#so this is where the poison root spread from. i’m going back in time to erase the novel from existence so he never reads it. come up with

[thefiresofpompeii]

every other poster on the tube right now is advertising a new musical called ‘the time traveller’s wife’. for a blissful moment i forgot that a ‘wife’ is something that a heterosexual woman can be, and, believing it to be a beautiful lesbian tale akin to tihylttw, decided to google the synopsis to see if it was worth checking out. big mistake. ‘man first encounters his future spouse as a young girl, returns to kiss her at 18 and marry her in the future, remaining the same age as barely any time passes for him meanwhile she spends years alone pining for her distant angel’ blinks. what does that remind me of. oh yeah apparently this came before. i’m already suffering through series 5 at the current moment, so, plenty enough of that for years to come, thank you, and— what a surprise— the novel the musical’s based on was a primary inspiration for you-know-who’s weird fixation on this particular plotline. the worst part about the time traveller’s wife is that there aren’t even any cool steampunk clockwork droids or gorgeous 18th century french dresses to make up for the vomit-inducing implications. i have never been more disappointed. mind wipe, now

[livyjh]

In Bloom

Din Djarin x AFAB reader (no gender specific terms used, just body parts)

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2.7k

Can be found on ao3 here

Summary: You’ve been teamed up with the Mandalorian for a few months now, but are still an amateur bounty hunter. Fresh to The Guild. He was kind enough to train you as long as you helped him capture bounties. When looking for a bounty on a weird, woodland planet, you manage to get affected by a poisonous flower.

Din Djarin Masterlist

A/N: This takes place while Grogu is away, training with Luke Skywalker. But the Razor Crest wasn’t destroyed.

I was blushing so hard writing this 👀 enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Just remember not to touch anything. This planet is full of dangerous plants and animals.” Mando tells you for the hundredth time this day.

“I know. I know. Poison and venom and all that.” You roll your eyes as you zip up your boots and stand.

“Okay. You ready?” The Mandalorian turns to you.

“Yep.” You nod and smile.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He opens the gate of the Razor Crest and the two of you step down onto the grassy planet.

There were bright purple flowers and blue trees as far as the eye could see. The trees were weepy; long, drooping branches covered with little leaves. The flowers were small, but there were millions of them.

The gate closes behind you and you and Mando start looking for this bounty.

“This was a… smart place to hide.” Mando sighs.

“How so? There’s hardly anyone here. I’m sure he’s gonna be the first person we come across.” You squeeze your fists lightly, just feeling the texture of your gloves on your hands. You hated wearing them because they made your hands sweat but Mando had told you over and over not to touch anything because “humans aren’t immune to this shit”. That’s a quote. From him. When you tried to question further, he seemed hesitant to tell you but you figured he was just being his non-talkative self.

“Doubt it. There are many farmers on this planet.” He sighs again.

He pulled out the tracking fob that was blinking much slower than you had anticipated. You were hoping to be right on top of this bounty when you landed. No such luck.

You two kept following a shallow path that had been walked through in the grass. People used it frequently enough to wear some of the grass away there. But not often enough for it to qualify as a trail.

Suddenly, a blaster shot flies between you and Mando. You duck and he puts his arms out to shield you.

“Stay back!” He warns you and you move to run behind a tree as another blaster shot flies by.

With your adrenaline suddenly pumping, you don’t watch where you’re going and trip on a tree root, falling face first into a bunch of the purple flowers. Their petals spread and release some sort of dust into your face.

Mando is shooting back and then suddenly everything stops. The blasters stop. The world stops.

“Fuck.” You curse, tears forming in your eyes as you stand up.

You look over at Mando and start to cry. “Oh, Maker. I’m dead aren’t I? I- I- I breathed it in! The flowers- they spewed poison on me!” You say hysterically.

Mando shakes his head and walks over to you, putting his gloved hands on your shoulders. “No. You’re… you’re not dead. But in a couple hours, you might wish you were.” He sighs.

“Not helping!” You shout.

Mando shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Shit, I shouldn’t have brought you. I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “Let me- I’m gonna grab the bounty’s body. I’m sure that was him shooting at us. Then we’ll get you back to the ship and everything is going to be fine.”

You sniffle, breathing in harshly. “How do you know?”

He sighs. “I just know. Trust me. I’ll be right back. You start heading back.”

You nod, wiping the tears away from your face. “O- okay.” You turn and head back to the ship.

The Mandalorian arrives only a few minutes after you, throwing the body in carbonite before he closes the gate. He turns to you. “Okay. Listen. Sit down.” Mando takes ahold of your shoulders and guides you to sit on the edge of his little bed compartment.

“Will bacta spray help? How am I- how do I-?” You start to panic again.

“I don’t think it will.” He shakes his head and you drag a hand down your face.

“What’s gonna happen? I’m gonna get all red and itchy? Scratch myself to death?” You raise a brow at him, trying to keep your breathing even.

“Those flowers… they’re…” he puts a hand on the back of his neck. “They have this pollen. That’s what you breathed in. Let’s call it… an extreme aphrodisiac.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms and smirk a little. He’s got to be joking.

“It makes you…” he starts.

“Horny?” You laugh. “I can handle that.” You shrug.

“More like feral.” Mando corrects you and your shoulders slump.

Fuck. Maybe you were gonna wish you were dead. Being around Mando while extremely chemically turned on? That was a recipe for disaster.

“I’ll just lock myself in here and sleep till it’s over.” You say, trying to fool yourself into thinking this wasn’t gonna be as bad as he’s making it sound.

“You’re welcome to try.” Mando steps closer and you feel a heat wave go through your body. You could smell his sweat and you wished he’d get even closer.

“If… there’s anything I can do to help… let me know.” He says shyly.

You’re not sure how to interpret his words at this point. “Can you just get me some water?” You gulp.

“Of course.” He nods and grabs a canteen, handing it to you.

Your fingertips barely brush his, both of you still wearing gloves. But it sends a jolt through you nonetheless. “Th- thank you.”

“I’m gonna get us heading for Nevarro.” He says.

“Okay.” You smile at him for a second before he disappears up the ladder.

You start whispering to yourself. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be just fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words, you remind yourself.

You shake your head and try to change what you’re thinking about. It starts with Grogu. You miss him. You and Mando had just visited a couple weeks ago, but… you weren’t allowed too close. Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments to other people.

You then thought about Mando. How sweet of a father figure he was. How bold yet kind he is. Sometimes intimidating, but is really just like a cuddly ewok.

Cuddling. With Mando. That would be nice.

His body pressed up against yours…

“Shit. No. Not going there.” You shake your head and make the thoughts go away. These weren’t the first intimate thoughts you’ve had about the Mandalorian. But they were certainly prevalent at the moment.

You tried not to think about Mando this way, because he was technically a business partner. But it was so hard when his voice was so… and his hands were really…

“Nope.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Fuck. How were you going to survive this if you couldn’t stop thinking about him?

You needed to distract yourself.

So you climbed up to the cockpit, deck of cards in your pocket.

You looked out the glass and saw that you were already pretty high up in the sky, leaving the planet’s atmosphere and entering the stars.

“Once we get on course we should play a game. I have cards.” You say happily, sitting down to Mando’s left.

“Alright.” He turns his head back towards you and nods.

Maker, his voice. Nope. No. You were going to be fine.

And you were. For awhile.

An hour had passed and you were only mildly tingly all over while still playing cards with the Mandalorian.

Another fifteen minutes go by and you can’t stop staring at Mando’s hands. He had taken his gloves off to play cards and wow.

Twenty more minutes. You’re pretty sure you’re soaked through your panties by now and you want to get up and check, maybe change them, but you’re afraid of getting up and there being moisture in your chair. So you keep waiting.

Mando is waiting too. You know it. He’s waiting for you to explode and start crying or something. But you were determined to muscle through.

Ten more minutes. You’re trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, squeezing your thighs together every time you moved to hand him a card or take a card from him.

Five more minutes. “Oh-“ you moan softly when his fingers brush yours as you’re exchanging cards.

You start to blush something fierce, one of your hands flying to cover your mouth. “Shit.” You mumble against your palm. “I’m sorry- I don’t- I’m gonna excuse myself.” You lower your hand from your face and set your cards down behind you as you rise from the seat.

You nearly orgasm the way your thighs rub together as you go down the ladder and into the bed compartment, closing it with the push of a button. You were going to be loud, and if you could muffle that and save yourself some embarrassment, that’s what you were gonna do.

You lay back on the bed, legs spread as you reach down under the hem of your pants and panties. “Fuck!” You gasp as your fingers move down your vulva.

This was the most sensitive you’d ever been in your life. Do you dare?

You do. You rub two fingers over your clit and let out a shaky breath, hips rolling upward.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Mando and how badly you wish his hand were in place of yours. How much you wanted him to take off that stupid helmet and kiss you from head to toe. You would kill a man just to have the Mandalorian’s fingers inside of you once.

You’re rubbing almost with full force of your middle and ring fingers, doing your usual little dance with your clit. A dance that would bring you to orgasm quickly every time.

You kept going and going and ten minutes later, you’ve switched hands back and forth and still can’t finish. It’s agonizing and you’re ready to cry out of frustration when you remember — “If there’s anything I can do to help… let me know.” — he said that. Mando said that to you.

You pressed the open button and called out to the ship. “Please, come here!” You pant. “Quickly!”

You hear a couple rushed steps down the ladder and assume he jumps down the second half, walking past the fresher to find you laying there, hand down your pants, cheeks ruddy, pussy soaking wet.

“Fuck.” He curses and you see his helmet tilt down just the slightest so he could see you. All of you.

“Please, h- help me. I can’t- I’m not- I don’t know-“ you’re nearly sobbing.

“Shhh…” he hushes you and crawls up into the bed between your legs. “Let me help you.”

You nod up at him and suddenly his bare hands are on your hips, just holding them for a moment. You pull your hand out of your panties and let him pull them off along with your pants.

The cool air of the ship hit your heat and you whined, feeling how tremendously wet you were. You felt two of his fingers come down the side of your hip, over the front and inside of your thigh before grazing over your labia.

You shook, almost violently, as you squeezed your eyes shut and balled your fists in the sheets. You couldn’t even look at him, you were so riled up. You were afraid if he looked you in the eyes he’d see how embarrassed you were or how much you truly wanted him.

As his fingers tease your folds, they become slick and slide into you easy when he pushes them forward.

“Ohh, yes.” You groan, whole body tensing up.

“Just relax.” He coos and you try to relax as many of your muscles as possible.

Instead of holding your legs up and away from each other, you let them drop apart against the walls of the compartment, you relax your hands and shoulders, trying to even your breathing.

He starts to pull his fingers back out slowly, being cautious and waiting for your instruction.

“Please, for Maker’s sake, go faster.” You whimper the last word and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy at a quick pace.

“Fuck… that feels so good.” You sigh, gasp, and then sigh again with each movement of his hand.

He curls his fingers, searching for your g-spot and — “Mando…” you whine — there it is.

He makes it a point to brush over this spot with every thrust of his fingers, making your toes curl.

“I’m gon- gonna- oh fuck.” You cry out, thighs quivering as you cum hard, pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuck.” You hear his modulated voice over you.

You orgasm hard enough to see spots around the edges of your vision, and as you’re waiting for the come down… it never really comes.

“It- oh, fuck, baby-“ your eyebrows draw together and you reach down to grab his wrist when he starts to pull his fingers out of you. “It’s w- worse.” You can barely get the words out.

“You’re probably going to need to go a few more rounds before it goes away.” The Mandalorian explains.

“What?!” You ask, surprised and starting to sweat.

“It’s happened to me before.” He admits and you buck your hips, trying to get his fingers deeper inside of you.

“Please, k- keep… going.” You pant, looking up at him with seriousness in your eyes.

He nods and his fingers start to thrust in and out of you once more, and within ten seconds you’re cumming again. You throw your head back and feel yourself soaking his fingers.

“Ple- please,” you take a deep breath before you ask a question that can’t be unasked. “Will you fuck me?” You beg.

Mando nods and sits back on his knees for a second, undoing his belt and zipper before pulling himself out of his pants.

You moan at the sight of him, cunt tingling with anticipation.

“Protection?” He asks.

“No time. I’m on medicine for it.” You blurt out, biting your lip.

He nods and gets into position, guiding his cock to your entrance. He rubs the head up and down over your clit before pushing into you painfully slow.

“Baby, please,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

He almost growls as he pushes in quickly to the hilt, making you whimper. Your jaw drops open and you let out a long, shaky moan, reaching up to grab his shoulders.

He pulls out and slams back in once, pushing you up the bed slightly. You wrap your legs around his hips, angling up so he could go deeper.

He starts a quick pace, fucking you down into the thin mattress. Your eyes screw shut and you’re cumming again, groaning a string of curses.

He slows down to let you regain your senses, but just for a moment. And then he’s slamming into you again, hips slapping against your ass. The sound only eggs you on, gets you more sexually intoxicated.

He reaches down between you to rub your clit, trying to help you get off again so you can be cured of this. You can’t believe it when only seconds pass and your fourth orgasm washes over you. Your body nearly convulses as you cum hard on his pulsing cock. “Mando- oh my, fucking yes-“ your hips buck up.

He’s grunting as he fucks into you, keeping the same speed. He was just gonna keep going until you told him to stop. He was committed.

“One more time.” You breathe out. You’re getting exhausted, soaking the mattress, and you know he can’t go forever either. “Let’s t- try one more time.” You stutter.

He nods and keeps thrusting, playing with your clit for a minute before that hand moved up under your shirt to grab your breast.

You moaned in unison with him, panting as he kneaded and squeezed your tit. He somehow speeds up and then you’re gone. You nearly scream, arching your back as you tip over the edge.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your pussy squeezes around him, and then you feel his cum filling you as he groans your name.

Finally, finally, you start to come down from your orgasms, body relaxing and you start feeling less lightheaded.

He pulls out of you with a soft groan, tucking himself back into his pants before collapsing down next to you, breathing hard.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long ti-“ you start to say something and then slap a hand over your mouth.

He just laughs softly, rubbing your thigh. “Me too.”

Maybe falling into those flowers wasn’t the worst thing after all.

[soullessfawn]

Combine & Create, SBI Event

#CombineAndCreate2023

Day three: Fae + “Why are you cuddling me?” “You’re warm.”

Unlike most stories of the fae, this one started the way no one expected it to. Phil was a lone traveler, having spent the majority of his life without a home. With his vast knowledge of survival he knew how to work around the fae and there rules.

He’s met many but fell to none. Word spread of his travels through forest after forest without once falling to the hands of the creatures.

People called him a man without mortal ties, an idiot, an abomination.

What human would willingly go into the forest knowing what lays there waiting? But Phil didn’t care. There iron brackets people hand him when he goes into town as a gift that we’re secretly tests did not burn him.

Nor would he speak the truth so frequently. Where did he come from? A town, hidden away from most others. By an ocean where only boats could sail to. He lied and lied, to the point no one new of his beginnings.

This all stopped one day when he’s face to face with a tall pink headed fae. “Hellu.” It calls, eyes not even turning towards him as he sat perfectly still between two large tree roots.

Phil stopped in his tracks, quickly looking around for the fae’s ring. He spots it a bit away, red flowers curling around poisonous mushrooms. “Hi mate.” He replies. Respect leads to living, surviving. “Taking a midday nap?”

“Yes.” The fae shifts, laying on his side as he gazed up at him. Phil was about to say a quick goodbye, only to pause. The half lidded eyes of the fae were… blue. Fae’s eyes were never blue. Unless—

“Your a changling.” He blurts, eyes widening. He hasn’t seen one in years. They don’t survive past being able to walk. Nevertheless past ten. This fae looks to be in there teenage years, but he didn’t mind that before.

Fae age slower then humans and meeting a teenage fae cam sometimes be more dangerous then meeting an adult one. But if he’s a changling. Then that would mean—

“Very observant of you.” The fae drawls, yawning. “Now leave, before I dam you to the fae realm to be used as fodder.” Phil could only blink as the fae closes back his eyes fo take a nap.

Did the fae just tell him to leave? He didn’t sound very serious about the damming him thing. More so tired that he was even here talking to the man, no, child. Because this fae was a changling teenager. A rare thing.

Phil doesn’t leave. Instead he sets up camp in the small clearing. And when the fae wakes, he makes himself known. “Had a nice nap mate?” The changling jolts, head whipping over towards him in surprise.

“Not really.” He says without thinking. Blunt. Like he had forgotten he had to tell the truth no matter what. The fae huffs, narrowing his eyes on him. “What’s your name, human.”

“Phil.” He replies immediately. No power lashes at him, no bind. The fae wilts, like he had actually expected him to say his full name.

“…What is your middle and last name?” He adds.

Phil chuckles, stroking the fire he has going in front of him. “I’m not giving you those, mate.”

“Worth a try.” The teen shrugs. “Now, what are you still doing here?” Phil felt the weight of the words, like it wasn’t what the other actually wanted to say. Phil looked down at his fire poker, at the iron in his hands.

The changling wanted to know why he hasn’t stabbed him yet. “I don’t know.” He says honestly. He looks over at his packet of food, then over at the teen. He had bags underneath his eyes, dark ones. And he looked for to pale and skinny for a changling. “Do you like stake?”

For some reason, the fae followed him. Phil didn’t see him half the time, the teen sticking to the shadows and the trees. But any time Phil returned from a village, the other would be there. “Did you get more stake?”

And he reply with a simple yes. Because the other really seemed to like it. It’s one night with the teen setting up his spot next to a tree, that Phil asks a question that’s been bothering him. “Where are your parents?”

The fae stops, eyes caused downwards on his makeshift bed. “With my brothers.”

“You have siblings? Are they—“

“No, their not fae. There perfect.” The fae lays down, shutting his eyes. “They’re the reason I survived long enough to live on my own.”

Phil only hummed, eyes stuck on the kid huddled in on himself. It wasn’t rare for siblings to protect a changling from there parents. A bond like that didn’t fade just because one was a ‘monster’.

“Do you want to see them?” The fae snapped his eyes open, turning towards him.

“Heh!?”

“I’ll take you.” Phil smiles. “I’ll get you there safely.” And he means it, because no matter how many times he tried to leave in the middle of the night. Something about a child living on there own, hunted for who they are had made him stuck here.

It reminded him of family. Something he’s never really had. The fae gets up and walks over towards him, sitting down beside him. Phil stiffens, only for the other to rest his head against his shoulder. “Why are you cuddling me, mate?” He laughs.

“Your warm.” The fae hums, fully relaxing. “And it’s… Techno.” No power lashes at him, no bind. Techno had a middle and last name too, then.

“Okay.” He nods, settling down to go to bed. “We’ll set out to find your siblings in the morning. Sweat dreams.”

That morning when Phil asks how Techno slept, the changling said “Good.”

[goji-pilled]

MK-S: More of Candeloro’s journal excerpts.

Feb 5: …brings me no comfort to say that my quest into The Archives (Yep, the internet is definitely going to be called “The Archives” with a capital ‘T’ in “The” (unless I forget).) did indeed bare fruit; the appearance of such a young beast little more than a week ago (yesterday, entry dated Jan 27 in here. Had to flip back and check.) was no lone scavenger from beyond the breach (oh, that could be a good name too! “The Breach”…but I’ve already decided “The Gate” for however they’re getting-Oh! Wait, I can call the hole/entrance “The Breach”! Perfect! Not gonna go back and scratch out all refs, I’ll just use the new name going forward. Recap:) -from beyond the Breach Gate (I JUST had this talk with myself! How did I repeat Breach again!), but is indeed a sign that the beasts have begun to breed within this space between spaces (still needs a nam-“The Gap” writing that down before I forget. I’ll decide on it later). Now my quest is twofold; as before it is my duty to find and seal The Gate and then hunt down the scourge it has unleashed upon this world realm. (Google says that baby rats = nest, *groan*, so now I gotta find the darn hole in the wall they got in from, and see if I can’t stumble upon where the dang nest is. I swear if I can’t find the darn thing in two weeks irl, I’m calling an exterminator.) …

Feb 8: I have uncovered a new and troubling discovery today. Not another of the Rat King’s (was it King or Lord?…Interchangeable?) minions, but a hazard of the land. A root of some sort, not of the plant or flesh, but of plastic and metal. The (Oh shoot, do rats chew on electrical wire? Need to google that as soon as I leave. This is fun, but not worth a house fire.) root had its plastic bark exposed. In a moment of naïveté (I’m an idiot) I reached out and touched this strange metal (Zapped myself pretty good too. Had to yell to Oktavia I was okay in here…Am I only okay because I’m a witch, or would that have also only hurt if I was human…not sure I want an answer there.) the thing seemed to call forth the power (no pun intended) of the very gods, in a brief but brilliant flash of light. I shall dub such metal vines roots “Spark starters”. Now, I must return through the Breach. (Gotta see if we have any electrical tape in the closet. “Armory”?…no, too much stuff, not enough able to be used as a rat killer. Upside, starting to use “the Breach” correctly on instinct!”)…

Feb 11: …having returned home (as if I left) I make preparations for my next expedition. Having given description of the hazardous Spark Starters, fair Lady Seckendorff has graced me with the relic known as “Scotch’s Blessing” (Turns out they make electrical tape too. I thought it was a type, like duck duct tape, Ophelia teases me enough for that mishearing-turned-mispronouncing enough as is, not repeating it again.) and now I just need one more journey into The Archives to see if the beasts may be putting all realms in danger, by means of these metal plants…

Feb 12: …I am extremely troubled by what I have found in the old tomes (how did I never come across that word as Mami Tomoe? You’d think someone would have tried teasing me with it, or at least try to use it as a fun joke. Well, I guess I have a new pun in my arsenal next time I’m having quips with Ophelia.)…it seems that not only can the Rat Lord use Spark Starters to burn away the walls between realms (I’m surprisingly satisfied with that line)…but it seems such is his Modus Operandi. Though it pains me to say it, this task is beyond me. I am but one, while the beasts are many, and their damage can spread faster than I could ever keep up with. Our world must reach into its sacred treasuries, to pay whatever price is needed for Those That Breathe Of Poison Mist, for only they have the faintest chance of ending this blight while time yet remains. (Yeah, google says that rat chewed wires starting fires (oh that rhymes) is actually not unheard of, to the point where it’s just a thing. Top result said that in the USA (no idea why I can’t find results for Japan, but I’m not gonna look to hard on this) up to 20% of “undetermined fires” are thought to be from rodent chewed wires. And since I freaking Found one of these wires, there could be others, and I am NOT going to risk a house fire with my family in it. Gonna call an exterminator now first thing in the morning, they’re closed now. Gonna go tape up that one wire afterwards. Dag nab it, I was having fun with this too…Oh well, I can still have fun finding and patching up that hole if the exterminator can’t, and there’s still the interior of the house to map out. Maybe I could go with undoing the Rat King’s damage…yeah, that could work.)…

MK-S: Yes I did actually google these things, which makes this all the better. But since Candeloro is a responsible parent she would definitely call an exterminator after learning these things…so now I’m thinking that after the real rats are dead, Phil could make little glyph powered creatures for tiny Candeloro to find, study and fight; a broken doll with its joints gone, each limb has its own weak spot (she goes for the head first; mistake because now she can’t tell where it’s looking). A rat corpse made animate and speaks in strange whispers (just playing back a scrambled version of the local radio station). A garden snake…Phil’s not behind that one, it was just warm inside and there’s a hole somewhere. It could be Phil’s olive branch to Candeloro…just realized/remembered that Klarissa may not be a part of this AU, and Phil by extension, but I’m not going to delete all this just because of that little detail.

Hope you all enjoyed!

I live for Candeloros fake journal entrys

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #36: “Adoptions an Option” | September 17, 2006 – 11:30PM | S02E11

Boy, I was sure having a great time only having Metalocalypse, Venture Bros., and Tom Goes to the Mayor to review. But GOD FUCKING DAMNIT. Now I have to review this shit. Oh well. Here we go:

First sketch is about Robot Chicken selling out and merchandising it's show extensively. There's a reference to a sketch I don't even remember, which is great. I'm so glad none of this is sinking in.

Then there's a parody of the then-current Fanta ads featuring multi-colored SLUTS doing a thing of a style. See, I so don't wanna talk about this show that I can't even muster the strength to accurately describe the actual references it's making. Remember The Fantanas? Featured in Fanta ads? No? Just google it. I would never have seen these commercials at the time if it weren't for the fact that I worked a movie theater and they would play before the trailers. Anyway they crash a middle east peace talk and steal a treaty that they were signing. Whatever.

Okay, then there's three sketches in succession which feature four guys and one is retarded. ET goes to his home planet and other ETs are there. They are more articulate and call ET a retard. Then there's one where three jack-o-lanterns tease a badly-carved jack-o-lantern and call him a retard. He winds up being spared from the wrath of some pumpkin smashers because they think he was already smashed. THEN there's a quick channel change bit where a homemaker is with four children and she cheerily announces that one of them got a poison cookie. My eye naturally went to the kid all the way to the right of the screen who is doing re-re arms; in fact the thing all these sketches have in common is that the retarded one is all the way to the right, so maybe this is a sophisticated storytelling convention, because the kid's retardation is sorta subtle and possibly not noticeable. I'm only complaining about these sketches to the extent that maaaaaaybe they should've spread them over the course of the series instead of play them all right next to each other? Maybe?

Then a little girl does Roots to a Pegasus (enslaving it, and whipping it, and making it repeat back to her it's new slave name which is like NummyMuffins or something).

Then Inspector Gadget is a freaking terminator!!! And I guess Cree Summers was the voice of Penny both in this and in the original show? I didn't realize that! And Frank Welker reprises his role as CLAW. Huh!

And that's this one, I hated it mostly.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Old Bones Aflame (Part 35)

Hama counts her bones for what is probably the tenth time. She is still missing at least three of them–a beak, a tigerdillo shell fragment, and one of several tiger-monkey claws. Common as those are, she supposes that the claw isn’t big loss. 

Some of the bones are broken, she might be able to glue the fragments together. Perhaps Azula will help her. Azula who has a renewed curiosity about them. It is just one more glimmer, another flicker of a reminder that she still has her Azula. 

“You liked this one the best.” She holds up the mongoose-lizard skull. Poor Unpak, now cracked and missing a few teeth. She passes it to Azula who runs her fingers over it in almost the exact same way she had the first time.“You also took a shine to this one.”

“What is it?”

“A human rib, fire national.”

Azula furrows her brows. “Where did you get it?”

“People die in the swamp all the time. I’m simply a scavenger, an opportunist if you will.” Hama holds her breath and waits for this new Azula to fix her with a look of disgust or terror. Instead she runs her fingers over the bone.

“How can you tell that it’s Fire Nation?”

“Size and density.” Hama answers. “Fascinating, yes?”

Azula nods.

She picks another bone out of her box, “and you found this one.” She plucks it into Azula’s palm. “It’s a spine fragment, tiger-monkey.” 

Azula rests it upon the end of her stump and pushes at it with her pointer before putting it back into the box and rummaging through it for herself. Hama’s heart aches watching this deja vu unfold before her. It is like repeating a night all over again–granted that had been one of the best nights of her life in a while. She finally understands why perfect nights can’t last forever, why one shouldn’t try to go back to them. Oblivious to the melancholy, Azula mumbles about the bones. 

“Do you have anymore?”

“Just one.” Hama replies. “Your hand. I wasn’t sure if you would want to…”

“Show it to me!” She declares. 

Hama chuckles, she has to. She still has her bizarre child.

.oOo.

Hama shows her around the garden as she strokes the top of her hummingbird-lizard’s head. There are lots of pretty plants around here; weeds and floras that Hama insists she had once known the names of. 

Azula stoops down and reaches for one that catches her attention. One with three brilliant green leaves. Hama catches her hand and mummers, “of course you’re trying to touch that one again.”  She laughs her creaky laugh. “I should really just clear all of that out, you have a knack for finding it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s poison ivy, it’s how you lost that hand.” 

Azula clutches her left arm to her chest and glares at the offending plant. The hummingbird-lizard scuttles up her sleeve and onto her shoulder, tickling her as it goes along. “I’ll stay away from those then.”

“Before your brother and his friends got here, you were going to help me clear out the bindweed. You caught it just in time before it could become a problem.” She sighs. “Unfortunately enough time has passed that it has now spread. It’s going to be much trickier now.” She pauses. “I could use the distraction though and you could use some extra time out here getting re-acquitted with the jungle.”

“Alright, so how do we get rid of it?”

“Well, we have to find the root.” Hama replies. “Trace it back to its origins and fix the problem from there.”

“That’s it?”

“Mostly.” Hama shrugs. “Sometimes it only takes one simple thing to take care of a problem. One little spark, to put it like a firebender. Let’s find the root, shall we?”

.oOo.

Azula likes to wander. Hama has noticed this habit a few days later. She likes to pace around the house and peek in cabinets. And when the house becomes a bore she likes to meander about the garden. Hama imagines that it won’t be long before she takes to traversing the jungle too.

Even in the rain, the girl will linger outside. At first Hama thinks that she is still trying to find the bindweed’s root. But it become apparent that she sometimes walks just to put her legs to use. Hama supposes that it makes sense, the girl simply isn’t the type to laze around and do nothing for long stretches of time. 

Hama will let her explore the garden, let her wade through the floodwaters that are slowly beginning to rise again. With luck they will recede once more before they kill her plants. If they do drown, at least she can say that the death was natural this time. 

As natural as Azula’s life is unnatural. 

She strokes the hummingbird-lizard that has grown fond of its place on her stump. 

Sometimes though, Azula does like to sit. 

She sits and stares. 

Hama has to wonder what she might be thinking about. Perhaps she is imagining what her life had been like, maybe she is building a history for herself. One that she likes. One that she finds compelling. One that fills the massive hole in her mind. 

Today Azula stops to sit on the porch. It is nearly twenty-minutes before she returns inside, all sopping wet. 

“Wait just one minute.” Hama stops her at the door. Azula freezes and Hama takes the chance to waterbend her dry. She steps to the side, “alright, go ahead.” 

It would seem that today is one of her quiet days. Hama isn’t sure that she likes these days. It isn’t that her silence is the cold-shouldering sort, it isn’t the sad sort either. It just is. And it makes Hama realize that she no longer likes silence. There is an absence of joy in silence. 

.oOo.

It is harder when Hama is asleep, when she has nothing to do and no one to talk to. It makes her wish that she could sleep. It isn’t that she hasn’t tried–no she has given it her very best attempt. She has laid down on the cot for several hours, first with her eyes open, closing them only when they naturally blinked. 

The next night it occurred to her that maybe closing her eyes was the key; Hama always sleeps with her eyes closed. And so that is what she had done. She had laid down on her back with her hand and stump clasped over her belly. 

This is how Hama lies to sleep. 

But she finds that it is hard to keep her eyes closed–they never feel heavy as Hama mentions eyes sometimes do when you are tired. Azula realizes that she is not tired. She is never tired. And so she can never sleep. Even with her eyes perfectly shut.

She thought next that maybe she hasn’t gotten the position isn’t right. She tired sleeping on her side and on her belly. Hama mentioned that she used to like sleeping on her belly with her hand tucked under her head.  

Her next thought is that perhaps she doesn’t have a comfortable bed. But this can’t be right because she does find it quite physically cozy, it isn’t dissimilar to that warm, dark cocoon she had been wrapped in before being thrust back into this world. She likes the blankets, likes pulling them around her and over her head until she is bundled up tightly and completely.

But she still doesn’t sleep.

Hama mentions an empty mind, unplagued by restless thoughts and stressors. But her mind is already clear. She doesn’t find life to be particularly stressful. She doesn’t have too much to think about.  Mostly just the bindweed. Mostly just how to get to find the root, the very core of the weed.

Tonight she decides that it is time to give up on her quest for sleep. It is futile. She thinks of making her way out into the jungle. She can’t foresee herself getting lost–with no other memories to take up space she has plenty of room to memorize her path in perfect detail. 

She will be back before Hama can notice that she has left.

She stoops down to pick up her shoes when something catches her eye. Something that glints in the moonlight that streams under the cot.

Azula reaches for it and takes the object in her hand. 

A rock, a small rock. It must have gotten knocked under the cot during the scuffle that had killed her. 

She rises,  furrows her brows, and turns it over in her hand. The rock is split in half, flashing a tiny cave of glittering green gems.

[ccherryywine]

the snakes and the blue jays

i see you in the snakes and the blue jays.

i’ll find you perched on the porch railing, or sprawled out basking in the sun rays.

how funny is it that i didn’t even ask you to meet me here?

you always made it easy for me.

it was like that, through and through. that was always clear.

no poisoned last breath or me begging to an empty sky would the settle shaking hands.

soft amber streaks of light reveal a bronzy sheen tucked beneath your coat.

well, here you are, and there i am.

there’s no need to seek you out when you’re still breathing all around.

you are the swaying hardwood branches over the windows, remembering how you sat at the foot of the stairs before all my school dances.

the vents would blow against your back as you’d spin around at my feet, sharing with me your world and all of its chances.

the cold concrete bench, once warmed by your fur and hours of sun now collects pine needles, not hair.

the dragged out ache is still here, but so are you, just not there.

with the slither of black and white stripes, you kept your character and earned your well-deserved crown.

blacktop pavement warms your new cold blood against the ground.

i crouch to the side, wondering how some say you feel nothing at all.

i watch the serpent maneuver over tree roots like walls.

instantly, i know it’s a lie.

how could it be true when all that tender warmth sits still in your eyes?

i can feel it pulling me closer, am i going crazy or getting sober?

gentle pips and chirps from a power line reel in my attention.

suddenly something blue’s married to my vision.

as the church doors click shut, wings spread apart and i lose sight of you.

i never had the desire for a god, but i’d make one from nothing just to have you, and i don’t usually tend to make bets i think i could lose.

the songbirds whistle as you perch in all the places where i’m there to meet.

you whistle from the trees as i grace the front walkway and can finally see.

the energy in its changed form is evident, there’s a distinct feeling every time.

you always made it easy for me, so i’d never have to look for you, eyes so full with grief that it feels like a crime.

you are everywhere that i am; something real enough for a skeptic like me to see divinity in what was once the mundane.

maybe it has been this way all along, the light hits the corners of the room just the same.

my stretched limbs eventually tire of clawing for the answers, but instead you gave mercy on that day.

you could be the star holding just the right amount of light in the darkened sky, or perhaps some kind of snake or a blue jay.

the desire for certainty will be the death of me, and i am still not this life’s prodigy.

in whatever spaces i take up in this life, there you are again, my friend.

you never made me look, never let me doubt.

the ring of life and death turns to tell again, what a girl’s old cat is really all about.

k.t.

——————

an: recently i lost one of my beautiful fur babies and have had so much to say and write about it. grief is a heavy burden, but it’s a privilege to even get to feel it. this one’s maybe a little confusing or sad for some, but i hope you can enjoy and maybe take comfort in it if you’ve been through something similar. love ya :)

[tipsycad147]

How to Break Generational Curses

I dunno what happened. I was sitting in my rocking chair minding my business and eating my breakfast when the word ‘anthropology’ hit me like an energetic force traveling through space and time.

Unprompted and unrelated to the quinoa in my bowl that I was focusing on. Anthropology. It swelled in me like something I had no choice but to explore.

The study of bugs? I didn’t even know.

So I did what any self respecting millennial would do. I asked google.

Turns out, I’ve been studying anthropology my entire life. I’m a non certified Anthropologist.

I’ve always questioned why people do the things they do. One of my favourite quotes from myself is something along the lines of always asking yourself who you are and why you are the way you are.

I’ve studied my family members and their histories. Analyzing every aspect of their personality. Tracing it back to our relationship.

I’ve analyzed myself and every piece of me that has thus forth presented itself. Seeking to understand. Looking at traits both physical and personality climb their way through generations.

And in this I have learned of generational curses and the stain they plague entire families with.

We all have generational curses. Not quite what Stanley Yelnats had the pleasure to break but traits and patterns passed down seemingly through genes.

Everything in life is cyclical. These cycles are going to keep repeating themselves through whole families, spreading like wildfire and destroying all good things until someone makes an effort to stop it.

And boy does it take effort.

So What are Generational Curses?

Sounds like mystical fiction. Poison apple and wicked step mom sorta stuff.

Psychology is funny though. Our minds are undoubtedly one of our most valuable assets as humans. Not to mention most complex.

There’s so much we’re still learning about how our minds work and every time we discover a new level we see how deep it just continues to grow. Rooting itself throughout all of history. Traveling through time and space to create the world we live in.

That’s all a generational curse is. A thought in a mind once upon a time that formulated a belief that may or may not have been helpful at the time, that has survived the test of time. Passed down from adult to child like a haunted heirloom.

Forever a “because that’s the way things are” with not much thought of it otherwise, it terrorizes entire households before slinking it’s way into the next.

Congratulations. You’ve been selected to break your generational curses.

You poor, strong soul. If you’re here, you are probably aware of a generational curse coursing through your family.

You’re the unlucky one to get the opportunity to break it. Why you? You seem to be the first one to both realize it exists and want to fix it. Or maybe others have tried before you and been defeated. This takes the strength of a hero after all.

Ehh.. a hero that may appear to be a villain at times. Channel your inner Itachi Uchiha and let’s go.

This journey will not be a pleasant one. I recommend preparing for it.

Recognize the single generational curse you wish to break (most of us have at least a handful)

Identify it in your other family members, tracing it’s route to you

Meditate on all it brings up for you

Make an affirmation list to ward off the demons that are going to come out to play here

Per example, if the generational curse stimulates the emotion of fear within you, you’re going to want to surround yourself with that which makes you feel safe.

If the generational curse instigates loneliness or abandonment, bring in your closest loved ones to be with you.

Explore the aspects of the curse and gather any supplies you may need in the form of correlating crystals, herbs and what have you to keep on and around your being while you navigate the rough seas of transition from one reality to the next.

Follow the Emotions

Our emotions are there to guide us. They show us what needs to be healed and where it resides in our body and life.

The only way past the trauma and into the healing is through the emotions. Fully through them. So the more you lean into them and stop trying to hold them back, the quicker and easier you’re going to get through to the other side.

This is going to look like a lot of different things depending on who you are and what you need. Try to keep coping mechanisms as positive as possible. Humor helps as well.

It’s wildly effective to have someone to help you process. We are, after all, social creatures who need to feel connected to one another.

Do be mindful though of who you lean on in these times because the person in question needs to be fully emotionally available to be able to help you. Otherwise the trauma will retreat back in and grow.

And this is what we call shadow work. Identifying and getting to know your demons so that you may better tame them. Please let me know if I can answer any questions.

Acknowledging Humanity

To heal your generational curse, you’re going to have to find forgiveness. Hold on, don’t run away. I know some of ya’ll have some feelings about forgiveness but look, we’re all human and that means:

Life is a shit show for us all. FOR US ALL. Everyone gets a shit show. Handle yours with grace. Things can ALWAYS be worse.

Escape the rare psychopath, most of us are out here doing the best we can with what we feel like are good intentions.

Hurt and pain breeds more hurt and pain

The internet is new and healing your trauma became a thing less than like…50 years ago.

Before then, healing wasn’t usually an option. It’s still sometimes not an option. You know what you know when you know it and some don’t have the capacity to figure out how to heal because life keeps adding more and the hole is so deep already.

Therefore, there’s a good chance no one really had an opportunity to heal this shit before you got here and arrived in this particular moment in time and space.

So once again, congratulations on being the savior and hero for all of your future blood line. Maybe your heirs will erect a statue to commemorate you for it. I wouldn’t get to hung up on that outcome though.

So anyway, You need to forgive the line for passing it down to you. Chances are they were all just hurt people doing their best. Also, forgive yourself if you have any “shoulda, coulda, wouldas” you’re carrying around.

The healed generational curses

Moving into your new, healed reality is just a matter of continuing on your life from here. But now you’re aware of the truth, even if other’s aren’t.

You know that you don’t have to play into the story any longer.

You know that when strong emotions are triggered, they’re there to show you what still needs to be addressed.

Our job is to sit with these feelings, analyzing and breaking them down, tracing their journey to us.

Healing occurs when understanding is had and forgiveness is bestowed. When the old story is shed and a new, more helpful one is chosen.

It’s not easy work. But hey, you’re the chosen one.

https://earthandwater.co/how-to-break-generational-curses/

[fics-by-caroline]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Magical!Reader

Summary: You and Loki are part of the Avengers, but the pair of you have different ideas of what justice entails than the rest of the group; i.e., more horror, more drama, an eye for an eye. And man, do you two ever look sexy covered in blood.

Category: Smut (18+ only, please!)

Warnings: Smut (blood kink, oral sex -- f receiving), rough sex, porn with some plot), language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, smoking, alcohol consumption, mention of human trafficking.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so please be nice 🥺

   Taking a drag from a cigar in the corner of the dimly-lit speakeasy, your target looked you up and down. Even without tapping into his thoughts, you could tell that he liked what he saw; how the black dress you wore hugged your figure, how you had crossed your legs in a way that allowed him to catch the red bottoms of your heels, red that was reflected in your lipstick and nails. You turned to make eye contact with him, and were immediately hit with hearing him imagine you on your knees sucking him off in one of his fancy cars and afterwards kicking you out onto the street.

   Typical, You thought with disgust, finishing your martini. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Feeling him get up and walk towards you, you shot a knowing look at Loki across the bar.

   “Can I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice was dripping in disgusting salaciousness. He sat beside you, reeking of the over-application of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke.

   You shot him a demure smile. “A dirty martini, drier than the Sahara.”

   The man waved down the bartender before leaning closer to you. “Michael Ashbourne.”

   You suppressed an eye roll, taking instead to lighting a cigarette. “I know who you are, Mr. Ashbourne.”

   “And what is it that you know of me?” Ashbourne stroked your hair with a drunken finger.

   Uncrossing your legs, you turned to face him. “That you are one of the worst Midgardian men alive today. You cheat people out of their winnings in various casinos around the world, making yourself and your friends — no doubt the ones who surrounded you in that corner over there — some of the richest men in the world, while managing to operate under the radars of your enemy governments. You sell weapons and drugs because you always want even more money on top of the billions you already have, not caring about the damage you cause. You drink the most expensive liquors, sleep with all the women you please, and leave people eating the dust in your wake. But what brings you to the epitome of disgusting actions is your engagement in the trafficking of girls, once again, for even more money.” Even though you kept your voice low, you made sure to lace every word with biting poison.

   Ashbourne pulled back in shock, unmoving and speechless.

   You smirked at his silence. “Your cunningness is almost impressive, especially for a human. You manage to remain one step ahead of the mewling mortals who are left to crawl in your fading footprints. Bravo. Unfortunately for you, however, I am not one of them.” You waved a finger, from which a small ribbon of white magic followed.

   “Who the hell are you?” Ashbourne hissed.

   “A hero in the eyes of the people you have crossed, and the villain in yours.”

   Ashbourne scoffed condescendingly. Stupid bitch, you heard him think. “Speaking in mysterious riddles just makes you look stupid, missy. I don’t know how you know what you know, but it’s a bit too much for my liking.” He raised a hand, beckoning over the large men who had accompanied him.

   You sighed, unimpressed. Before they could so much as reach for their belt, you pulled the pistol from your garter stockings and fired silenced shots in between their eyes, before holding a dagger against Ashbourne’s throat. The speakeasy froze in horrified silence.

   With a small chuckle at the sudden shock and fear in Ashbourne’s muddy eyes, you called to Loki. “Darling, are there others?”

   “No darling, not here … but we can’t have witnesses, can we?” Loki sauntered up to you, kissing you on the head. He looked around at the few bystanders in the bar, terror keeping their feet rooted in place.

   “Loki, is that really necessary —”

   You were cut off by Loki launching towards the horrified bystanders like a cat pouncing on prey, his daggers slicing through their necks gliding ease. He finished off by throwing a knife into the bartender’s skull, silencing his terrorized mind that shrieked in your own so annoyingly. Loki looked back at you with an amused glint in his eyes, blood on every surface of the speakeasy, including Loki’s own body. Gesturing around him, he noted dryly, “They were dead in seconds, no suffering.”

   You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Ashbourne, who sat with eyes wide and mouth agape. You smirked and applied a bit more pressure to the blade in your hand, drawing small beads of blood. You snuffed out your cigarette and stood up, toying with his bowtie as your heel dug into his foot. You could taste the fear that drenched his mind. “What’s this?” You cooed. “Feeling scared?”

   “Ah, you’re so right, my love,” Loki smiled, looking around the room at the bloody mess he created. “Not using magic is so much more fun. I missed getting my hands dirty.”

   You chuckled lowly. You couldn’t help but stare at him hungrily; there was something in the way the blood splatter stood out against his pale skin that awoke an arousal in you. Shaking your head, you turned back to the man under your knife and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you think I should do this? Stabbing is too classic, going for the neck is too neat.”

   “Unzip him, dear,” Loki hummed. He shot a bolt of green magic towards the man, binding him in glowing ropes that wrapped around his pitiful body. Noticing your dry look, he shrugged. “I want a proper view of your handiwork, and I can’t have that if I’m holding him.”

   “Fair enough,” You said. After a moment’s thought, you waved your hands, making Ashbourne’s shirt disappear in a white flash of your own magic.

   “Wait, wait, stop. What do you want? Money? I have money. What do you want?” Ashbourne pleaded.

   “I want ...” you said coldly, “to hear you scream.”

   You stepped forward and sunk your dagger into his lower abdomen, slicing upwards smoothy, careful as to not sever any major blood vessels. Ashbourne screamed in agony — music to both yours and Loki’s ears. You grinned at the blood that spurted out to meet you, and tossed the dagger onto the surface of the bar. You looked at the open mess in front of you and sunk your hand into the open cavity, making Ashbourne wail.

   Loki smacked Ashbourne’s face with a deadly glare. “Stay awake, you.”

   You reached farther into Ashbourne’s gut, quickly finding the pulsating aorta. You looked up at Ashbourne’s paling face, cheek now sporting a bloody handprint from where Loki had slapped him, and pulled on the artery, which snapped and spurted hot blood all over you. Loki released his magic binds, leaving the body of the man to collapse like a rag doll onto the floor, very much dead.

   You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you discarded the shred of aorta in your hands onto the lifeless body. You turned to look at Loki, who was smiling back at you with a familiar, blazing fire behind his eyes. He reached over and picked up your discarded dagger from the tabletop. He looked it over once, then swiped his tongue up one side of the blade. You groaned in arousal at the sight.

   “The taste of justice, my dear,” He said, licking his lips.

   He turned his fiery gaze back on you, holding the knife out for your taking. Without breaking eye contact, you licked up the other side, the metallic taste of Ashbourne’s blood spreading through your mouth only adding to the wet ache between your legs.

   “Fucking hell,” Loki breathed, the large bulge in his dress trousers clearly evident.

   You took the dagger, swiping away the rest of the blood that stained it on your finger and licked it clean. A deep rumble escaped from Loki’s lips before he smashed his lips onto yours, your tongues trading the tastes of blood and saliva. With a sharp tug, Loki tore your dress down and pinched your nipples between his bloodied fingers as he backed you up onto the bar. While normally, he would take his time with you, tease you at a torturously slow pace, make you plead and squirm beneath him, he now was fuelled purely by an animalistic flame, his lips and teeth marking your lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones. You broke apart only for you to render the pair of you naked by way of a flick of the wrist and a flash of white light. You stared at each other, both of you breathless and admiring how the blood that drenched your clothing had stained your bodies in a beautiful pattern of death.

   “I love you so much,” You whispered.

   “I love you too,” Loki said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip lightly.

   In a flash, the momentary gentleness was gone as Loki pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them. You shouted out in pleasure, then gasped when you felt Loki’s tongue on your clit.

   “Fuck, Loki!” You hissed, throwing your head back and grinding deeper onto Loki’s fingers and tongue.

   The most audacious and obscene sounds filled the speakeasy as Loki twisted his fingers inside your cunt and attacked you with his mouth. You moaned unabashedly and Loki in return groaned against your body. His nips against your clit were anything but gentle, his fingers fucking your cunt so deeply, so gloriously, that your entire body sparked with invisible electricity.

   “You’re going to cum for me,” Loki growled, “you’re going to cum for me and make me drink it as you do.”

   You nodded into the air, gasping, panting, writhing under him. You clenched around his head, locking Loki into place, and came on his face, rolling and thrusting your hips against his mouth. Loki held your hips and drank your release until your orgasm finally finished washing over you.

  Before you could begin to catch your breath, Loki seized your neck in one large hand and pushed himself inside of you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan loudly. He started moving his hips immediately at a quick and relentless pace, splitting you apart in pleasure. You reached up to wrap your arms and legs around him desperately. As he hit that sweet spot that no other could, you brought your nails down his back, no doubt drawing blood. All thoughts had disappeared from your minds, pure animalistic pleasure and arousal clearing everything else out. Your combined energy made the lights spark and flicker, furniture going flying as your grip on your magic became weaker. Loki slammed into you, your walls tight around him, his pelvis grinding in such a way that he moved against your clit. You were only barely registering how you clung onto him for dear life, the most indecent noises pouring from both of your mouths, bodies slick in blood and sweat sliding against one another. Your connection into each other’s minds let you both know that the other was just as close to their climax without speaking. Expletives punctuated your shared groans and screams, Loki’s grip on your body so tight that bruises were sure to follow, your teeth and nails marking his skin.

   “Loki, I — fuck — Loki!” You cried as you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

   “I know, I — ah! I know —!” Loki groaned, biting your neck.

   You exploded again with a scream and you slammed your hand onto the table, releasing a huge pulse of magic that levelled the room around you. Green explosions set off around you as Loki lost control and spilled into you with a stammering thrust and deep groan. Even though your eyes were both closed, you could see each other in your minds, totally blissful and exhausted, chests heaving. Loki’s lips found yours in a loving kiss.

   “We should ... we should clean up here before the others come by,” You said, still out of breath.

   Loki nodded wordlessly. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper. We waved his hand, and the speakeasy righted itself in a glow of green light. Tables and chairs fixed themselves, light fixtures hung back up on the ceilings, blood and bodies disappeared, until the only remnant of your activities was the gore that still covered your naked bodies. You stood up and cricked your neck before cleaning yourself and Loki up, and dressing the pair of you in the dress and tuxedo you two were wearing. 

   “What will we say to the others when they ask about the sudden disappearance of everyone here?” You asked slowly.

   “Don’t worry, love,” Loki grinned, “we can tell them the truth. We’re both too valuable for them to kick us out of the group.”

   You laughed and took Loki’s outstretched arm, walking out into the cool night.

[dere-drabbles]

Angel!Darling x Yandere!Vil Schoenheit

Request:  hellou, I would like to request a reader fem x vil, with the suffocating message 9, with the plus that vil discovers that the reader is an angel

Warnings: Possessive traits, implications of past harm to reader, unspoken threats, manipulation

You’d always thought he was beautiful.

Vil was undoubtedly one of the fairest of the land, even from the view of an angel like yourself. His diligence in pursuing grace and beauty was something you admired; thus when he evoked a silent wish for salvation at one of the worst moments of his life, you came and offered him a blessing.

He was normal, back then. He expressed his thanks, and kept his composure, and told you it wouldn’t be necessary to grant him a miracle.

So you, being your kind-hearted self, chose to continue looking after him. You would visit him at times to see how he was doing; the thing was, you never knew Vil was acutely aware of every time you came down. And how at times, it was instead he who was observing you than the other way around.

You were supposed to be a guardian, not a prisoner or a pet - or what he twistedly deemed as a partner.

These days, your wings were scarcely spread. You could fly no more, and your halo dimmed a bit more every time you realized that Vil was not the person you once looked after.

To think that you believed in his desire for recognition, once. That he understood the boundaries of your friendship.

Vil was caring for your feathers this morning. The windows of the penthouse weren’t shaded by curtains, allowing you both to bask in the delicate light of dawn.

You hated it. Hated seeing something that you could never experience the same way again - even if you were freed, and somehow broke the shackle on your leg, could you still enjoy the winds like you used to? Could you ever go back to your job and look at your assignments the same way again?

Vil was an assignment. Look how that turned out.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know.” His voice spoke up from behind you. You’d never guess that was the voice of someone that’d take you as a prisoner. “You’re just too irrational to see that, right now.”

“...I’m not.” You curtly replied, tugging at the chains that rooted you to the ground. They were enchanted - where had he even gotten them? “You’re the one that doesn’t see sense.”

Vil sighs, as if he’d expected such an answer. It irks you that he acts like he knows you inside and out. “That’s what you always say, dear.”

He tugs at a knot in your wing a little harsher than usual, causing you to clench your teeth. You refuse to give him an outburst - an excuse to bestow a punishment onto you as he saw fit. Just thinking about the last time he did such a thing made your shoulders throb.

How much longer? You constantly think to yourself. How much more of this?

“Turn,” he ordered. You didn’t, not until you felt something cold and biting hit the space between your wings. When you moved on reflex, Vil caught your arms and drew you closer - you vaguely register his magicpen beside him. A threat and a reminder.

“Remember to stay safe while I’m gone.” He mutters, scanning over your form. Your stomach churned as you remembered the last time you hurt yourself trying to escape - as if sensing the thought, Vil ran his thumb over the scar on your inner wrist, causing you to flinch away.

Though it wasn’t as if his grip would truly let you retreat into yourself. Your wings started to curl inward in reflex, and you do your best to suppress the urge to cocoon. Vil continued to consider something, deep in thought. When he reached a conclusion, he absentmindedly lifts your hand to place a kiss on the scar, then the back of your hand.

It was gentle, like it normally was. Vil liked to keep his possessions in pristine condition, after all - and he knew methods that could hurt without marring your skin.

You were acutely reminded of that, and thus you kept down the urge to recoil when he places a his lips onto yours in farewell.

His love was like a poison; one that you were forced to stomach, if you’d like to keep your wings.

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[gripefroot]

A Court of Dusk and Shadows ❲1❳

The throne was white. 

No - it was every color of a sunset. With the descending sun blazing behind it, it turned gold and orange and pink and purple. New shades spreading across with each passing minute as night crept on. And beneath it - shadows lengthened and spread from the carved base, wild and free. 

The throne beckoned. Come sit, it said to me. Come take your place. 

Beyond the throne were marble pillars that stretched proudly into the sky, woven with vines of moonflowers and orchids. I could not see any roof - dusky clouds obscured the view. And below, far, far below - the sea rippled in shining waves, beating against the island in shimmering hues. Boats with bone-white sails seemed to drift forever. Distantly I could hear voices: voices laughing and talking and teasing and bargaining. The calls of animals, the hammer of forges. 

And everything smelled of salt and fragrant flowers and lemon. 

But I could feel, rather than see, what was making my heart wrench away from the lovely sight. A hand outstretched in front of that throne, leading up to a smiling face clear of sorrow and fear. 

A scarred hand. Extended from the dark, and I knew that between us was where light and shadow met.

Come sit, he said, echoing the throne. Come take your place, and I’ll be at your side forever.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

The night was an inky black shield dotted with silver and gold. Velaris far below, the stars above and only the whistling wind and thump of his own heart for company: Azriel’s gaze honed in on the House of Wind as he descended, and hoped that none would question his tardiness. 

His boots landed silently on an upper balcony.

Halls were unlit, creeping with silence. The shadows that came with him curled around his neck and ears, whispering that nearly everyone was asleep. There would be no interrogation that night, at least - though breakfast might be another matter. But that would be for the morning. He slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, resting his forehead against the wood panels for several heartbeats before turning wearily away to find his rest. 

A cozy fire had flickered itself to life, the wrought-iron window springing open to let in more of that sweet night air. He lingered only to unstrap himself of weapons, setting them on the table beside his bed as his thoughts skittered and bit at him like hungry wolves. 

Azriel had been gnawed for so long he wondered how they found any part of him left to devour. 

Truth-Teller shone like a void in the light as he pulled it from its sheath, if only to look at it. Scarred thumb tracing over the hilt - with a sigh he shoved it back in, and put it aside. 

The knock on his door was so quiet that he might not have heard it, had the shadows spreading from him not trembled in response. They slithered up the door to turn the knob, his head lifting in a jerk as he scented his visitor - the sweet, heady jasmine that wore itself on her skin like a blessing. Or a spell. 

A click behind her. The door was closed. 

The wolves barked. Azriel turned, hand lifting to rub the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture as he forced himself, as he always had, to keep his expression even. To betray nothing. Even though the sight of her lace robe over a silken, lilac gown that displayed her creamy throat so well was enough to move him to his knees. To say nothing of the loose curls hanging down her back - wanting to be touched. Wanting him to bury his face there and breathe her in until she lived beneath his skin - 

“You were missed,” Elain said. 

“I was occupied,” Azriel said shortly. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and at his glower the shadows that crept curiously around the hem of her nightgown scattered, leaving her free to glow in the golden light of the fire. 

“Why don’t you come to family dinners anymore?” she asked, her voice softer than rain. 

He swallowed. A tremor went through his wings, and he stretched them out slightly to ease the tautness. Her eyes flitted to them over his shoulders. He saw the bob of her throat. “You know why,” Azriel told her in a hoarse, harsh voice. 

Elain lifted her chin, though the expression in her lovely eyes shimmered. “If it’s me you’re avoiding, I’ll stop going,” she said.

“No.”

“You should be with your family. They miss you.” 

“No,” Azriel said again.

“I don’t know how much longer I can attend, pretending that nothing’s wrong with me,” Elain said. “That my heart doesn’t hurt more each time you don’t appear. Azriel,” she breathed, and his spine stiffened as if brushed with a tender finger from root to tip. “I - I don’t want to go anymore. I don’t want the reminder that you - that you don’t want to see me.” 

Secrets were best whispered alone in the night: Azriel had always known that. Known that honesty could burst out at the right moments, if prodded enough, uncaring of the consequences it could bring.

As for him - the consequence was like a poisoned knife between his ribs, where he felt the emptiest. 

“The best solution is for you to go instead of me,” Elain went on in his silence. “I’ll be happier knowing you are.” 

“I’m not happy,” Azriel said. But she merely lifted her slender shoulders, the lace rustling against the silk. As if she didn’t care to wonder why he’d said it; the extent of what he’d meant. His honesty was kept deeper down and further back. Where it couldn’t hurt anyone who could hurt him. 

“I’m not going to go to family dinners anymore,” she told him. As if her mind was made up. “I hope you do.” 

“You’re hurt when I’m not there,” he said. “No different than I am at your absence.” 

It was all the game. It had to be. The repeating, the declarations, the anguish: pushing at the walls each of them had built around the other, as if looking for weak spots. To crumble, or to build back better. Azriel didn’t know. Something in him was howling. 

Elain’s eyes began to glitter. The shift of the firelight against her hair, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed - 

Something clattered from elsewhere in the house. Azriel stiffened, wings snapping in as his gaze darted to the door behind her. He ground out between his teeth, “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I want to be,” she whispered. “I can’t stay away.” 

The jasmine - he realized her scent wasn’t fresh and blooming. He’d noticed it when she first came in. It was heady. Like it had been scorching under the summer sun, begging for water; thirst to be parched, or the petals to be plucked and treasured - 

Azriel’s head spun. The wolves that ate at him yipped and scratched and whined. They wanted. They wanted. 

“If you’re looking for release,” he said in a low growl, fingers clenching into fists at his side. Cracking a whip at himself to quiet the wolves, but still they snarled.  “Lucien Vanserra can be summoned.” 

“I don’t want Lucien,” Elain said sharply. The color was high in her cheeks as she tucked a curl behind one of her delicate ears, the simple motion drawing his attention like a drawn bowstring. “I want you.” 

His next words were difficult, but he forced them out: “Rhys has...commanded that we stay apart.”

“Rhysand isn't my High Lord. I’ve sworn no oath to him.” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “He can't command me.”

“He commands me,” Azriel said. 

“Then tell him I coerced you. Whatever you need.” The lightness in her voice was pleading. Begging. Her slender hands trembled, eyelashes stark against her skin as she blinked furiously. Desperate. 

“No. I won't let you face censure, or - or punishment - ”

“Not being with you is punishment every day,” Elain cut him off, and Azriel nearly swallowed his own tongue as he saw the glitter in her eyes escape to trail a silver path down her flushed cheeks. “Lucien is punishment for me, isn't he? I was given to someone I don't love. Someone I don’t want. While you are denied to me. Is this not punishment?”

Every fiber in his body wanted to cross the space between them: to reach out, to dry the tears and to hold her in his arms until she stopped trembling. Until that gaping wound beneath his ribs was whole and glowing again - 

Azriel didn’t smile, though the irony wasn’t lost on him. “It feels like it.” 

Her bottom lip quivered. Then, “Please,” in a yearning whisper that started unthreading him from his very bones. The wolves purred as he took a step closer to her. 

“Elain,” he murmured, and she trembled at her name, eyes closing briefly as if to savor it. “They’ll know. It...it can’t be hidden. I’d leave my scent all over you. And you on me. And I’d never, ever want to wash it off.” 

“It’ll wear off,” she said. 

“In days? Weeks? How long will we hide?” 

Elain didn’t answer, and he took another step closer, unclenching his fists as he breathed slowly through his nose. 

“It's not just that, either,” Azriel said, and her head was tilting upwards to watch him, hungry and hot as he towered over her. “Once I have you...I won't be able to stop wanting to have you. Over and over again, in every way imaginable. I don't want to live another day on this earth without tasting you on my tongue. Smelling you on my skin. Feeling you. I would…” 

He trailed off, realizing that the night had somehow wrung more honesty from him than he’d ever intended. Her eyes blazed up at him, and daring, he lifted a hand to rest his scarred fingertips on the lace at her breast, beneath which he could feel the rapid pulse of her heartbeat. 

“I would want to be here, inside of you.” 

“Please,” Elain whispered again, barely more than a warm breath that brushed against his face like a shadow - but those stayed back. “Please, Azriel. I'm not afraid. Not of Rhys, not of Lucien. I'm afraid....of what my life will be without you. I'm afraid of wanting you for the rest of my life with no hope of having you.”

Her fingers curled over his on her breast, cool to the touch and he shivered head to toe as her thumb stroked along a rippled, white scar. Not even noticing it, with her eyes melting so intently as she stared at him. Lips slightly parted, only a few inches from his and ready to be tasted, and savored and worshipped. 

“Even if you refuse,” she went on, pressing his hand tighter to the skin-warmed lace. “You’ll always be here, where you always have been." 

“There’s nothing in me that can deny you,” Azriel said. Swallowed. “Elain.”

“Azriel…” 

“You could ask me to tear down Ramiel with my bare hands and I would,” he breathed. “I would tear apart any part of this world. If you asked me to carve out my own heart, I would.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Elain said gently. Mirror of him, her slender hand brushed up his chest - a shudder enough to cause an earthquake ripped through him. Without armor, only a dark shirt of cotton was between their skin. He could feel the warmth of her flesh as her palm splayed over his heart. “I’m only asking for you.” 

The drumming in his head must be his heartbeat. A warning, perhaps - or fate zeroed in on this moment. Where a future was held taut between them. A question between souls. Dark and light, as they’d always been. His dark, her light: she offered it freely. 

Will you have me?

Will you risk it all?

He could see in her shining eyes. I would risk it all for you.

“You want me,” Azriel said. Half a question. She’d already said it. At the dip of her head in assent, he closed the remaining distance between them with a step. The slight gasp between her lips warmed his face, but he didn’t give her the kiss she wanted - the kiss she’d asked for long ago - the kiss that he’d dreamt of until his soul was used up and dry. No, three more strides backed her against the wall as he heard her heart flutter madly beneath his hand. Closer still: he braced his opposite hand above her head, feeling the pattern of the wallpaper as his knee came between her legs. Trapping her. Pinning her. 

She trembled. But it wasn’t the acrid scent of her fear that was making her eyes bright. 

It was want. 

“I’m dangerous,” he growled in a low voice. Still Elain didn’t tear her eyes from his, even as her fingers balls into a fist with his shirt between them. “This is dangerous. You and me.” 

“I don’t care.” Not the breathy tone he’d expected. Something thornier, stonier, as she lifted her chin to face him more fully. But it just exposed more of that creamy, unblemished throat to him. An invitation. 

Azriel tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. Hair hung in his face, and her fingers softly brushed it aside. Jasmine. Jasmine. Jasmine. Summer, heady, hot flowers; slow-dripping honey - 

Chest to chest, pressing closer as if their skin would fall away and they’d be just one person from then on. His leg lifted slightly, the rustle of lace and silk - and he felt her, through the layers, as her dark lashes closed, lips parting in an uneven breath and he heard, more with his heart than his ears,

“Oh - ”

He’d rather be boiled by the Cauldron than face Rhys after this. 

And it would still be worth it. To watch the rose-pink deepen in her cheeks as her eyes fluttered open again. On his thigh she throbbed, and if he tried to push her away, he knew she’d rip his shirt apart, so tightly was she clinging to him. 

“Are you scared, Elain?” Azriel whispered. 

“No.” 

Her eyes had glazed slightly. Like she’d gone drunk at a sip of wine, yet stared down the bottle ready to drink it to the last drop. But he was the bottle, and the wine, and the drinker. Sucking in a breath, holding her quivering body in place, he lowered his head, tilting it to the side. 

His lips met her skin at a sensitive spot beneath her ear. He felt her tremble. Brushed downward to the base of her neck, savoring every inch of her as she whimpered a strain of incoherent noises he knew would play in his dreams until he was a corpse in the ground. Then, tilting his head again, he stared at the glistening hollow of her throat. Where her scent was the thickest. Richest. Sweetest. 

Azriel paused long enough to take her wrists in his hands, lifting them above her head as her chest rose and fell against him. His chin was nearly between her breasts, and though they wanted his attention and he wanted to give it to them - he kept his eyes instead on her throat. 

Elain was squirming. Not to get away, but to get closer. The frantic bucking of her hips against him - not close enough. He pressed harder with his leg until he could feel the grind of her bone against him, and his tongue darted out to that hollow to taste it the moment her moan rose beneath it. 

“There,” he breathed. Again she rubbed herself against him. He could smell the growing headiness from there, and the jasmine coating his tongue. He licked again, and again as she moved more frantically. 

His wings unfurled as he growled deep in his throat, talons reaching to dig into the wall - the house would repair itself later - and shreds of wallpaper fluttered to the ground as he steadied himself. And Elain. The way she was pulling him in, giving of herself so freely, wanting him - chasing pleasure he could give her, scant as it was...as if this would be all she was ever given. A drop of water before starvation. 

Azriel fastened his lips to one jutted collarbone, and sucked. Immediately he clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. Sweat was dampening her nightgown - more than sweat - and it was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever smelled. He tore his mouth from her skin to say in a hoarse voice, 

“Quiet. Don’t make a sound.” 

Slowly he removed his hand, then, and lifted his head enough to see the perspiration dotting her forehead. Eyes squeezed shut as her fingers dug into his shoulders, now. 

“Good,” Azriel rasped. “Keep going, Elain. Use me however you need.”

“Touch me.” Her plea was broken and wavering. “Please - Azriel - ”

He snarled. Gripping her hips between his hands, helping her to move against him. Guiding each undulation as her heart beat faster and faster and faster - her breasts were at his eye level, so high he was holding her off the ground - and he allowed himself one more luxury: he rested his forehead against her sternum, feeling each bob of her breasts on either side of his face. The slight snag of a hardened nipple. 

If she didn’t come soon, he would. 

But it was a mere moment later that she came: breathless and noiseless, like he’d commanded, but he felt the clench of her even on his thigh. The desperate throbbing, wanting to be filled but still cresting. Deeper breaths from her parted lips, a night-song of indescribable beauty. 

Azriel wanted her. He wanted her so badly he thought he’d die from it. 

Elain went lax, and he caught her ‘round the waist before she toppled over. Her head against his shoulder, wings still shrouding them - his nose really was in her glorious mass of hair, now, and because he knew this shouldn’t happen again, he breathed in the scent of her curls, over and over and over again - 

“Azriel,” she half-panted, half-sobbed. It made his heart wrench. The wolves in his head still prowled, still snarled - wanted to pounce, to stroke, to take - but no. No. No. He wouldn’t. 

Talons unhooked themselves from the wall, wings folding delicately back in as he lowered her to the ground. A moment of unsteadiness before she could stand, blinking up at him like the sweetest fawn on a spring day. Cheeks flushed red, eyes glittering, throat damp. A faint bruise was left there from him - it would heal by morning. He hoped. 

His trousers were unbearably tight. He could barely stand. But he did, and held Elain’s gaze as if it were a lifeline offered to his dying soul. 

Which very well could be the truth.

“Azriel,” she said again. Tucked curls behind her ear. But he merely bowed, instead of throwing her onto the bed to devour her until Summer Solstice as he wanted to do with every fiber of his being, and said, 

“I hope you’re feeling better, Elain.” 

Something like hurt passed over her face. Mouth pressed together in a thin line as she tugged the lace robe to lay straight over her breasts and shoulders. Azriel didn’t look. 

A single breath, drawn out like a keening wail of grief: Elain turned and swept away to the door, yanking it open to disappear into the blackness as shadows reappeared, gently closing the door to keep it from making a noise and alerting the sleeping inhabitants of the house. Azriel stared after her for a moment, fists clenched and empty and her scent all over him like a thick, woollen blanket. 

He hadn’t even kissed her. 

He stomped to the fireplace, tearing at the laces of his trousers to yank them off each of his feet. Threw the Elain-soaked pants into the fire. 

As if knowing his intention, knowing his agony: the house ate up the leather quickly, turning it to blackened, crumbling ashes that fell among the cracked logs. He still smelled of her, he knew it. He’d smell her even if he did manage to wash her off. His leg, his hands, his chest where she’d touched him, his face - she was everywhere. Everywhere. 

Almost everywhere. 

Azriel ached. He ached between his legs, almost like he’d been kicked with a spiked boot. Hurt so bad even without trousers that he didn’t want to touch himself. Instead he stared at the flames, and then the embers as they burned down and the shadows crept closer to swallow him whole. Still his heart beat on, a steady, unceasing rhythm that chanted with each pulse of blood - 

Elain. Elain. Elain.

TO BE CONTINUED

[un2-verse]

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (3)

Synopsis: News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right?

Pairing: yandere!Taehyung x f!reader

genre: angst, horror, weirdly some fluff lol

Warnings: dark themes, yandere, stalking, manipulation, conditioning, mentions of abuse, suicidal ideations/attempts, self harm, murder, depictions of torture etc (basically its gorey and fucked up), angel trap, etc stabbing and guns. do not read if triggered!!!!

wordcount: 2.2k

taglist: @yes-sol-not-soul @yoongiofmine

a/n: pt 3 is here!! honestly i wasnt expecting this amount of support as i’ve never published my writing before so thank u sm ♡ i was inspired to write this one night and i had no idea where it’d go or anything but i’m happy with the way its turning out :D fun fact abt me, i’ve been obsessed w the franchise since i was little and i actually have 2 saw tattoos, one of billy and one above saying “cherish your life” since that’s pretty much the motto of saw :) and i have quite the collection of saw/billy items so why not turn my fav horror film into a fucked up love story! let me know if u would like to be added to the taglist and pls enjoy reading^^ feel free to send me asks abt the series or anything u want~ i love hearing from u guys!! :D ps— taehyung and the reader dont have much interaction in this part,, theyll definitely be more of them together in part 4 :) unedited so pls excuse any mistakes!! tysm <33 and remember these are fictional characters and do not represent bts personally in any way!!

series masterlist

part one part two

The headlines constantly named the Jigsaw Killer, Billy. The somewhat eerie little doll that had a face as white as a Calla Lily with spirals on it’s cheeks as red as the blood that was shed during the tests. Billy was always dressed in a little black suit with a red bowtie and he was (most of the time) situated on a squeaky battered tricycle. Attached was always a tape that read “play me” and when the subjects did, a chilling voice— one that could make even the world's worst predators shiver with terror— would echo around the room.

Everyone knew that a doll clearly wasn’t responsible, yet they gave it the name Billy in hopes to somewhat humanise the face that instilled panic— they did not want to live in fear.

It was the only face behind the killings.

But this time, there was a different subject stuck in the test and Billy had made sure there was no way for them to survive.

“How are you scared of heights? You’re practically a giant yourself!”

“Just because I’m tall doesn’t mean I can’t be scared of heights Y/Nie.”

You had no idea how long had passed since Taehyung had turned up at the garage, you were too busy chatting away squeezed into the kitchen while your Dad, Yoongi and Hobi worked on the cars in the shop. If anyone could hear you both, they would think you’d known eachother since childhood— the playful jokes and light touches exaggerated that.

You’d only known him for a few hours really, if you added the time spent with him on the first day and now. It hadn’t seemed like all those weeks ago that you first met, he had a familiar presence, as though you had known him for years compared to the hours.

“I just wouldn’t imagine you to be scared of anything Taehyung… you seem so confident and fearless.”

You saw the way Taehyung looked at you. His eyes flashed with understanding.

“I did have my fears back then, much like yours.”

“What do you mean?” you had a rough idea on what he meant but you needed him to voice it.

A deep inhale and the words flowed from his lips before he could stop it, “The fear of living. I had been through some stuff you know, growing up. My mum was working a lot and my dad was an alcoholic, he was so fucking possessive and wouldn’t let her go anywhere without kicking off. It was a fucking shitshow and so toxic. This one time though, I’d pretended that I’d gone to school and waited outside the front door. It didn’t take long before I heard shit getting smashed and my dad shouting.” Taehyung was telling the truth only, he left out the part where he was also as possessive, if not more, than his father. Well, let's say… obsessive. “I just ran in the house and saw my dad towering over my mum and I don’t remember what happened but, I do remember my mum crying and my dad disappeared.”

Now Taehyung was lying through his teeth. He remembered clearly, almost like it was yesterday. He smashed the nearest bottle, pulled his mother away from the monster that scared her and stabbed him. Not just once, not twice but thirty-seven times. Hence the thirty seven tattoo on the palm of his right hand (the one he’d actually killed his father with). There was only Taehyung who knew what it meant, he counted every single time the broken glass pierced his father’s body, he counted with a smile on his face and a chuckle in his throat.

You were at a loss for words. Your mouth gaped in shock, eyes wide and your brain scrambled for the right thing to say. You reached over and grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. His thumb running back and forth along your hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” There was no way you could relate, your mother and father were happy and in love. They had the ideal relationship, one you wished for yourself. You could empathise though.

“You don’t need to be sorry baby, it’s in the past and I’ve moved on from it. I was like you though, poisoned by the roots that keep you on the ground even though you wanted nothing more than to break free and be no longer.” A silence fell over you both before Taehyung uttered, “I wasn’t successful with my attempt so now I’m here to help you.”

Warmth spread throughout your body, a smile graced your features as you no longer felt alone.

You had a completely different idea to what those words actually meant.

It was nearing the evening when Taehyung’s car had been fixed. Yoongi popped his head in the kitchen to tell him but stopped himself so as to not interrupt the scene before him. You were laughing along to whatever Taehyung was babbling about with your hand resting on his bicep, with that look in your eyes that he hadn’t seen for years. Yoongi felt himself smile as he saw you hanging onto Taehyung's every word.

For the first time in forever, you looked alive.

Yoongi cleared his throat which drew yours and Taehyung’s attention, “Sorry to interrupt guys. We’ve finished with your car so whenever you’re ready we’ll be outside.” The infamous gummy smile overtook his features, you felt yourself beam in return.

“Thanks man! I’ll be like, five minutes.”

Yoongi nodded his head in reply and swiftly left the room.

You’d taken Tae’s hand into yours, playing with the array of rings that occupied his fingers. Solemn thoughts overtook, am I not gonna see him again? Was this, whatever this is, over before it had even begun? Your eyes stayed on his hand as you turned it over and traced your finger over the inked ‘thirty seven’ on his palm. “What does this mean?”

Taehyung didn’t think twice before he practically beamed out, “It’s my lucky number.”

The difference was, it wasn’t really his lucky number… although he did see it that way. It was the number that had stayed with him. It was something he was proud of, whenever he looked at the hand that killed his father, his chest filled with pride and a joyous feeling overtook his senses. It was his first murder. Something he relished in and thus, created the onslaught of Jigsaw killings. He targeted a certain type— those whose sins would lock them up forever if they were ever found out. Racists, murderers, rapists, drug dealers, con-men. Authoritative figures who abused their power. He even went as far as subjecting suicidal people.

You see, things aren’t sequential. Good doesn’t lead to good, nor bad to bad. People who steal, don’t get caught, they live the good life. Others lie, cheat and get elected.

Some people would call it karma but Taehyung, he called it justice.

He’d started this with one thing on his mind— those that don’t appreciate life do not deserve it.

Whenever a serial killer was on the loose, the press did what they always did. They gave them a nickname. While the public had named the doll Billy. The actual killer was named ‘Jigsaw’.

This stemmed from the jigsaw piece that was cut from the victims skin, no one knew why he was doing it or what it even stood for.

It did have a meaning although unknown to the public.

The jigsaw piece that was cut from the subjects was only ever meant to be a symbol that that subject was missing something. A vital piece of the human puzzle. The survival instinct.

After all, until a person is faced with death, it’s impossible to tell whether they have what it takes to survive.

Across town an underground abandoned warehouse, was where the next subject had found themselves.

They were suspended in the air, their feet merely dangling above the ground. The putrid smell of death lingered in every crevice, the sound of rats scurrying along the concrete floor filled their ears just as they began to stir awake.

A pain in their ribs was the overwhelming factor to them finally coming around. When they groggily opened their eyes, they were paralised with fear due to the scene in front of them.

A doll sat a few feet ahead, perched upon a tricycle. Adorned with a black suit and a red bowtie. A slow red light flashed in his eyes.

Billy.

Before the subject could even register how, when or why they found themselves trapped in a test, footsteps echoed behind them. The subject called out, “Help! Please, somebody help! I shouldn’t be here!”

A tsk reached their ears, as a disembodied voice replied, “Trust me, no one can hear you. Scream all you like. You’d just be wasting your breath, you may as well cherish it before it's gone.”

With hairs stood on end, the subject stilled. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” The man's footsteps grew louder. “I’m here to serve justice, that’s all.”

The man rounded the subject, settling in their view with only his cloaked back visible while he tended to the little doll. He touched Billy delicately—like he was a little child that he loved dearly. He combed his gloved hand through the doll's black hair and eventually pulled his fingers from the tresses to pat his head gently.

“You fucking psycho! Let me go!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that which only infuriated the subject more causing them to shake in anger, a movement they soon ceased when they realised something was penetrating their ribs.

“I’d be very careful if I was you, we wouldn’t want you hurting yourself now… would we?” The cloaked figure spun around. An angry glint to his eye.

“What the fuck, you’re fucking crazy. Let me out, this isn’t right!” The subject tried their hardest to swing their legs, to somehow kick the man who’d imprisoned them.

“I think you’ll find it is right. You’re unworthy of the body you possess.” He inched closer, “see, when someone purposely intends to harm others, they lose their right to life.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man arched a brow as he replied, “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He felt like it was a game of cat and mouse except, he was a tiger and his subject, was the tiniest prey to mankind. “But, let me remind you! Since you can’t get your thick fucking head to work. You’re a liar, a cheater and an abuser. That ring any bells?”

The subject's face dropped.

“Ah, I see by your expression you know exactly what I’m talking about! Glad to see we’re on the same page.” He shrugged his cloak off placing it to the side of the doll. “I want to play a game.”

“What game? This isn’t a fucking game! You’re sick in the head you fucking cunt!”

The atmosphere shifted, the man remained calm while the subject went ballistic.

“What is this? What fucking game?”

“You feel the machine that’s currently occupying your ribs? Well, in about ten minutes that’s going to rip you apart. I’m proud to say that trap is my baby. I’ve been working on it especially for you! How nice is that?” he reached out to tug at the subject’s legs, tormenting them like a cat would a mouse. “Anyway, as my beautiful angel trap will rip you apart, my darling little friend Billy over here,” the subject followed the direction the man's hand pointed, “is going to match your face with the ugliness of your soul.”

“Fuck, fuck this! How do I stop it? Tell me how I fucking stop it!”

A boxy grin overtook the man's face, laughter poured from his mouth as he leaned over and slapped the subject’s leg. “This is a special game.”

“Who are you? What do you mean by ‘special game’?”

He raised himself so he stood tall and grabbed a knife from his pocket, “I’m the man you call Jigsaw.” He traced the tip of the knife along the subject’s ankle, “and when I say a special game… I mean you can’t get out.” While the subject was screaming in realisation, Taehyung walked back for his cloak, hung it over his shoulder and stalked off back the way he came. He sent one last smile to the subject as he rounded them and within the blink of an eye, he gripped the knife and slashed the subject’s achilles.

A chilling scream pierced the eerie atmosphere, the subject couldn’t string words together. Abundances of anxiety, terror and pure panic took reign of their body. Taehyung grabbed the injured muscles and forced his gloved fingers in as he gripped and twisted them, “That’s for Y/N.”

Taehyung had pressed the timer before he cut the subject’s tendons. He grabbed the tape from his pocket and threw it on the ground and with a chuckle he shouted, “Game over!”

Before he reached the end of the hallway, he heard the gunshots pierce his subjects face followed by the sound of the angel trap, even this far away Taehyung heard every crack of the ribs and the noise of the body being tore apart.

Without looking back, Taehyung rounded the corner and slammed the door shut.

He’d chosen the Angel trap for the irony, the subject that was currently hanging from the ceiling was no angel. They were a fucked up, evil, waste of space. Taehyung had done the world a favour, he’d done you a favour.

That got him thinking, how much blood would you shed in order to stay alive?

[a/n: who do we think was in the trap???👀]

[lacrimosathedark]

Who'd like some good old fashioned name analysis?

Okay, so, I been doing so much research for Resident Evil stuff and learning shit about fairy tales and timelines and genome editing and searching for impossible Romanian poetry I got overwhelmed and went, fuck it. Why not just look at their names? Maybe I'll learn something there.

So, here I have done it. Name meanings for characters of the Mold Saga so far aka 7 and 8 aka Biohazard and Village.

(Sorry I'm on mobile I'll put a cut here when I can)

Ethan: Firm, enduring, strong, impetuous, long-lived. An incredibly consistently common and popular name. E name just like Eveline, so could be a successor of sorts to the mold.

Mia: Derivative of numerous other names of many possibilities. Mia as a word means “mine” in Italian and Spanish. Mamma Mia is a well known Italian phrase, particularly due to the ABBA song and musical of the same name, and it being the catchphrase of the Nintendo character Mario. The phrase means “my mom”.

Winters: First and last season of the year where everything becomes dormant and cold and either dies or sleeps.

Eveline: Contains “Eve”, as in both the biblical first woman. Also means a night before an event, and the game takes place in the span of one night. The name Eve means “ life”, “living one”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”. Another possible name origin is as a variant of Aveline, which is a diminutive of Ava, which is the same pronunciation as the name Eva as pronounced in Village.

Baker: Occupational surname. In older times consider an upper-middle class job, much like the family. Also adds the emphasis of the “food” and also how they essentially make more molded.

Jack: God is gracious, supplanter. A nickname for John and other related names, but also a name in itself. It is also a word with a couple meanings, including a heavy lifting tool, to steal something, to take control of something, or an everyman.

Margueritte: Pearl. French name for ox-eyed daisy. Derived from Margaret. Sounds like maggot.

Lucas: Light. Derived from Lucius which means “the bright one” or “the one born at dawn”. Luke is also an Apostle of Jesus and was a physician.

Zoe: Life. Came from the name Eve. Fitting as Zoe was practically pushed out of the family after Eveline’s arrival, replaced as the daughter of the family.

Joe: He will add. Was added as DLC. Short for Joseph. Joseph is the name of multiple biblical figures. One is a child of Jacob and Rachel and Jacob’s favorite son in Genesis (note: Jack is a nickname for Jacob) who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, but rose to become vizier, the most powerful position nest to the Pharoah, and forgave his family and brought them to Egypt. One is the husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who loved and raised a child he knew was not his against social norms. Another is a disciple known as Joseph of Arimathea who notably took Jesus down from the cross for his burial and testified when he revived and was gone. 

Rosemary: Dew of the sea. Combination of Rose and Mary or the plant rosemary. Roses as a plant vary in meaning depending on color. Mary and its variations have many differing meanings, among them being, “beloved”, “love”, “bitter”, “rebellious”, “wished-for child”, and “drop of the sea”. There are also the allusions to Mary, mother of Jesus as she is sometimes worshipped with roses, and you say Hail Marys on your rosary which is only two letters from her name. In regards to the plant, it is relatively resistant to drought and cold, though some breeds are susceptible to frost and they don’t like too much water. They have fibrous roots, so they spread and fan out like we see with the mold. They thrive in more alkaline soils and seem to have been named by a taxonomist named Carl  Linnaeus. In stories, folklore, and tradition, the plants or flowers are often used for remembrance, specifically for the dead. It’s also been used as a spice and in medicine.

Miranda: Worthy of admiration. Latin in origin. Character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and whether she is a strong female character or not is highly debated, as she frequently defies men like her father, but often when they expect and/or want her to. She is otherwise compassionate and naive. The titular character of a Polish novel in which everyone is a mage and Miranda is a medium connected to another character, Damayanti, who is portrayed as the ideal woman and has a romance with the male protagonist, yet sacrifices her body so her spirit can experience a higher state of consciousness. Miranda can contact her soul, and disappears when she dies. Miranda in the US refers to the required practice by police of reading suspects their rights before interrogation.

Eva: Latin form of “Eve” and meaning “life”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”.

Duke: A ruler of a duchy. A title bestowed by royalty or passed through family, often given to royalty or nobility, but can be given to anyone. In France,  the peerage system was abolished in 1789 (vive la révolution), brought back in 1814, and finally perma-abolished in 1848. 

(Note: While the wife of a duke becomes a duchess, the husband of a duchess does not become a duke. At least, from what I gather. This shit is confusing.)

Alcina: Strong-willed. Greek origin. There are two operas using the same story about a sorceress named Alcina who lives on an island with her sister Morgana and seduces every knight who comes to the island, but turns them into plants, animals, or stones when she bores of them. When the source of her power is destroyed, she, her sister, and their palace crumble to dust. The Hungarian name for Alțâna, a commune in Sibiu County, Romania in the historical region of Transylvania.

Bela: Bela Lugosi was an actor who famously portrayed Dracula. His name is Hungarian and meant to be spelled Béla meaning “heart”, “insides”, or “intestines”, roughly translating to “having heart” or “having guts” in modern terminology, as in being brave. However it is considered a male name and as Bela is female there is also the possibility of the influence of the name Bella short an l, Bella an Italian name meaning “beautiful”.

Cassandra: The one who shines and excels over men. Name of a Trojan princess and priestess in Greek mythology. She was given her gift of prophecy by the god Apollo but, in most versions of the tale, he asks for sexual favors in return, and she initially agrees but then rejects him once she’s gotten her gift. In anger he cursed her to always tell true prophecies that no one would believe and was thus thought a madwoman. She served a temple of Athena, goddess of wisdom, handicraft, and warfare. When Cassandra was assaulted and possibly raped in Athena’s temple and dragged out while desperately clinging to Athena’s statue, Athena was so enraged by the damage done to her temple and/or her priestess that she enlisted the help of both Zeus and Poseiden to exact revenge on the Greeks for failing to punish the man who attacked Cassandra and caused the resulting damage. Zeus gave her one of his own bolts of lightning and she struck them down at sea. While Cassandra was never believed, she was always right.

Daniela: God is my judge. Feminine form of Daniel. Daniela is also a genus of moth with only one species in the genus, Daniela viridis. It is also another name for the Italian wine grape Prè blanc.

Dimitrescu: Child of Dimitri. -escu suffixes in Romanian are like -son suffixes in English, it derives from parentage (ex. Jackson is Jack’s son, Dimitrescu is Dimitri’s child). Dimitri means “devoted to Demeter”. Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest, agriculture, sacred law (i.e. cycle of life and death), fertility, and the earth. Like many Greek myths, she is repeatedly wronged, and rather severely, by multiple male figures. Demeter in particular is a mother who has her daughter Kore, later known as Persephone, stolen away from her and goes on a rampage searching for her and those responsible.

(Note: Considering the founders had these names it’s a bit dumb seeing as this trend of parentage -escu names supposedly came about mid 19th century (1800s for those who find that confusing cuz I do), long after the Village was founded)

Donna: Lady or lady of the home. Italian name and a title of respect. Derives from the Latin term Dominus. The Romanian form of the word (not the name) is Doamnã. The Atropa belladonna aka deadly nightshade have berries and foliage that contain tropane alkaloids including atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine which are extremely toxic and can cause hallucinations and delirium, but are also used in pharmaceutical anticholinergics. Throughout history people cluelessly used the berry juice as eye drops to cosmetically dilate their pupils, giving them a seductive doll-eyed appearance. Symptoms of belladonna poisoning are dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. The plant's deadly symptoms are in atropine’s ability to disrupt the parasympathetic nervous system’s involuntary regulation like sweating, breathing, and heartbeat.

Angie: Diminutive of many names containing “angel”. Angels are messengers and warriors of Heaven, a realm souls go after death. Angel statues are also common grave markers. Children are also often told they have guardian angels, a being watching over them to protect them.

Claudia: No sure meaning has been found, but some think it comes from claudus, meaning “lame”, “limping”, or “crippled”, or clausus, which means “shut” or “closed”.

Beneviento: Good wind. Neapolitan spelling of Benevento, the name of both a province and its capital city, located in the Campania region of Italy.

Salvatore: Savior. Italian name. In the movie version (I specify as I have not read the book and the movie synopsis has more on the characters) of The Name of the Rose, the character Salvatore is hunch-backed and twisted, and has a history of not-really-acceptable religious beliefs. He was also tortured and falsely accused of witchcraft. He dies when a library is set on fire.

Moreau: Moorish, dark-skinned. French surname. Titular doctor in The Island of Doctor Moreau, in which said doctor performs disturbing and torturous experiments on people and animals, especially through vivisection, to make beastial humanoid creatures.

Karl: Free man, strong man, manly. Werner Karl Heisenberg was a German theoretical physicist who made notably important contributions to hydrodynamics, ferromagnetism, cosmic rays, and subatomic particles. Karl Marx was a German philosopher, economist, historian, sociologist, political theorist, journalist, and socialist revolutionary who believed societies develop through class conflict, and in a capitalist society this is the “ruling” class (the bosses) having power over the working class. He believed people should have equal footing and should and would inevitably fight for it. Karl Jaspers was a German existentialist philosopher and psychiatrist. His humanist ideals had him dissatisfied with the medical community’s approach to mental health and worked to improve it, and philosophizing on it after.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: Since I’ve seen accusations of the RE character and his influences being so, I feel I must state it here. Karl Heisenberg is NOT a Nazi. Both Heisenberg and Jaspers lived through World War II and neither were Nazis. Jaspers was blackwalled because of his Jewish wife. Heisenberg was forcibly drafted into the Army Weapons Bureau, but pre-war he had been repeatedly slandered as a “white Jew” and his career held back, and post-war became more political, worked against traditional primacy in the education system, and actively protested the government considering equipping the army with American nuclear weapons. Capcom reps have also stated that Karl Heisenberg has nothing to do with Nazis.)

Heisenberg: Calling mountain (could not find a specific definition, “heisen” means “to call” and “berg” means “mountain or hill”). Reference to Werner Karl Heisenberg, (explained above). Likely unrelated, but another well-known (in the US at least) name thief of Heisenberg comes from the popular TV show Breaking Bad as the alias/street name for the main character Walter White who takes the name and starts selling drugs when he is unable to afford medical care for his in-need child, but grows more twisted throughout the series. Also place name.

Berengario: Italian form of Berengar, which is derived from Germanic root words meaning “bear” and “spear”.

Cesare: Italian form of the Latin word Caesar, which is an imperial title like an emperor or empress. The word Caesar itself may come from caesaries meaning “hairy”. 

Guglielmo: Italian form of the Germanic William, meaning “vehement protector” or “desired helmet”

Nichola: Anglicized form of the Greek Nikolaos meaning “victory of the people”. Also a variant of Nicholas (Considered a female variant but fuck gender roles and the description says he.). This character is also referred to as Father like a priest I looked into saints and while I found no notable Saint Nichola (meaning on Wikipedia) there are multiple Saint Nicholases, most notably Saint Nicholas of Myra, also known as the Wonderworker and the model of Santa Claus. Stories of him include gifting gold coins through a window of a home for three nights to prevent three girls from being forced into prostitution, calming a storm at sea, saving three soldiers from execution, and chopping down a possessed tree. More connected to where his treasure is found, there is also a tale of him resurrecting three children who had been murdered by a butcher who had had intended to sell their meat as “pork” during the famine.

*BONUS TIME*

By that I mean these are less important so I did slightly less research and/or didn’t  feel like typing all the research so there’s less info, but it’s still relevant, so here you go!

Chris: A rare name in its own right, often a shortened version of names like Christopher, meaning “Christ-bearer”, and Christian, as in the religion.

Redfield: Literally red field. Fitting for the trail of blood in his wake because have mercy on any of his enemies, but regrettably including many of his friends and allies (rip in peace Piers Nivans). 

Elena: Shining light. Greek origin.

Leonardo: Strong as a lion. Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese version of Leonard.

Lupu: Wolf. Romanian surname. Fitting as the surname of the man we saw become a lycan before our eyes. 

Luiza: Renowned warrior. Polish, Portuguese, and Romanian name.

Iulian: Romanian name from the Greek iulius meaning “youthful” or “juvenile”, or ioulos meaning “downy-bearded”.

Vasile: Romanian name from the Greek basileus meaning ”king”. Vasile Voiculescu wrote a poem called Schimnicul, The Recluse in English, about varcolacul.

(Note: For those who don’t recall or didn’t notice his name in Ethan’s diary, this is Luiza’s husband.)

Rolando: Famous throughout the land. Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese variant of Roland.

Elba: Spanish form of Alba, which can mean “dawn”, “white”, or “elf”, depending on origin.

Dion: Shorter form of Greek Dionysios meaning “of Zeus”.

Wilson: Lineage surname, “Will’s son”. Very common surname in English.

Charlie: A name in itself but often a nickname for names like Charles meaning “man” or “warrior”

Graham: Gravelly homestead. Habitational surname, apparently derived from Grantham in Lincolnshire, England.

John: God is gracious. The most common name ever with the most variations.

Perlman: Ashkenazi Jewish surname. Also literal, “perl” possibly meaning “pearl” thus being an occupational name, or Perl being a woman’s name making it mean “husband of Perl”.

Emily: Rival. Latin name. 

Berkoff: Could be Jewish, Dutch, or German surname. Definition not quite certain, but likely related to birch trees.

Josef: German, Czech, and Scandinavian version of Joseph.  

Simon: He has heard. From Hebrew Shim’on.

Roxana: Bright, dawn. Latin form of Greek Rhoxane and Persian Roshanak.

Anton: Priceless, praiseworthy, flower.

Sebastian: From the Latin name Sebastianus which meant “from Sebaste”. Sebaste is a town in Asia Minor and comes from the Greek word sebastos meaning “venerable”.

Eugen: Well-born.Romanian form of Eugene. From the Greek name Eugenios. 

(Note: This is the man who lived in the house with the red chimney.)

Ernest: Serious. Germanic name.

(Note: This man is noted to be missing in a letter to Luiza and his diary is found with the Cannibal’s Plunder in Otto’s Mill.)

[weirdnaturalscience]

Well-Known and Obscure Toxins: How They Work

Well this is a morbid subject but HEY it’s almost Halloween baby!! I was super curious about what toxins actually do on a molecular level after reading about cone snails. Obviously toxins can kill you, but how?? I wanted to know the grisly details. This is not an exhaustive list, just some types of poison, venom, and other toxic substances I was curious about, so let’s get to it.

Deadly Nightshade

Where is it found? Atropa belladonna grows in Europe, North Africa and Western Asia.

How it works: speeds up your heart and generally fucks with your nervous system. Deadly nightshade contains tropane alkaloids atropine, hyoscine (scopolamine), and hyoscyamine which disrupt the nervous system’s ability to regulate activities such as heart rate, breathing and sweating. It can cause narcosis, paralysis and heart failure as a result. Yikes. But an antidote exists that can reverse these affects if administered in time.

Toxicity: the entire plant is toxic, with roots having the highest toxicity but berries posing the greatest threat to humans because of their appearance. 10-20 berries can kill an adult, and 2-4 can kill a child. Symptoms of mild poisoning include dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, loss of balance, confusion, hallucinations (wild) and convulsions. Doesn’t sound like a good time.

Do not eat the shiny attractive berries!!! (Cows and rabbits and other animals can eat it but humans, dogs and cats...NOT SO MUCH) You can also get toxins on your skin just by touching the plant but this will not kill you.

Totally fun and not morbid fact: during the Renaissance, belladonna was used by women in small quantities to dilate pupils and give a seductive appearance, and this is how it gets its name belladonna, or beautiful woman. Atropa comes from the Greek Fate Atropos who cuts the threads of mortal lives with her shears. Snip snip!

Hemlock

Where is it found? Conium maculatum grows naturally in Europe and North Africa, and has spread to North and South America, Australia and Western Asia.

How it works: stops your breathing. The flowers contain an alkaloid called coniine, which directly affects the nervous system and causes paralysis of respiratory muscles, leading to death from oxygen deprivation. Hemlock poisoning is treated by artificial ventilation for 48-72 hours until the effects wear off.

Toxicity: about 100 milligrams of coniine is fatal to an adult. That’s about 6-8 hemlock leaves, or a smaller dose of the seeds or root. Animals can also be poisoned and killed by hemlock, but luckily dangerous substances cannot be passed into the human food chain from milk or fowl. Similar to nightshade, you can get a non-lethal amount of the toxin on your skin simply from touching this plant.

Basically you’re only gonna get poisoned by this if someone puts it in your tea, because I assume you’re not gonna just go around just like...chomping on pretty flowers. Right? Right?? ok good.

Arsenic

Where is it found? arsenic is a metalloid that occurs often with sulfurs and metals. It can be present in volcanic ash and groundwater, and as a result can be found in low (acceptable) levels in plants and seafood. Good news: it is rare to find arsenic occurring at dangerous levels in nature.

How it works: in high levels, arsenic disrupts ATP production and causes organ failure due to necrotic cell death. This process can last between 2 hours to multiple days. It can also be fatal in lower doses administered over a period of time, and as such, was a popular murder weapon when it was readily available during the 1800s in England. Symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea don’t immediately alert someone that there has been an attempted murder unless maybe you’re Sherlock Holmes.

Toxicity: google probably thinks I’m a murderer and won’t tell me just how much arsenic will kill a person. COME ON, google!!! it’s for SCIENCE!

Arsenic is no longer readily available for people to just get in large quantities, so that’s a RELIEF.

Cyanide

Where is it found? cyanide is a chemical compound produced by certain algae, bacteria and fungi. It is also found in plants such as peaches, apples, apricots and bitter almonds. A type of bamboo that grows in Madagascar is so rich in cyanide that it would kill humans, but not the golden bamboo lemur for whom this bamboo is a primary source of food!!! You go girl, eat that cyanide bamboo.

How it works: for everyone who’s not a golden bamboo lemur, cyanide disrupts ATP production, affects the central nervous system and heart, and causes histotoxic hypoxia: the inability of cells to take up oxygen from the bloodstream. Antidotes can work if administered in time for lower doses of cyanide.

Toxicity: 200 milligrams of solid cyanide or a cyanide solution, or exposure to airborne cyanide of 270 parts per million is sufficient to cause death within minutes. Um, YIKES. Really, cyanide was already scary enough as a solid before nature went and made it into a gas that kills upon inhalation. DEEPLY uncool.

Murder mystery writers: slip belladona or arsenic into your literary victim’s tea. Belladonna is sweet, arsenic is tasteless, but cyanide has an acrid and bitter taste.

Fun (well, not fun) fact: if you eat 200 apple seeds (about 40 apple cores) you will receive a fatal dose of cyanide. So like, don’t do that. An apple a day keeps the doctor away and is completely safe, but 40 apples apple cores a day WILL KILL YOU

Vampire Bat Saliva

Where is it found? Vampire bats are found in the Americas.

How it works: a toxic substance called Draculin (I’m serious) in the saliva of vampire bats acts as an anticoagulant by inhibiting an enzyme involved in the coagulation pathway.

Toxicity: vampire bats are indeed venomous and toxic, but they are not at all lethal. It just sorta sucks if you’re being bitten by a vampire bat, but you’ll live. Unless that bat has rabies. Vampire bat saliva also contains an analgesic, meaning the bites are almost completely painless. SO THAT’S SOMETHING

Cobra Venom

“hello do you have a moment to hear about cell death?”

Where is it found? Many species of cobra are found throughout Africa, Southwest and Southeast Asia.

How it works: most cobra venom includes neurotoxins that cause paralysis as well as cytotoxins that cause necrosis and blood coagulation. blood coagulation can happen in minutes.

Toxicity: many types of cobra venom are treatable, but may leave disfigurement from necrosis. If this isn’t scary enough for you, just know that spitting cobras can reach 2.7 m (8.9 ft) in length and like to aim for the eyes.

But you’d still rather be bitten by a cobra than THIS deadly mofo:

Venom of the Inland Taipan

Where is it found? the inland taipan is the most venomous snake in the world and lives, YOU GUESSED IT, in Australia, ie the place where everything is designed to kill you. Evolution decided it can reach 1.8 meters (5.9 feet) with a maximum length of 2.5 meters (8.2 feet), which I think everyone can agree is a dick move on evolution’s part. Take it back, TAKE IT BACK!!!!!

How it works: the venom contains neurotoxins, hemotoxins, and myotoxins AND an enzyme to increase absorption of the venom. Basically it causes paralysis, blood coagulation and muscle damage, because one of these things wasn’t enough apparently. Antivenoms against Australian venomous snakes exist but are least effective against the venom of the inland taipan.

Toxicity: the inland taipan’s venom has a murine LD50 value of 0.025m/kg. This means there is a 50% chance that .025 milligrams per kilogram of weight will cause death. It’s bite contains enough venom to kill at least 100 adult humans. But GOOD NEWS! the inland taipan lives in such remote places that it rarely comes in contact with people. Other slightly less venomous snakes are therefore responsible for more deaths. ....So that’s...still terrifying. just don’t go into the woods in Australia FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

What’s deadlier than the deadliest snake in the world, you ask?

Tetrodotoxin

Where is it found? tetrodotoxin is found in several animals such as pufferfish, moon snails and the small but deadly Australian blue ringed octopus (DAMMIT Australia)

How it works: blocks sodium channels. This prevents normal transmission of signals between the body and brain, causing loss of sensation, paralysis and inability to breathe. Fun!!! Don’t pick up the frickin evil little octopus

Toxicity: more powerful than cyanide, that’s for sure, about a thousand times more powerful in fact. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice as 334 micrograms per kilogram. Fatal pufferfish poisoning result in death in about 17 minutes. The blue-ringed octopus, however, carries enough venom to kill 26 adult humans within just a few minutes. There is no anti-venom.

What’s worse than that, you ask? Ah, you shouldn't have asked.

Conotoxin

Where is it found? Cone snails are found in the Indo-Pacific, the Cape of South Africa, the Mediterranean, and even southern California. Smaller species are not that dangerous. Larger species, however...

How it works: paralysis within minutes. cone snails have multiple harpoons to administer venom to prey (or unsuspecting humans). the harpoons deliver a venom that has HUNDREDS of different types of toxins, each targeting different nerve channels or receptors. Some cone snail venom even includes pain-reducing toxins. These pain reducing toxins can be 100 to 1,000 times more powerful than morphine. How THOUGHTFUL.

Toxicity: vastly more potent than tetrodotoxin. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice is is 10 to 100 micrograms/kilogram. So like, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT LOL

Ricin

Where is it found? Ricin is obtained from the beans of the castor oil plant.

How it works: inhibits protein production and results in organ failure, respiratory failure and circulatory shock.

Toxicity: The median lethal dose (LD50) of ricin is around 22 micrograms per kilogram of body weight. If that sounds bad just wait till you hear about poison dart frogs 😭

VX

Where is it found? Nowhere in nature. VX is synthetic. It is an oily amber colored liquid in its natural form, was first developed as a pesticide and later for chemical warfare. It is considered a weapon of mass destruction and is banned under the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993.

How it works: causes stimulation and fatigue of muscarinic and nicotinic ACh receptors, resulting in violent contractions followed by paralysis and death by asphyxiation.

Toxicity: 7 micrograms/kilogram. this is one of the most toxic synthetic substances on earth. Humans have got nothing on mother nature though...

Batrachotoxin

(This guy is called phyllobates TERRIBILIS. but is his cute little face terrible? noooo.)

Where is it found? in certain types of beetles, birds and poison dart frogs found in Central and South America.

How it works: similar to conotoxin, batrachotoxin interrupts sodium channels. The resulting migration of Na+ ions causes heart failure and paralysis.

Toxicity: The LD50 is around 2 micrograms per kilogram, meaning that an amount the size of two grains of table salt will kill you, and that this is even worse than a cone snail, Ricin, or VX. Batrachotoxin is one of the deadliest alkaloids known. No antidote exists.

Fun frog fact: this was the poison commonly used by the Embera-Wounaan for poison darts, and that’s where poison dart frogs get their name! How...cute.

Botulinum, most toxic substance in the world

Where is it found? made by the bacteria Clostridium botulinum and related species.

How it works: causes Botulism, which if untreated can result in paralysis and respiratory failure by preventing the release of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine. Botulinum is used in very very very VEEEEEEERY small amounts in Botox, in case you ever needed reasons NOT to do Botox lol.

Toxicity: the lethal dose of 1.3–2.1 nanograms per kilogram in humans. of any toxin natural or synthetic, this is the deadliest known. However!! Actual good news this time: treatments involving antitoxin therapy and intubation are very successful and mortality from Botulism is extremely low. Yay! 

More good news: toxins have been instrumental in medicinal breakthroughs throughout history and continue to be vital to modern medicine. A drug for diabetes was recently synthesized from Gila monster venom: it increases the production of insulin when blood sugar levels are high. A painkiller has been developed for chronic pain patients that is derived from a component of the venom of our friend, you guessed it, the cone snail! These are just two examples of toxins being used in medicine, and a lot of research is still being done because face it: we still don’t know a lot about how our bodies work. Paralyzing agents are extremely important to our understanding of the body and the development of non-opiate non-addictive painkillers because of how they disrupt signals between nerves and the brain.

Long story short: don’t eat nightshade and stay OFF AUSTRALIAN BEACHES and you should be just fine. 

Oh and your tea is getting cold ;)

[blackkatmagic]

In labyrinths of reflections?! So excited!

I would love to see a drabble of Harley and Ivy reunion after Marc helps Ivy out of prison. ^^

There's ice cream melting over her fingers, a buzz of green in her veins, and a darkened shack in the middle of the park that’s filled with the sound of hitched breaths.

Ivy tightens her grip on the Arkham-standard prison clothes, takes a breath. The trees around her bend inwards, shivering, and she has to close her eyes against the surge of hope and relief and vicious glee that’s beating like a tattoo in her chest.

The Joker is dead. The Joker is dead. He’s dead and gone and an old god ate his heart, so it’s safe to say that he’s never coming back.

Just for that, she would walk barefoot over broken glass and take a swim in weed killer, the moment Moon Knight asked her to.

Harley is crying, and Ivy should likely feel worse, should mourn the pain if not the man. But she doesn’t, she can't. Harley is free of him, Gotham is free of him, and it’s a fierce, bloody, vicious joy in Ivy’s chest, the knowledge that he died and suffered. Not just for what he did to Harley, but—

That doesn’t matter. He’s dead, because Moon Knight killed him. Moon Knight is like her, like them, mentally ill but forged into a weapon, functionality and purpose and intent, and he killed the Joker. Harley is free because of Moon Knight.

A muffled, trembling sound, and Ivy pushes forward, through the darkened doorway hung with wilted vines and into the moon-striped interior.

There's no movement, no sign she’s been seen. Harley is curled in the corner where Ivy’s bed is half-collapsed and covered in the wild tangle of her citrus trees run rampant, face tucked into her drawn-up knees, her hair down. She’s in loose clothes, Ivy’s baggiest sleeping clothes huge on her small frame, and she’s not audibly crying, but she might as well be.

Silently, Ivy sets both cartons of half-melted ice cream down on the floor, then crosses the small shack and pulls herself up onto the listing mattress. Without pause, she leans in, wraps her arms around Harley as tightly as she can and just—breathes. Lets her hair hide them from the world, just for a moment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, and Harley’s breath catches on a sob. She grabs, hauls Ivy in and wraps her arms around her, and Ivy kisses her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her eye as Harley buries her face in her shoulder.

“Red,” she gets out, and the word cracks. “Red, Mr. J is dead. Someone killed him. I'm—I'm so relieved but I'm so sad, an’ I can't stop crying.”

Ivy never attacked the Joker, never confronted him. It would have made Harley angry, would have upset her, and Ivy could never risk losing her. Could never risk pushing her back to the Joker permanently, shutting down her one avenue of escape. She’d wanted to a thousand times, had thought about arranging accidents, or slipping him some poison, but—Harley is clever, and Ivy isn't a good enough actor to fool her. Harley would have realized what she’d done, and maybe the Joker would have been dead, but Ivy would have lost the one person she gives a damn about in the whole world. The trade-off was never worth it.

“I'm not sorry,” she whispers, not about to hide the truth. Harley already knows how she feels, anyway. “I'm glad. Him being dead makes me happy.”

Harley chokes on a sob, fingers bruising against Ivy’s skin, but she doesn’t pull away. Ivy doesn’t try to move, either, just leans in with a sigh, stroking Harley’s limp hair. “Moon Knight broke me out of Arkham,” she says quietly, and Harley stills, frozen, conflicted. There's a long pause, and then a watery breath, and Harley lifts her head.

“’S good,” she says, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “I know—I know how much you hate bein’ away from the sun, Red. I was gonna try to break you out, but the Bats were keepin’ an eye on me, an’ then Mr. J—”

“I know,” Ivy says, and shifts sideways, pulling Harley down onto the sagging mattress with her. The broken frame creaks dangerously, but Harley snuggles closer, tucks Ivy’s head under her chin and hangs on the with desperation of someone drowning. Gently, Ivy strokes her back, closing her eyes and thinking of a flare of white in the darkness, glowing eyes under the dark shadows of a hood.

When she’d first seen Moon Knight in the hallway, she’d expected a henchman come to break out their master, or maybe a new mercenary hired for a hit. Had only thought about charming him, tempting him in and then using him to escape. And maybe some part of her, impossible to turn off, is still thinking about the benefits of knowing him and the advantages he can provide, but—

He’s like them. He was in an institute at thirteen, and Ivy remembers all too well the long hours sitting in a psychologist’s office when she was a child, head bowed as she listed to the man and her mother talk. Remembers six months in the hospital, alone, desperate, after Jason Woodrue experimented on her.

The incident drove her insane, the files say. Ivy knows; she’s looked them up, torn through them to see what the Bats whisper about her in the darkness, and she’s seen those words printed starkly in black enough times to be burned into her brain. The incident drove her insane, like everyone in the world is one tragedy away from becoming mentally ill. Like Ivy was just sad and angry and that alone was enough to make her unstable. Like being in Arkham will fix her, or do anything but make her angrier. None of the doctors there give a damn about the patients, about anyone, and the ones who try turn out like Harley.

Moon Knight breaking her out and talking to her like a person, looking at her like she’s real and reasonable and not either a crazed villain or a mindless sex object did more to help steady her than her whole stint in Arkham. A little bit of understanding, a touch of his strange, brusque respect, and Ivy felt like she could breathe.

He’s like them, and he does what he thinks is right, not what the laws tell him to do. He’s like them, a little broken and a little crazy and a little good.

With her eyes closed, Ivy can feel the whole of Gotham breathing, the roots beneath the city and the branches spread through it, the weeds creeping up through the cracks in the sidewalk and hundreds of thousands of stately old trees, young and verdant trees, ivy and roses and flowers carefully trimmed and confined. She can feel each step that crushes the grass, the careless cruelty of a tree cut down, the gasping breaths of plants trying to breathe through the pollution. And, if she focuses, she can find a heavy pair of boots, moving more lightly than most across the park. The brush of a white cloak, the way he feels like moonlight on the grass, how the trees bend towards his presence. Like he’s carrying fresh air with him, as clean and cool as a wind across the desert, completely untouched by the smog and rot of Gotham around him.

Moon Knight, she thinks, and smiles, thin and wicked against Harley’s skin. Tightens her arms around Harley, then shoves, rolling them over and straddling Harley, knees locked against her ribs. Harley gasps, but she reaches for Ivy, tangles her fingers in Ivy’s hair and pulls, and Ivy kisses her, kisses her, kisses her, and never wants to let her up for air.

Moon Knight gave her this. Gave them this, even if Harley will never see it as the gift it is. He killed the Joker, set her and Harley both free, and Ivy’s laugh vibrates low in her throat as she cups Harley’s face between her hands.

Like them, she thinks. Moon Knight is one of theirs, one of hers. Ivy’s never been good at limits; everything she’s ever let go of has claw marks in it, and she’s willful, wicked, doesn’t have or want a code of honor of any sort. But—

“I think,” she whispers against Harley’s lips, still smiling, “that I just found my very own knight in shining armor.”

Harley laughs, too, even if hers is a little watery. “Don’cha mean your own Knight Light?” she jokes, and Ivy snorts and kisses her again.

She’ll keep one eye on Moon Knight, whenever he appears. Batman doesn’t like their kind, and he’ll like that Moon Knight broke her out of Arkham even less. Ivy doesn’t accept anyone easily, doesn’t take to strangers, but watching Moon Knight in the park, she felt…different. Wanted something other than to walk away and leave him behind. He’s an ally and an unknown and a god on earth, and Ivy knows a little bit more about that than she should.

He’ll need them eventually. That favor Ivy owes him will be called in. And—it’s not an entirely selfless thing. A steppingstone, maybe, to draw him closer, to pull him in.

Moon Knight doesn’t realize it yet, but if he tries to leave them—leave her—behind, he’s going to have claw marks in him, too.

[On AO3]