#mating runs

[spllwys]

endless ghifs 5/? ⛧ source — "The Cardinal is our next senior-most member. He's been your right-hand man."

[propalahramota]

Gleefully posting a video of terrified Ukrainian children to own the khokhols

[thatoneacecryptid]

Ya know, Dracula is a horror, that’s for sure, however it CAN also be read as a comedy in places and I think that’s wonderful

[rachelfloof]

[haveihitanerve]

No no no Feyre, Rhysiepoo, you don’t understand. Lucien wasn’t looking at you with disgust because you’re mated and he’s seeing it for the first time believing you loved Tamlin, he’s disgusted because he just had to hike through mountains, fight his brothers, and fly in another males arms uncomfortably, is in filthy clothes and just betrayed his best friend for a mate he doesn’t even know, and now you guys just ignored him in favor of fucking. Give the male a break. Any reasonable person would be equally as disgusted, the only reason your inner circle isn’t is because they’re used to it. 

[fallstaticexit]

Chapter Seven Adie (Fate pt 1) - Previous // Next // Beginning // Werewolf Lore

Transcript Coming Soon

[grumpyghostdoodles]

The Almighty Sheriff!

Save a horse, ride a cowboy~

[toptophat]

Red Velvet Cookie: I hope nothing bad happens to Chiffon while I'm away for the competition!

[activatebutterflyshield]

I was compelled last night and I’m quite honestly scared of whatever 11:59 PM me intended for those middle sections. At least I still know my colors when sleep deprived, and I’m sure someone else on here can fill the blank spots out better than I can on a full eight hours of shut-eye.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 9

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Words: 1,508

--------

Part 9 ∇

You were still sobbing, still apologising when the cold of the wooden floors felt solid beneath your knees. Azriel’s shadows began to thin, clearing around you to reveal your personal quarters. He kept his hold on you, his hands firm on both your sides. Azriel was cautious to not smother or confine you – instead he grounded you, allowing you to breath.

He was muttering something you were unable to hear over the roar of your hysteria, letting you rock in his arms as devastation continued to consume you. I hate myself, I hate what I’ve become – it was a chant that sounded in your mind over and over, one you’d never be able to forget it.

Feyre’s eyes had turned so cold when she took Nyx away – it was fear, but also a warning that she would do whatever it took to protect her child. You didn’t blame her, how could you? You had given her plenty of reason to not trust you these past months. And the rest of your family – the way they froze when Nyx approached you, not a breath shared amongst them. It was as if they were waiting, just waiting for you to do the worst.

The feeling that gnawed at your heart hurt so much that your stomach clenched while you cried, your arms snaking around your middle in comfort. It was pure, harrowing self loathing. You hated yourself for the monster you had become. How could you let Hybern change you so much that your own family were afraid of you? How could you be so weak?

Azriel’s silken voice cut through the noise then, floating above the chant in your mind, his words gentle and airy. “You have nothing to be sorry for, love. I know you, I love you.”

You felt a warmth moving to comfort you from within, Azriel sending an ocean of reassurance and understanding through the bond. But like waves crashing against a cliff, the water broke no matter how strong their current, and all you could feel was the faint spray that made it to the other side.

You pushed out of him arms, clambering to stand as you gripped your bed post, one hand pressed against the gnaw at your heart. “No, no, no Azriel! Get away!” You were unlovable – a hideous, violent thing. The dark chuckle in the depths of your mind confirmed it.

Azriel stood with you, but kept his distance. “Try to breath, Y/N.”

“Stay back,” you threw over your shoulder, your hand now clutching at your throat as you tried to steady your breaths. He was right, you needed to calm down. If that voice got any closer…

Azriel placed large hand on the centre of your back. It warmed you, grounded you, loved you even. It was something you didn't deserve, and would never deserve again. You hated it.

You spun, your teeth bared. “I said get away!”

Azriel visibly flinched, snatching his hand back as his shadows climbed his tall frame, sensing their master’s shock.

Your eyes darted across his, then down to your shaking hands that you held in front of you. Small crescent shaped wounds had reopened from where your nails pressed, your blood smeared across your palms.

You see Y/N, you won’t ever heal. Not fully, that dark voice said.

“Shut up!” you spat, closing your eyes and trying to find the dark figure that began a lethal stroll across your mind. It was far too close, closer than it had been in weeks.

You are what I made you. A mere weapon.

“Y/N, I’m here. Stay with me.” Azriel’s voice cut through from the outside. Your mind reeled as you struggled to balance realities.

Clutching at the roots of your hair, you allowed yourself to slip further into the depths of your mind, facing the shadowy figure, it’s red eyes gleaming through the darkness.

That’s it Y/N, give in to what you truly are and join me.

“I am nothing like you,” you spat, the figure circling you as he laughed.

Then why do you choke the life from your mate as we speak?

Gasping, your eyes flew open to find your bloodied hands holding Azriel’s neck. You weren't choking him, not yet – instead your fingers gingerly curled around his throat, ready to attack, to kill. You spluttered, your eyes wide as you tried to pry your hands off of him, but there was something in you, an insidious calling, that kept them there. You gritted your teeth, fighting to reclaim control of your body and mind.

Azriel’s eyes bored into yours, yet he showed no fear. Instead those golden brown eyes swirled with earnest and a stupid amount of faith. “I trust you.” was all he said.

You blinked at him, trembling hands still around his neck. Grunting, you fought the urge to close them tighter, begging yourself to pull away.

Scarred hands rested on your forearms then. Azriel didn’t pry yours from his neck, but instead he just touched you.

“I love you, Y/N. I know you won’t hurt me.”

Tears poured down your face. Azriel’s love was unconditional, even when you couldn’t love yourself. He trusted you, and would die trying to prove it to you over and over again.

With a disgruntled scream, you forced your hands off Azriel’s neck, clutching them to your chest as you panted, exhausted from the sheer will it took to pull away. Racked with sobs, you turned away from your mate, ashamed to have repeated the same moment when you had first been freed. Months of hard work had been unravelled in seconds, proving you were not any better. You had let everyone down.

“Shhh, shh,” Azriel pulling you to him. You stuck your arm out, stopping him from encompassing you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop that,” he said, levelling a look at you. “You didn't hurt me.”

“I wanted to kill you Azriel! Don't you understand that?”

“But you didn’t Y/N! You didn’t! And that’s the only part that matters.”

You clenched your eyes shut, trying to shut everything out. The room spun, and the throbbing behind your eyes was as painful as ever. You were nauseous, sick of yourself, sick of the how much you had to give just to stop hurting the people you loved. You were better off alone, and they were better off without you.

“I-I can’t breathe.” Azriel watched helplessly.

You needed to get away. Away from your mate and your family, where you could hurt no one and they could live in peace.

Beyond your bedroom window, away from the sparkling city of Velaris, lay the thick of the woods. It was dark, cold, and beckoned almost as strongly as the bond between you and Azriel.

You looked back at the Shadowsinger, your own winnowing powers beginning to activate for the first time in months. “I need you to let me go,” you said, your voice broken at the decision you had already made.

Azriel’s eyes shone with fresh tears, his shadows scouting for you straight away. But with a tight swallow, he nodded, silently calling them back to curl around his fists.

“I understand,” was all he said. But by then you had already winnowed from the room.

————

Moments later, Rhys burst into your quarters, behind him Feyre and Mor. They entered to find Azriel facing the window, watching the dark of the woods, wings tight and shadows pressed against the glass.

“We heard yelling,” Rhys said. Azriel didn't answer, didn't even turn.

“Az? Where is Y/N?” Feyre asked, placing a gentle hand on the his shoulder.

Azriel sighed. “She left.”

“Left for where?” Mor’s question was frantic, readying herself to find you immediately.

“To the woods.”

“The woods?” Rhys questioned, his face wracked with confusion.

“She couldn't breath here, she was… panicked, trapped. She said I needed to let her go, so I did.”

There was silence amongst them.

“I’m sorry for how today unfolded,” Feyre apologised. “Elain is so upset.”

Azriel shook his head softly, finally turning to his family. “It’s alright. No one is to blame.”

“I’ll track Y/N mind to mind while she’s out there,” Rhys offered, to which Azriel nodded.

“I’ll send my shadows too, in time.”

“Will you retrieve her?” Mor asked, chewing on her lip.

“Only if she needs me to,” Azriel said with a frown.

“And how will you know?”

“I’m her mate. I’ll know.”

Mor nodded before she ran a comforting hand along Azriel’s arm, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

“Is Cass still here?” the Shadowsinger asked.

“He’s back at the House of Wind with Nesta,” Feyre answered. “He didn't want to provoke you any further.”

Nodding, Azriel winced at the twinge of guilt in his stomach, remembering how he badly he had hurt his brother earlier that day. “I owe him an apology,” was all he said as he prepared to winnow himself, his shadows looping closely for their departure.

————

Part 10 >>>

AN: I hope you liked this chapter, and thank you for your patience while I finessed this part! 💌 The support for this series has been overwhelming – so just another thank you for following along the journey, it means so much to me ❤️❤️❤️ 

I’ll put tags in a reblog from here on, but drop a comment to join the list!

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

Hello I have memes about running this blog so far. For these memes I decided to give myself a pen name for the sake of not having to type out “trafficblrpositivityproject” / to give you all something to address me by since I decided not to say openly who is running this (though two people have already guessed who I am).

[lisaphantasia]

"So if she talked shit about the queen why doesn't she just cut Penelowhistle's head off?"

-My 37 year old brother when I explained the plot of this season of Bridgerton

[alenseress]

"You love me," he jokes.

"I do," Mihawk doesn't joke in general.

Shanks gags around the accidental mouthful of jerky, desperately trying to push it down. Or up. Mihawk doesn't look up, in fact, doesn't budge at all, eyes stuck to the same word in the line.

"The—" Shanks wheezes. Shanks chokes and coughs and wiggles like a dying roach before spitting the sorry chunk out and rasping "the fuck you do" with teary eyes.

It sounds offended. A little bit hurt, metaphorically and literally. Mihawk pulls his knees up to his chest, shuts the book closed between them and clutches freezing fingers into tight fists. Then, folds his arms too for a good measure, as Shanks slides across the crow's nest in one hurried effort. It's a mere few seconds of wailing, creaking and yelping in a small space between the railings before the book he was reading tumbles down, down, down, and Shanks pulls himself up, up, up, squeezing in between Mihawk's thighs. It looks fucking scary. It feels fucking scary, with everything swaying and moaning around them from the sudden commotion and Mihawk hears a splash as he desperately clings to Shanks' collar, body pushed into awkward angles beneath the weight of another.

"What is wrong with you?!"

Shanks has that face on, one of mad childlike stubbornness, with pouting frown and searching eyes, and the wind is oh so harsh against Mihawk's back. He doesn't know what to do, every muscle very much frozen in something akin to animalistic panic. Shanks pushes for both of them, forehead pressing into his with skull-cracking force.

"Say it again."

"No."

"Captain's order."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're on my ship."

"That's not—"

Hands let go of the railing and touch his chin. No, cup. Hold between two palms, fingers brushing loose hair away, shaking, begging. "Mihawk, please."

Mihawk pulls the collar and bites into the sodden mouth. Hard enough to make the dry lip pop with blood, not hard enough for the bastard to let go. He keens instead, scooting in closer, so much that his knees slide almost entirely under Mihawk's behind and tip him over. There's a moment of cold fear and hearts dropping as Mihawk's head and hat fall between the spindles and someone shrieks "what the hell is going on up there" from the deck.

"Got it! Nothing!" Shanks wheezes, yanking Mihawk on top of himself, slapping a cheek to the bare chest. A few heartbeats later, a sheepish confirmation comes. "Got it?"

Mihawk squeezes his thighs and nods with a gulp, fingers stupidly not letting go of the hat's brim.

God, help them all.

The wind blows and blows, the breaths get slower, the tense muscles grow tired, and Mihawk feels himself slouch. Shanks rubs his ear slowly, almost as surprised at the loss of contact, and blinks up — all blood and snot and dried tears Mihawk rolls his eyes at.

"You're a pig of a man," he sighs, not sounding half as annoyed as he intended, not half as disgusted as he should be, wiping the scrunched face with a sleeve.

"Let me try," the captain whispers, and Mihawk waits for him to push his arm away, confused, but lips meet lips in a gentle press again and, oh, oh Shanks definitely tries.

Mihawk laughs into his face, into his neck, elbows finding rest on his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist in surrender. He cradles the heavy red head as the man, the boy, runs the last of his quiet tears into his shirt.

"I'm so fucking tired of you."

"You're too young to be tired of anything, Red."

Shanks pulls away and slumps back, running palms along Mihawk's lost in the air forearms, holding his wrists gently. Not slim enough for the ring of fingers to connect around them, not firm enough to be meant for holding.

"I can't promise you anything," he tries once more, staring empty at the thumbs caressing him.

Shanks looks up with the same pout. "You just did."

"That wasn't a promise."

"Then let me try again," the grip grows tighter. "Until I get it right."

He won't, Mihawk knows.

They try again.

[spacerockfloater]

If had a nickel for every time Rhysand practically died but was brought back to life by some higher force, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

[rockingrobin69]

Beast of a thing

“What can I get you?” asked a loud voice, and Harry rubbed his face till his eyes burned.

“Hmm?” was clearly not the right answer.

“Coffee? Seems like you might need one. And something to nibble on. Sweet or savoury?”

“I,” Harry said, which wasn’t that much better. The—person?—who kept pestering him was smiley and extremely bright-eyed. Leaned down to him over a dark-blue apron, half-conspiratorial, half amused.

“Sweet, I should think.”

How rude. Harry crawled in here to die peacefully, not be badgered about fucking coffee. But a few seconds—minutes?—later there was more bustling, and someone placed a cup right next to where he was holding his head. It smelled hot. It smelled good.

Before he could even make the decision, Harry’s hands grabbed it and—oops—spilled a little, never mind. Yeah, it burned. Yeah, whatever. Harry raised the cup with a shaky fist and sipped something horrible and scalding hot. He felt, absurdly, and for the first time in—he felt a little bit like a person again. How fucking embarrassing. How fucking inaccurate.

“There you go, darling,” this time armed with a scone. The smell of clotted cream made Harry’s eyes roll back, made him choke. The jam was even worse, so sweet he nearly gagged. “This should cheer you right up.”

He nearly, nearly laughed. Was too busy growling, rubbing his pointy teeth against his inner lip. Something in his expression must have finally registered with the perky waiter, since they hurried back, tray cluttering as they hit something. Harry could finally go back to his—

“What now?” to the movement from the corner of his eye, but—the smell hit him first, hit harder. Lemon zest and evergreen forest. Something so pleasant it made Harry whimper, made him close his eyes. The newcomer used this reprieve to sneak into the seat next to Harry, so close their knees were touching.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, or whined. It hurt behind his molars, it hurt in the pit of his stomach. The touch, the unbelievable pressure coming from deep, deep inside.

“Hello to you too, Potter. You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Not an easy man,” Harry managed.

“Not a man,” Malfoy countered.

“Not,” Harry, “interested. Go back to the Ministry and—”

“So you really haven’t heard? I quit.” When Harry chanced a look, Malfoy was busy examining his fingernails. He looked—he smelled—he—was an onslaught Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t withstand.

Instead of whimpering again, of being pathetic: “So what do you want? Why come all this way if it wasn’t some…”

“Scheme?” Malfoy uncrossed his legs, leaned back. Too fucking much; Harry’s mouth watered already. “Plot? Who said it wasn’t. Maybe I’m hunting you down all for myself now.”

“Why,” Harry growled.

“Maybe I didn’t like the way you left.” A rustle: Harry didn’t need to look to know what that sound was. “Dear Malfoy, I hope you’ll understand—”

“Enough.”

Malfoy’s gaze burned on his skin. Malfoy’s everything burned. “—there’s nothing else I can do—”

“Enough. Please.”

A bang, too loud; his fist on the table. The coffee cup trembled, didn’t spill. “Oh, is that too much? Hearing your own stupid words? You can take it, sweetheart. We’ve not even got to the good part yet.”

Harry tried to take cover behind his hand. “Please, it’s—”

“I think you might be my mate,” Malfoy quoted in the iciest tone Harry’s ever heard, “Which is exactly why I have to go—”

“I did!” hiding, hiding. “How could I stay, how could I do anything when I knew I’d be putting you at risk? The Ministry won’t stop. And even if—even if they did,” in this horrible, shaky voice. “What I’ve become—”

“A fucking idiot, you mean?”

Harry looked up.

Malfoy’s lips were so thin. “I don’t care what you are. I don’t care what they tried to make you into. You think I might be your mate and then you run? Sentence yourself to, what, a miserable, lonely existence just because you’re scared?”

The shudder took him so hard he nearly fell. “I can’t hurt you,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I won’t.”

“You have, arsehole,” with exasperation that seemed oddly fond. “Come on, Potter. You didn’t even do me the courtesy of asking.”

“Asking?”

“Veelas have mates too. You’d know if you bothered to stick around.”

“They have—” something whirled in his belly, in his chest. Something sickening and bright. “Wait. Are you saying—what are you saying?”

“You can’t hurt me.” Malfoy bent closer. “Not in the way you imagine. Not if you stay and work it out like an adult. I won’t let the Ministry use you as a weapon. I won’t let anything—I’m saying you’re an idiot, and I’m an even bigger one, and that if you’d run from me again, you’ll regret it.”

A smile burst, baffled and hot between his cheeks. “You… are you serious?”

“You think I came all this way for a joke? I only commit to things that are worth my while.” His grey eyes, burning. “Are you worth my while?”

Helpless, he grabbed Malfoy’s hand. The scent of him in Harry’s nose, heavenly and far too strong: everything he could hope for, that he tried to escape. “Please,” Harry croaked.

Malfoy hummed, leaned back. Used his free hand to steal Harry’s scone. “I’m staying across the road. When you’re quite done—”

On his feet. “Done.” The edges of Malfoy’s lips twitched.

“Very well.” He got up, cast a look from under his endless lashes. “Potter. If you leave again—”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, and meant it. Won’t be able to, now that he had Malfoy back in his arms, smelling and looking and being like that. Now that Harry felt alive, and like a person, and also not. Better than any treat, sweet or savoury. Bitter and sour, lemon zest and evergreens: his Malfoy. His mate.

 For my dear @generalpizzaengineer and their prompt 💖

[vacantgodling]

✨preferences should not be standards for writing advice✨