his neck. Terzo’s face stays buried in the crook of your neck as you hold him to you, not wanting to ever let him go. 

“How can you miss me?” Your fingers trail up to card through Terzo’s raven black hair as his kisses travel lower. “You know I am always right here, always ready for whenever you should ever need me.”

There is a brief flashing sting of pain as teeth nip at your collarbone, your startled gasp of a moan drowning out Terzo’s sorrowful sigh. If only your words were still true. But before the mood has the chance to dampen, Terzo rucks up the bottom of your shirt to expose a small strip of skin along your lower belly. Though not as sharp as before, there is still a bite as cold fingers caress your skin. You want more. Wiggling your hips, you try to coax  your Papa to explore more of your body further. Back arched,  you push up into him with an encouraging moan.

“Oh tesoro,” you can hear the smirk in his voice already. “So eager for more and yet I’ve barely touched you.”

Normally, Terzo would drag out your torture for as long as possible. Ever the tease. But he seems struck by a similar sense of urgency and need, for he takes mercy on you. Deft fingers unbutton  your pants, dragging the zipper down and sliding them off your legs with practiced ease. Though, he halts for a moment at your underwear, taking the time to admire the damp patch between your thighs. Soon those too are removed, leaving you bare from the waist down.

“Ah, bellissimo. Perfection,” Terzo purrs, one hand squeezing your outer thigh as the other pushes your shirt further up, encouraging you to remove it. When your last layer of protection is gone, he hums in appreciation. “What a wonderful offering, and to think it’s all for me.”

While speaking, Terzo shifts lower down your body, hands holding your thighs open as he slots himself between them. Mismatched eyes stay locked with your own as his face lowers until his lips hover just inches above your pubic bone. You can feel cold breath fan out across your heated flesh, making you shiver. Equally anxious and excited, you bite your lip in anticipation as you are fixed with a devious grin. Half a gasp leaves you the moment Terzo’s lips press into the soft skin of your lower abdomen. Soft kisses trailing across your skin lower and lower until he pauses right before reaching where you want him most.

“Look at you,” Terzo purrs, “absolutely dripping for your Papa.”

With a whine, you try to arch your hips up to close the distance between you. Chuckling, Terzo pulls back just enough to stay out of reach.

“Patience, caro,” when you settle back against the bed, he moves back in. “Let me admire you first.”

Carefully, treating you as if you were an intricate piece of artwork, Terzo uses his hands to spread your folds open for his viewing pleasure. With the intensity of his gaze, it is as if he were trying to save a picture perfect image of you in his memory. Only inches away, you can feel his freezing breath tingle your wetness. Your hands clutch at the sheets below, balling the fabric with your fists as you fight the urge to lift your hips. But Terzo seems pleased with your restraint and rewards you for your good behavior. It starts with a simple teasing lick with the tip of his tongue from ass to clit. But it’s enough to make you snap. One hand buries into Terzo’s ebony locks, securing him in place as your hips lift to buck against his face. 

Terzo gets the message loud and clear. The tip of his nose nudges at your clit as his tongue caresses your entrance. You mewl and moan, head thrown back into the pillows in bliss as he presses deeper. Devouring you as if you were his last meal, Terzo ensures that not even a single inch of you goes untouched. It’s electrifying. Your muscles constrict, coiling tight as your mind can only focus on the pleasure Terzo so freely gives. All that exists in this moment in time is you and him.

A hand seeks out your own that remains tangled in the sheets, a soft encouragement as your chokehold switches over to Terzo’s hand. Tears spring to the corners of your eyes, desperate for more as your hips grind against Terzo’s face in search of more friction. But Terzo always seems to know exactly what you need, knowing you as well as the back of his own hand. Never a selfish lover, Terzo will not rest until you are drunk on pleasure.

You can’t hold back a scream the moment you feel lips seal over your aching bundle of nerves. Encouraged by your enthusiasm, Terzo doubles down, pinning your hips to the bed as his tongue circles you, sucking you further into his mouth. The muscles in your legs quiver, thighs aching to snap closed around Terzo to keep him locked against you. Tension starts in the center of your body, a tight coil pulling tighter and tighter until you can feel its hold spreading throughout to the rest of your body. Muscles taut, you fight desperately against the need to burst at the seams with pleasure. 

But Terzo reads you like a book, picking up on your resistance. While putting extra pressure with his tongue, Terzo effortlessly slides two fingers up to the knuckle within your welcoming heat. All stars seem to align as the coil inside you snaps,  your orgasm crashing down upon you, nearly arching your back completely off the bed as your hips buck without abandon. Your Papa continues to pump two fingers in and out of you with the help of your thrusts, working you through your orgasm while his tongue moves to caress your folds to prolong the pleasure without pushing you into overstimulation. 

As you slowly regain your senses, able to slow your breathing as your hips stop moving, a blissed smile crosses your face as Terzo pulls away and sits back to look at you. By some miracle, there is not a single smudge on his Papal paints. But you don’t allow yourself the time to give it much thought. He looks simply too irresistible with lips still glistening with your arousal. 

“That’s a good look for you, Papa,” you practically purr as you sit up, stalking across the bed until you are nearly sitting in Terzo’s lap. Tilting his chin up with one finger, you trace along his jawline before giving him an open mouth kiss. Your taste is so divine when it is from his lips. “But I think it is a little selfish for you not to share.” 

Not needing to wait for elaboration, Terzo makes quick work of shedding clothing until he is equally as bare as you are before him. As you gaze at him, you can’t help but feel an unexplainable pang in your chest. Just as he had before, you try to commit every detail to memory so you can call back upon it whenever you desire. Your Papa is immaculate, and he is all yours.

“Like what you see, tesoro? You seem a bit stunned for words,” Terzo is cheeky as his knees hit the edge of the mattress, gliding back up to rest beside you on the bed.

“Always,” you are brought out of your daze, shifting to focus on Terzo’s impeccable hard cock  that so eagerly awaits your attention. A hiss passes through your teeth the moment you wrap your hand around his girth. “Fucking hell, just as cold as the rest of you!” 

Terzo actually gives you a look that one could say passes for sympathy, not wanting you to feel obligated to continue any further. But you are not one to let a little discomfort stop you. 

“Caro, we do not have to-” Terzo starts to withdraw, but you give a couple of experimental strokes along his cock with one hand before taking his entirety into the warmth of your mouth. Suddenly it is him that is at a loss for words, cutting off with a moan as his head tilts back. 

It is no worse than deepthroating a popsicle. For a brief moment the cold stings, but it is swift to fade as you stroke the underside of Terzo’s cock with your tongue. 

“I told you I was going to warm you up,” you pull back just enough to sling a witty remark at your Papa who watches you with wide eyes as you sink back around him.

Your cheeks hollow, lips sealing around him so the heat cannot escape. Terzo groans, giving a gentle thrust up into you as a hand settles over the back of your head. Not to push or pull, simply to create another point of contact with you, to feel closer to you. Your soft hum of approval vibrates around Terzo’s cock, causing an involuntary rough jerk of the hips that leaves your nose pressed flush against his neatly trimmed patch of hair. 

Nothing prepares you though for the sounds Terzo makes when you reach to cup his balls, gently rolling each one in hand until they are of equal temperature with your body. You take your job seriously after all, and that entails being very thorough. Sweet and salty, you can taste Terzo’s precum on your tongue. But this is not how you plan for the night to end, and neither does Terzo. Just as you move to pull off him, Terzo gives a light tug of your hair as he shifts his hips as far back as the space allows.

“As good as your mouth feels amore, it is not where I wish to bury my seed this evening,” Terzo looks softly down into your eyes when just his head remains resting on your reddened lips. Hands cup your cheeks, lifting you up to press your lips together.

When you part, Terzo sits back on his heels to watch you shimmy up the length of the bed to lay back against the pillows once more. Your legs fall open for him automatically, already ready and waiting for him by the time Terzo settles between your thighs. One of his hands falls to his cock, giving it a firm tug as he lines himself up with your dripping entrance. Eyes meet, searching each other for any remaining hesitance before coming together. But you find none. In one solid thrust, Terzo seats himself fully within you.

“Cazzo!” Terzo buckles, folding over to hover just above you, supported by one arm resting beside your head. “You feel better than I remember, so tight and warm. A perfect fit, as if you were made for taking my cock.”

Your moan in response is soft and needy, a gentle breathy sound that punches the air out of Terzo’s lungs. This time it is you to gently cup Terzo’s cheeks, giving a reassuring smile as you arch up to kiss his lips, patiently waiting for him to regain his senses. A quick snap of his hips has you yelping in surprise, quickly followed by warm laughter. Terzo begins at a slow pace, dragging himself along your walls in just the right way to have your pleasure quickly building. You have a feeling neither of you will be able to last very long. There is a feeling you can’t quite place, as if it had been so long since your last time together. But that wasn’t possible.

“Oh fuck!” You can’t keep your train of thoughts together as the head of your Papa’s cock strikes that sweet spot inside you with each thrust. “Right there Terzo! Fuck me harder, I want to cum on your cock!”

Dropping to brace himself with both arms, Terzo gives a devilish grin before attacking your neck with open mouth kisses. Keening, you arch your hips as Terzo’s hips pick up force and speed, pummeling you into the mattress. Your arms snake around his torso, nails digging for purchase into the muscle of his back, leaving angry red welts in their wake. 

Teeth graze your collarbone, just shy of being painful as Terzo rams into you hard enough to make the bed shake. Already you can feel your end drawing near, itching to come undone around him. Gasping moans leave you, panting out your pleasure with the rhythm of Terzo’s hips.

“Yes, let me hear you!” Terzo grunts into your ear, voice a thick growl as your legs hook around him, keeping him caged against you. 

Trapped within your hold, Terzo can only give shallow but hard thrusts. Hard enough you can feel the bruises already forming on your skin. But it is everything that you need. With a thud, your head hits the pillows as you arch against Terzo, taking him as deep as you can as you claw into him. Your internal walls tighten around him, squeezing him as you fight against the tension consuming your body. Every move Terzo makes leaves you seeing stars, whimpering as you silently plea for him to spill inside you. 

You are not left waiting for long, for the moment you let out a cry as your own climax overtakes you, Terzo lets out a beautiful moan as he gives one last heavy thrust before stilling while seated fully within you. His arms slide under you, scooping you up off the mattress to hold you against his chest as you ride out each other’s orgasms together, hips weakly thrusting as your muscles spasm.

When the aftershocks finally die, your breathing gradually slowing back to normal, Terzo carefully pulls out, gazing into your eyes with a look of longing. Your smile is happy and lazy as you hold Terzo’s face in your hands, thumbs tracing along his cheeks. A gentle kiss is shared before Terzo lowers you back onto the bed, dropping down to lie beside you. There you rest for a few moments before you start to rise to go clean up.

“Stay,” Terzo wraps a hand around your wrist, willing you not to leave the bed. “Please, just stay here with me. There is always the morning to clean up, but this moment is only for now.”

There is something about the look in his eyes, a look of deep longing and remorse, as if afraid to let you out of his sight for even a moment. It breaks your heart just to see. With a soft nod, you settle back into the bed, pressing as close up to him as you can.

“Of course, Terzo,” you hum as you nuzzle your nose along the bottom of his jaw. “Anything for you.”

You watch the corners of his lips turn up, but the look in his eyes doesn’t quite fully fade away. But soon it is far from your thoughts as you begin to drift, exhausted by your carnal activities. Darkness washes over you as you fall into dreamless slumber.

Some hours into the night, something pulls you from that darkness of your slumber, a noise coming from the opposite side of the bed. Gurgling. Like the sound of someone choking on their own saliva. Heavy eyes shift slowly as you turn your head towards the sound. There you find Terzo sitting upright in the bed, hands cupped before him, the light of the moon filtering through the windows forming a soft halo of light around him. You try to blink the haze from your eyes, but you can already sense the darkness creeping back in.

“Terzo?” You manage to squeeze his name out as little more than a whisper. But it catches his attention.

For a moment the gurgling stops, a stark silence filling the room as you watch Terzo’s head slowly turn towards the sound of your voice, his white eye seemingly glowing through the darkness. While it grows harder and harder to keep your eyes open, the black fog creeping in closer and closer, you will yourself to fight as long as you are able. Using what strength you can gather, your eyes strain to make out the details of Terzo’s face. What you see however, makes you wish you had stayed asleep. 

Once pristine paint is cracked and smudged, streaks of pale skin clearly visible underneath. Worst of all though is the thick rivers dripping from Terzo’s delicate lips. In the dim light you can just barely catch the soft gleam of red. Your gaze travels further down until stopping on a sight that makes your breath catch in your throat, heart thudding hard against your chest. A perfect ring circles Terzo’s neck and from it flows a steady current of blood.

Terzo opens his mouth as if to speak, eyes twinkling with a mixture of emotions as he fixes you with a heartbreaking expression, but all that comes is a choked gurgle as blood bubbles up and seeps down his chin. His hands shift, moving below his face, held together as a cup. It’s then that you notice the crimson stains already along Terzo’s fingers and palms. 

“Terzo,” is all but a whimper passing through your lips as you reach one hand out towards him, a hollow offering of help. But no help could ever save him now.

Just before your fingertips can brush against him, trembling under the duality of his gaze, you drop as the darkness falls over your eyes. Through the fog you can swear you feel the faint tingle of a soft caress along your cheek. At your temple, the comforting press of lips to skin is the last thing you remember before you are completely lost to the world of slumber once more.

[cheersyouslxg]

Imo König's a sweet man, but anyone in a brown/black family can expect that he'll have trouble in family gatherings

So I am whitest little crayon in the box and I don’t speak to my family and never had a loving environment growing up (hence my delusion that I could fix these broken masked men…). so I really have no expertise on this but I’m insanely curious as to why specifically brown/black families would be trouble for him if you feel comfy sharing? 👀

╰┈➤ 👑 König 👑 »»———- All That Matters ———-««

Triggers: anxiety, negative thinking, really bad assumption of a normal loving family ?

I do think in any social gathering König’s heart is beating out of his damned chest like a prisoner banging their cup against the bars of his rib cage. And though he is trying so badly to be cordial and kind and welcoming, he can’t help but look like desth standing there at 6’10, quite literally looming over everyone with anxiety painted all over those pretty eyes of his. It may not be noticeable to everyone else, and they probably mistake his fear for passive annoyance,,,, but you can tell and do your best to drag him through the sea of your extended family towards the bathroom as you make up some excuse that requires privacy and his assistance.

“König? Honey, are you okay?” The bathroom is way too small to house such a beast of a man, bending to even get through the doorway and now stuffed against the toilet seat and the wall, using this break to lift his mask and breathe. Ragged, shallow breaths spill from his mouth, eyes shutting to avoid the flood of tears threatening a panic attack.

“Mein schatz…” he mumbles, leaning into her touch at his cheek, engulfed by his arms clinging tightly to her. “M’so sorry…” failure plagues his entire being, wracked with the guilt of being such a pathetic man that can’t even handle the light conversing of his favorite human beings family. He wants so badly to please her, to make them like him and approve of him but the gut wrenching fear of never being enough for this angel who saved his life when she walked through it and demanded his time.

“Oh, sweetie, you have nothing to be sorry for!” She cooes, understanding that at the best of times her family can be abrupt and overwhelming… especially her cousins who think they’re the next top picks for Comedy Central. Her mother is a little to anxious for grandchildren, and her father is over protective who packs on the imposing questions with a stare almost as intimidating as her boyfriends. He quivers in her grasp, a small hand smoothing over his back as she holds the back of his head like comforting a child. “It’s okay, Kö… I promise, they adore you. They’re just a lot to handle. Even for me.” Her laugh is light, feeling his grip tighten like a boa constricting it’s prey.

“What if they don’t approve of me…? I’m such a-“ the translation of the word was lost on him, only thinking about the hatred he felt towards himself and the anxiety clawing up his throat. “I embarrassed you today.” He in fact did no such thing. König was the perfect house guest, but his own negative perception of himself blinded him from the truth.

“What? You did not! You are doing so well. I would have expected you to run for the hills and block my number after my uncle started showing you his embarrassing baseball card collection.” In person was one thing… but having an entire album dedicated to a thousand and plus baseball cards? She wondered how his phone kept any other storage. “Even if this tanked, which it didn’t, it wouldn’t matter! I know you’re the greatest guy in the world… that’s all that matters.”

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by : @aceghosts (thank you so much!!)

tagging: @wrathfulrook @anonymousmalkavian @fourlittleseedlings @harmonyowl @mccarthycormac @mxanigel @madparadoxum @jillvalentinesday @confidentandgood @trench-rot @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @neverthesameneveranother @sukoshimikan @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @poetikat @fangsandroses @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt

writing tag list here to be added/removed

Back to working on American Beasts, and I am in the thick of Kit meeting Carter and Quinn for the first time. (warnings for mentions of death/ animal death, and Kit's general mental health):

The sprawling wilderness of evergreen trees carried on around Kit in all directions with no sign of stopping. Clinging to the trunks of the trees, she moved forward at a careful crawl, trying to keep her energy from depleting further. Plodding forward, her boots melted into the mossy carpet below her feet, comforting like a mattress she could topple onto. She could close her weary eyes and rest. Just a short rest… 

Pain stabbed through her and her knees began to buckle. She was a crushed soda can, the contents of her pouring out of the wound in her chest. Barking out dry, ragged coughs into the frigid air, clawing at her chest, desperate to rip the bullet from herself like an animal with stitches, chewing despite the harm it would do. Blood caught under her nails. She remembered hearing about other vets taking to meth when they came home as a way to deal with the pain and the nightmares, only to be burdened with imaginary bugs crawling under their skin, picking and scratching away at themselves to get the insects out. She understood that feeling now. Understood that fear. She was burning alive. God, it felt like her skin was on fire as the bullet lodged itself deeper inside, searching out the warm, dark places of her – if she wasn’t slowly dying from it, she might have laughed – her heart was certainly a fitting place as the lead seeped throughout her flesh, poisoning her. 

Her thoughts began to drift, survival still very much on the tip of her tongue as she started to replay Jacob’s speeches in her head. Humans were born with an innate sense of survival. Fight or flight. Her whole life she had lived with these apparent laws in her head, the same laws her father had instilled in her. Survival was something she knew intimately about. It defined her, a characteristic of who she was, something brought to the surface when most others became soft and learned to ignore what had been programmed into them over millions of years of evolution. The fear of snakes, spiders and sharks bred into the DNA. She was an anomaly. Most people didn’t go running into fire, they didn’t search out the danger the way she did. She faced it headlong, determined to make it bow to her, it was like she couldn’t feel it. Her brain muted the fear, quieting the sense that would have made her stop if she were a reasonable person. 

Yet more things left broken inside her. 

Crumpling to her knees, the blood rushing from her head, Kit could feel the world spinning around her, all one thousand miles per hour of it. Her breaths leaked out in gasps, hitching in her throat before her lungs would deflate again. Vision tunneling…seeing in black and white…pinpricks of light scattered before her eyes, a universe coming into being as everything went dark. Her whole chest cavity about to implode. All she had left to run on was instinct, her senses failing as they shut down around her. 

This was the end. 

But like a zombie, her body carried on, searching out the path back home. It had no compass, no map, it wandered aimlessly. Survival hinged on her giving in, succumbing, relying on the hands of her maker to guide her. Like Moses through the desert she wandered, her weary mind unable to detect even East from West using what little of the sun was left. Her feet would carry her, one step in front of the other. Marching. Forever marching. As if it were fated for her to never settle. 

The spongy layer of top soil and black earth she was sure she would fall into and be buried by, left to rot for all time, gave way to gravel. The distinct crunch pulled her to reality like a tether, tying her to the here and the now. She stared down at her boot, the toe scuffed and worn, caked with mud and beaded with rain water. Kit had walked for miles on end, into the silence that consumed the mountains and created its own plane of existence. One where she had been free to become a beast, to bleed out the sins of others, punishing them before the new world came crashing down upon the county. She looked up and the gravel hadn’t appeared without sense, it had purpose. Dotted with wilted flowers, frozen and thawed so many times they had become brown and rotten, the petals blackened with mold, a pathway led forward. There was a break in the trees…

…there was a house.

–

A shadow passed the window. A creeping thing, it’s visage unseen, but the shiver still crept down Carter’s spine. He’d been warned by his parents about the people that lived on that little island and about that old hospital at the top of the mountain. He’d read Jack and the Beanstalk and he knew about the evil giant at the top of it. He had read about the big, bad wolf and how he ate little children who went off the path. Fairy tales had become reality these last few months, especially once their father, the hunter, never came back home. He was the one meant to cut open the wolf’s stomach and pull the children out in the end. Not end up eaten as well. A cautionary tale gone wrong. 

The howling of the wolves and the cries of cougars rang out as the night began to fall and the temperature dropped even further. He and Quinn were wrapped in quilts trying to stay warm together on their parents’ bed, their fingers chilled to the point of being pink and sore, their breath escaping them in a fog inside their little wooden home. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could last. Carter knew about death, he’d grown up with it from the family farm they once had, to hunting with his father. He’d even had a pet hamster, Mr. Chippy, who didn’t last more than a year. He knew that sometimes things had to die so others could live, he knew that sometimes the heart just gave out. He wondered if it hurt when it happened the way everything seemed to now. His stomach, his body, the cramps and the cold. He wondered whether they’d ever even be found. The cat they had when he was barely older than Quinn wasn’t until they smelled it weeks later, having crawled under the house to die. Is that what they would smell like too, or would it be so cold they’d be covered in frost like the elk steaks in the freezer?

He pulled Quinn a little closer to him and listened to the wind whisper through the house. There were times it would wake him in the night, after he’d dream of his mother, imagining it was her voice. Believing for half an instant that his wishes had come true and she’d come back to them. To save them. But ever since that birthday where he’d wished for a bike and ended up alone in the woods with his sister, he’d learned not to put much faith into wishes. 

There was a knock outside, someone had crossed the trip wire his father had set up so long ago now. It wasn’t a shadow, it was a nightmare. A prowler. The monster in the dark had come to get them. Finally. 

“Quinn, you gotta listen to me, okay?” She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling as she pulled the covers tighter around herself, shaking uncontrollably. “You gotta get under the bed, and you have to be real quiet. Can you do that?”

“Whatsamatter?”

“Just listen to me.” He slipped off the bed and pulled back the ruffle sheet that draped over the frame, hiding the floor underneath it. “Come on Quinny, you gotta do as I say.”

“No.”

They didn’t have time for this. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, determined to keep her safe. His jaw went stiff and he leaned down towards her, lowering his voice. “The boogeyman is coming.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, her irises bleeding into the inky depths of her pupils. 

“He’s gonna get ya. Do it!”

She crawled off the bed, dragging the blanket with her. Sliding under the bed frame, clutching Cookie Monster as she pulled the quilt over her head to hide. 

“Whatever you hear, whatever happens, don’t come out. Promise me.”

“Promise,” she whimpered, holding back tears through choked breaths. 

“Good.” He dropped the ruffle sheet and pulled open his father’s sock drawer, grabbing the old revolver shoved at the back. It was heavy, heavier than he had expected. He’d spent many an afternoon just staring at it. He knew well enough not to touch it, even when the urge to reared its head. His dad had told him never to play with guns, they weren’t toys, they were weapons. Holding one meant you aimed to kill. 

Pulling the sheet back once more, Carter crawled in under the bed beside Quinn. Laying there, he clasped his hand over her mouth to help keep her quiet. There could be no mistakes, no do overs. If this was the men with crosses, if they were found, it would be the end.

[peachy-princess777]

@grim-reapers-wife

Im not sure if this mention thing works but if not this was requested by a really nice angel 😇 I hope you like this one,love

Jacob Black was a man of the wilderness, his muscles honed by years of roaming the dense forests of La Push. The evening air was crisp as him and you,his girlfriend, strolled along the beach, the waves lapping gently at your feet. His eyes danced with the light of the setting sun, reflecting the warm hues of the sky. You looked at him, your heart fluttering with a mix of love and excitement for the future you would build together.

As the last sliver of light disappeared, the conversation between the two of you grew more intimate. Jacob spoke of his pack, his brothers, and the responsibilities that came with being a werewolf. You listened attentively, feeling a surge of pride for the man you had chosen to stand by. His dedication to his family and his tribe was unwavering, a testament to his strength of character.

You shared your dreams, your hopes, and fears about the future. The stars began to emerge, sprinkling the night sky like a thousand shimmering diamonds. Jacob's hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. His touch sent warmth through your body, a comforting reminder of his presence.

"You know," he said, his voice low and rumbling, "being with you makes everything feel right. I've never felt this way before."

You looked into his eyes, feeling the same intensity, the same pull that had drawn you to him from the moment you first met. "I feel the same, Jacob. Being your girlfriend has been... extraordinary."

Jacob stopped walking, turning to face you. His gaze searched yours, his expression a mix of love and something else, something wild and primal. "You're the only one who truly understands me, who accepts me for what I am."

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Emily used to say that love was about seeing the best in people, even when they couldn't see it themselves. She believed everyone had a beast within them, and it was our job to tame it."

Jacob's expression grew thoughtful, his eyes darkening with a memory. "Emily was always wise beyond her years. She knew how to handle the guys in the pack when we were out of control."

He stepped closer, his hands sliding around your waist. His touch was gentle yet firm, like the embrace of a lover and the grip of a protector. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his scent becoming more potent as the night grew colder. You knew what was coming, the signs were unmistakable. His pupils dilated, his breath grew shallow, and his skin felt hotter than usual.

"Jacob," you whispered, "are you okay?"

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your neck, inhaling deeply. "I'm in..I need you,Y/N" he murmured, his voice strained. "I can't control it."

You stiffened in his embrace, understanding what he meant. This was the first time it had happened since you two had started dating, and while you were aware of the physical nature of his transformation, the reality of it was more intense than you had ever imagined. His breath was warm and moist, sending shivers down your spine. His scent grew stronger, a heady mix of earth and something else you couldn't identify, overwhelming your senses.

As the two of you made your way back to him and Billy's house(Billy was not home because he was watching the game with Charlie at his house), the tension grew palpable. Jacob's gaze grew intense, his movements more deliberate, as if he was holding back a storm brewing within him. He leaned in, brushing a lock of hair from your face, and whispered, "You look so beautiful tonight." His voice had desire, sending shivers down your spine.

Once inside, the energy between you was electric. He pulled you close, his hands roaming over your body as if he hadn't touched you in an eternity. You felt his warmth, his breath against your neck, and a primal need grew in your core. Without a word, he scooped you up and carried you to his room, the scent of the ocean still clinging to your clothes. He laid you down on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see the hunger in them.

Jacob's actions grew more urgent as he removed his shirt, revealing his taut abs and broad chest. The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as he yanked it over his head. He was in heat, a phase that came upon him twice a year, and it was a night that both thrilled and slightly terrified you. The raw, animalistic need was a stark contrast to his usual gentle nature, but you knew it was a part of him you had to accept.

With trembling hands, he began to undo the buttons of your blouse, his eyes lingering on each inch of skin revealed. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured, his voice a low growl of appreciation. "It's like the finest silk under my fingertips." As he peeled away the layers of your clothing, he continued his verbal worship, his words both tender and degrading, a confusing mix that somehow only served to excite you more. You felt like a goddess and a prey all at once, a thrilling combination that made your heart race.

The moment your clothes were discarded, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as it was passionate. His teeth grazed your lower lip, a hint of the wolf within him. You could feel his muscles tense and his body quivering with restraint as he held himself above you. His eyes searched yours for consent, and finding it, he positioned himself between your legs, his gaze never wavering. He slid into you with a groan, filling you in a way that made you feel complete, yet stretched to the brink of what you could handle.

You gasped as he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. "You're mine," he murmured against your skin, his teeth nipping at your neck. "Mine to love, mine to claim." The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, even as you felt a twinge of something else— the thrill of being utterly possessed. "Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your voice a breathy whisper. "I'm yours, Jacob. Yours."

Jacob's eyes flashed with a feral light at your words, and he pulled you closer, adjusting his grip so that your legs were above his and he was essentially squatting. The mating press position was a dominant move, a show of power and possession that was inherently wolf-like. It made your heart race even as it filled you with a strange sense of security. His other hand traced the curve of your body, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple, sending a shiver of pleasure through you "you are so beautiful,how did I get so lucky?". His movements grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged pants.

The sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl. You could feel him swell with every thrust, his body tightening as he approached his peak. "I'm going to make you cum," he growled, his teeth grazing your ear. "Again and again,and you are going to take it"

The first orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you without warning. You arched your back, your nails digging into his shoulders as you screamed out his name. He didn't stop, though, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. His eyes were on yours, watching as you came apart in his arms, a smug smile playing on his lips "you've got this,you are doing so good".

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue claiming yours as his hips continued to move in a steady, punishing rhythm. You could feel the pressure building again, your body responding to his touch even as the first waves of pleasure began to recede. His hand found its way between your legs, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure to keep you on edge.

The second orgasm built slowly, like a crescendo in a symphony of passion. You felt every inch of him, every pulse and throb, until you couldn't hold back any longer. Your body tensed, and you called out into the night, your muscles clenching around him. Jacob groaned in satisfaction, his grip tightening as he claimed you completely.

As the second climax subsided, he pulled back to look at you, his eyes a mix of love and hunger. "Again,baby,be good for me" he whispered, and you nodded, lost in the haze of pleasure. His thumb didn't stop moving, the steady rhythm a siren's song to your oversensitive nerves. You watched as his eyes grew darker, his control slipping away

Jacob's movements grew more demanding, his hips driving into you with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You bucked against him, your breath coming in gasps as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

The third orgasm hit like a bolt of lightning, stealing your breath and making your entire body spasm with ecstasy. Jacob's eye's snapped shut as he let out a groan that echoed through the quiet house. He slammed into you one final time, his release flooding through him, his body shaking with the intensity of his climax.

For a moment, you lay there, panting and trembling, as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your body. Jacob's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breathing as ragged as yours. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

Slowly, his grip on you loosened, his body relaxing as the heat of his climax faded. He pulled out gently, his eyes flickering open to meet yours. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a tender rumble that belied the ferocity of his actions.

You nodded, still dizzy from the onslaught of pleasure. "More than okay," you managed to murmur, your voice hoarse.

Jacob's smile was filled with satisfaction, his eyes glowing with a soft light. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His teeth grazed your lower lip gently, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I love you too," you whispered back, your voice filled with emotion.

The rest of the night was a blur of passionate kisses and gentle caresses. Jacob had satisfied his arousal, leaving only the tender, loving man you knew behind. You lay tangled in the sheets, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had been separated for far too long. The room was filled with the scent of fresh air thanks to the window that was open a crack and the faint sent of sex, a potent reminder of the intense moments you had just shared.

[vaicomcas]

@juliet-hellhound-week, here is a ridiculous little story for the Juliet Appreciation Week day two prompt "claws and fangs."

It can be considered a backstory for this awesome outfit drawn by @1967-impala

(This took place in the AU after the end of my fic “Heart of a Hellhound”.  Having defeated their enemies and restored their families, Castiel and Jack and Kelly were living in a cabin in the woods, Crowley reclaimed hell, and Castiel and Crowley were good friends.)

“Why is my new suit not yet ready?” Crowley barked at his tailor, most displeased.

“It’s not my fault, your majesty.”  His tailor spread out his hands.  “I’ve had to restart it three times.”

“Because you screwed up the seams?”

“No, each time it was perfection. But look what happened to them.”

The tailor led Crowley to the back room, where three identical suits hang on three mannequins.

Indeed, the suits were elegantly shaped, beautifully detailed, each one more handsome than the next.

…Except for the part where the front or back or both had been thoroughly slashed in five long, clean lines.

“Ah.” 

Crowley had a pretty good idea what happened.

“Juliet!” He summoned his head hellhound.

A frenzy of loud clicks and clacks announced the arrival of the beast; when going to see Crowley, she doesn’t bother to retract her claws for stealth.

“What’s up, Papa?”

“Did you do this?” Crowley pointed at the shredded suits.

“Oh yes!  The fabric feels so nice under my claws!”

“Juliet, these are my suits.  You must not destroy them.”

“Pfffft.  They look great with the slits.  You should wear it on a date.”

“Do you hear me?  You are forbidden from touching my suit.”

But Crowley knew that his admonishment went in one ear, and out the other.

So when it happened again three more times, Crowley finally had enough.

He went to Juliet’s favorite woods, and found the tree stump Juliet liked to scratch her nails on.

He performed a transmutation spell and altered the tree’s substance from wood to a kind of coarsely ground angel blade material.  Like an adamantine sandpaper.

Whistling, he went back to his throne, and waited.

Soon, he heard a blood curdling howl. 

Crowley was starting to feel a little uneasy.

Then the hellhound was standing in front of him, red eyes glaring at him accusingly.

“I know it was you, Papa.”

She held up a paw.

“Look what you’ve done to me!  Look!”

Her nails were filed down into neat, smooth half moons. 

“Why, Juliet, your nails are so pretty!” Crowley suppressed a laugh.

Juliet threw her massive head back, and howled bloody murder once again.

“Papa, why do you betray me?”

Crowley huffed.

“Betray you?  I’ve improved you!  People pay good money to get their dog’s nails trimmed!  There are television commercials!”

"I am defenseless now!"

"Oh, aside from your sabor teeth, your fire breath, and your invisibility cloak? Besides, all our enemies have been vanquished, who do you even need to defend yourself against?"

Inside, Crowley was indeed feeling guilty.  But he was determined not to let Juliet walk all over him this time.

Juliet barked and growled, whirled around like a beast possessed, and scratched furiously at Crowley’s throne—realizing, to her further horror, that her trimmed nails were only able to leave shallow incisions on the upholstery.

Realizing that no amount of tantrum was going to bring her razor claws back, she stopped, gave Crowley a tragic stare, and disappeared in a black smoke.

Crowley decided to let his spoiled hellhound cool off for a few days.  She’ll forget all about it, he thought.

When Juliet was nowhere to be seen for three days, he started to worry.

Crowley went to Juliet’s own suite in Hell, with a sweeping view of the burning sulfur lake.

There he found a note that Juliet left for him.

“I have run away from Hell.  Goodbye forever.”

Crowley groaned and picked up his cell phone.

“Hello, Crowley.”  Said the gravelly voice on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, Feathers.” Though worried, a smile cracked involuntarily on Crowley’s face.  “Is Juliet over there with you?”

A beat of silence, and then, “No?”

Crowley’s smile grew bigger.

“You are a terrible liar. ”

“I am sorry, Crowley.  I don’t know what happened between you two, but she made me promise not to tell you.”

“It’s alright.  Let her stay with you until she comes to her senses and comes back.”

“Crowley, she was crying.  With tears!  Whatever you did, you should apologize to her.”

“How come you never choose my side?”  Crowley’s voice dripped with hurt feelings, and he enjoyed immensely the minutes of awkward stammering as the angel tried to redeem himself.

A week later, Juliet returned to Hell.

However, instead of a defeated, demure pet that Crowley expected, Juliet sauntered in with head held high, and eyes gleaming like rubies. 

“Juliet!  Did you have a good time at Castiel’s house?”

“Of course!  They treat me like a queen over there!”

Juliet stuck out her plump belly.

“Look! Jack fed me honey cakes every day!”

“You are a hellhound.  You can’t get fat.”

“Take it back!  Hellhounds are supposed to have pot bellies!”

“Fine, congratulations on your pot belly.”

“And Kelly knit many sweaters for me, and didn’t mind it at all when I shredded them.”

Crowley groaned.

“Ah… still mad at me about your nails?”

“Not any more.”  Juliet twirled in a tight, elegant circle, like a triumphant ballerina. 

“Now, look and weep at what Castiel did for me with his grace.”

She held up a paw.  Her claws had grown back sharper and stronger than ever, glistening menacingly like five daggers.

She walked over to the throne.

“No…  Don’t you dare, Juliet.”

With eyes directly on Crowley, Juliet brought down her claw in one smooth swipe, and rent the upholstery into oblivion.

“Juliet!”

Another two weeks passed, and it was time for Castiel and Crowley’s monthly meeting (or date, if you’d like).

“Nice suit,” Castiel didn’t usually understand fashion, but the dark grey and burgundy combination was so dashing he would have to be blind not to notice.

“Thanks,” Crowley beamed.  “Now, show me your blade.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was some kind of innuendo, but he agreeably drew his angel blade.

“What for?”

“I want you to stab me.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Come on.  I assure you, it’s fine.”

Castiel frowned, and made a gentle slash at his suit.

“Oh Cas.  I asked you to stab me, not to tenderly caress me.”

Seeing that the suit remained pristine, Castiel understood the purpose. 

This time, he drove his blade forward with some real force.

He could always heal Crowley if necessary, he thought.

The blade was stopped at the burgundy vest, and could not penetrate it.

Castiel was pleasantly surprised.

“You made an angel blade-proof suit.  I am impressed.”

“My R&D demons and my tailor made a good team, don’t you think?” Crowley grinned proudly. “Protection sigils, woven into the fabric, with efficacy against a wide range of weapons.” 

“I take it you are now invincible to demon knives, salt, holy water, etc.”

“Yes.  Most importantly, my suits are now indestructible by hellhound claws.”

So this was how Crowley invented armored suits that were warded against all supernatural forces.

--and he made matching armor for Juliet too, of course!