valthevalkyrie

[valthevalkyrie]

You're sprawled on the couch when he comes in the room, eyes zeroing in on you instantly. He doesn't give you the chance to greet him, stalking up to you as if you're his prey. Which, in this moment, you probably are.

It's not hard to tell he's still in that soldier headspace he gets stuck in sometimes. He looks tired. Stressed.

You're about to get up and ask him what he wants, what he needs, once he's looming over you, but the words die out when his hands shoot out and start squeezing your breasts.

You don't stop him, but you do laugh a little, incredulous. "What are you doing?"

"Fluffin' your tits." He's gruff, both in tone and groping. "What's it look like?"

"That's not how- nevermind." You chuckle and fondly roll your eyes. "Why?"

"Cuz they're mine," he says as if that's reason enough, and you suppose it is.

He let's go to get on the couch with you, batting your legs open to settle between them. The man practically flops on top of you with enough force to push an oof out of your lungs, but you can tell he's careful not to crush you entirely. His arms shove underneath your body, squeezing tight as he nuzzles his face against your newly fluffed breasts. You bring a hand up to scratch the back of his scalp the way you know he likes, and he sighs, melting into your body.

"Just like a big baby." Your chest bounces with silent laughter, and he gives a little sleepy warning nip to your clothed breast.

"Stop gigglin'. Tryna nap."

You almost laugh harder. He's not dispproving your point, but if this is what he needs, who are you to deny him?

"Alright, alright, I'll let my soldier rest." You calm yourself, softening your voice. "And I'll be here when you wake, too."

You know you're forgiven when he grunts and presses a kiss to where he bit.

[valthevalkyrie]

sorry i got a boner when u said something really heartfelt and sweet and held me and reassured me that im okay. theres a lot of wires crossed in my poor diseased brain when it comes to that sort of thing

[valthevalkyrie]

if you like ryan cooglers projects please support iron heart it comes out today and episodes drop every tuesday on disney +. racists are review bombing despite the fact that the show literally isn’t out yet because they’re losers who can’t handle a black woman leading a show. this is the acolyte all over again and i at least hope this time that disney doesn’t bend to these freaks

[valthevalkyrie]

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[valthevalkyrie]

something about smoke being rejected since childhood because everyone was certain his father's evil lived on in him. something about annie being the only one to call smoke 'elijah' and how that makes him soften. something about how just before they're truly reunited, annie says 'i dont want any of that smoke on the baby'. something about annie being the one who sets smoke free from his past and his sins and lets him be human instead.

[valthevalkyrie]

When you initially emerge from a pool of dark magic, you're an amorphous shadow wriggling out of the chaos. The first form you shift into is a spider. You spin delicate webs and drain the life out of many delicious insects until you have enough energy to change shapes again.

Even when you become advanced enough to take on the form of a human, you still remember your spider insects. Catching prey takes a light touch and deft fingers. Your silk webbing is now sweet words, an innocent smile, and spread legs. Your victims are wrapped up in you before they even have an inkling of the danger they’re in. Fangs pierce skin, and their life energy flows into you, where not a drop is spared.

But it’s not until you seduce Johnny, do you recall that your web can trap poisonous insects too.

He’s just a stranger in a bar, like most of the humans you’ve eaten, drunk and boisterous and looking for a good time. There’s something distinctly appetizing about him, though. He exudes vitality, practically dripping with it. Mouthwatering and delectable. But because you're so tempted by how vibrant and spirited Johnny is, you forget that bright colors are often a warning sign. All you see is a decadent meal that would sustain you for ages.

The first time you sleep with him, you don’t end up draining him; Johnny feasts on you instead. It’s so messy and enthusiastic that you forget your original purpose, too satisfied in one regard to remember your hunger in the other. Your prey leaves with his life and a smile on his face.

Your next few encounters go just as poorly, where the wrong person ends up getting devoured. You give it one more chance, inviting Johnny back to your nest. It almost ends the same way as usual, but as you lie on the bed recovering from the intensity of it all, he languidly brushes his thumb over your lower lip. It triggers your instincts to bite.

The morsel of energy you suckle out is exquisitely potent, just like the rest of him, but there is something wrong with it. Something sinister taints it. Death lingers in the aftertaste, clagging to the roof of your mouth.

“Not to yer taste, love?”

Coupled with a knowing smile, his gaze is one of a predator, not prey. You’re seconds away from shifting into something with more teeth and appendages when he backs off to slip his clothes on, relaxed and unbothered. He seems to know what he’s dealing with, but you don’t, so once again, Johnny walks away alive and well.

At this point, you know you need to cut him loose. He’s clearly more dangerous than you realized, and as filling as his energy was, you won’t be able to consume much of it anyway. You have to release anything too toxic to eat, freeing your web for viable meals.

You abandon that nest. It belonged to a former victim anyway, so it’s not an issue to move on to a new one. The search for your next source of food begins in the usual spots—clubs, bars, pubs—except every place you stalk, Johnny shows up.

The few insects you’ve released before never flew back into your web, so his behavior perplexes you. He flirts with you still, making the most half-witted spider jokes and trying to convince you to give him another chance. You’re not receptive to any of it, though, not when the memory of decay on your tongue is so fresh in your mind. You subsist on life, not death, and Johnny’s energy is just the saccharine coating around a foul glob of poison.

The real problem, though, is that Johnny is intent on running interference between you and any potential meals. It’s leaving you both starving and irritable.

He’s tracked you down again, encroaching on your hunting grounds and chasing off the snack you were so close to luring away from the club and back to your nest. Thanks to Johnny, it’s been ages since you’ve last eaten, so you’re too weakened by hunger to do much more than snarl and hiss as he drags you to the empty bathroom in the back and locks the door. Your anger subsides when while on his knees, Johnny reminds you of why it took so long to get your first taste of him.

When he’s later got your legs wrapped around his waist (and you’re debating forming another pair to latch onto him tighter), Johnny stuffs two fingers in your mouth and coos, “I know yer hungry. You can handle a nibble, I promise.”

As condescending as his tone is, you’re so ravenous that you bite down anyway and suck. A rush of delightful life energy floods your mouth, followed by the unpleasant flavor of death. It churns your stomach, but your guts are currently being rearranged anyway, so you endure.

All of your needs are sated by the end of it. You were able to draw out much more energy than your first attempt at draining him, and Johnny made up for all the lost time between now and when he last made a meal out of you. You feel as though you might melt down into the shapeless puddle of darkness that you were born as.

“See? Not so bad once you get used to it,” Johnny smugly remarks, grinning like he’s not missing the energy you consumed. “Just gotta keep buildin’ up a tolerance.”

You really should have bitten his fingers clean off, no matter how talented they are. Being caught in someone else’s web stings your pride, but Johnny kisses your fingertips right under your claws, and you unconsciously let out a pleased chitter. A permanent food source would be less work when you think about it, allowing you to conserve your energy for other endeavors.

You make your new nest in Johnny’s home, where the two of you satisfy each other’s voracious appetites, night after night, until you’re eventually immune to all his toxins.

[valthevalkyrie]

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

[valthevalkyrie]

captcha

[valthevalkyrie]

there are two competing sects on this website - one that uses the word "spicy" to mean "neurodivergent" and one that uses the word "spicy" to mean "sexual content." i do not like either of them

[valthevalkyrie]

you can’t talk about vampires and their views on menstrual blood anywhere else besides here. On account of the stigma

[valthevalkyrie]

Zombie setting where the undead are drawn towards unhygienic scents, so survivors constantly bathe to avoid being eaten.

Zombies are docile when adorned with flowers.

Settlements overgrown with herbs and flora.

Barely any banditry; everyone is focused on farming and gathering.

Different human factions and towns named after flowers like Lilies, Orchids, Roses, etc.

Instead of immediately killing an infected survivor, they’re given special funeral rites - the zombie is covered with flowers to keep them calm, and  allowed to walk out from the settlement to join the hordes.

[valthevalkyrie]

CHRIS EVANS as HARVARD HOTTIE THE NANNY DIARIES (2007) dir. Shari Springer Berman & Robert Pulcini

[valthevalkyrie]

Stories should have in-universe clichés and stereotypes. A teenage dragon rider who gets a dragon who will be his steed for life and is a solid inky black and immediately names her Midnight. He then immediately encounters someone who sees his steed who goes "lmao please don't tell me you're one of those young riders who gets a dark-colour dragon and immediately names it Darkness or Midnight or something, and starts acting like being dark and broody has been their whole thing their whole life."

And he immediately scrambles back like "oh no of course not that's cringe, her name is - uh - Daisy."

Meanwhile the Morbid Broody Dark Gothy One is bonded with a bright dandelion yellow dragon, naming her steed Sulfur and then revamps her whole aesthetic into a black-and-yellow Toxins, Poisons And Venoms -theme.

[valthevalkyrie]

Vanity Fair

[valthevalkyrie]

No wait, random worldbuilding idea:

A people who have an age-old tradition, that when warriors left home to go to war, their family that remains home prepare funeral goods for them while they wait, sewing them the clothes and preparing the tools and all that they will be buried with - to emotionally prepare them to the hard possibility that the one who left will not return home alive. If the warrior returns, their burial goods are all burned in a bonfire that is lit for the celebration of their return.

And to this modern day, mothers of the culture will tell their children "fine, but let me take your measures for burial clothes before you go" as a way of telling them that something they're about to do is lethally stupid. Sharing stories about just how dramatic their mothers are, someone tells their group of friends that his mother once actually took out a measuring tape to start taking his measures when he said he's leaving home for a work trip.

And another one goes "pfft, yeah. This one time I went to a rock concert and came back home to mom sitting on her sewing machine, fucking making me a funeral coat."

[valthevalkyrie]

tuyo

[valthevalkyrie]

nothing beats the intimacy of being silly together