#▸ written in lightning. / ic

[disturbnot]

 " I would get a BBL just to fart louder. "

[starsmuserainbow]

“NaNext Extra-Express Delivery!” Lightning chimed after knocking on the door of the place of the right address. She didn’t need to guess if anyone was home - they ordered like a minute ago, and the whole idea of this “Extra-Express Delivery” was that the order was arriving within 5 minutes. It wasn’t that often anymore that Lightning did this service, but today she just had felt like some casual running again, and why not combine that with deliveries. She was wearing a white-green cap with the logo of NaNext on it, dark green pants and a lighter green top - not exactly colors she liked the most, but hey, it was needed for giving a proper deliverygirl-impression. The red sash tied on top of the shirt was her own touch, and since her “boss” hadn’t complained yet, it was nothing she was going to remove from this outfit at any point. “Look, even if you won’t open to take it, I did deliver in time. There’s no going back on the x-express fee.”

[[A little bit of info about Lightning delivering for NaNext in my headcanon here]]

[an-optimist-prime]

Buck surviving the lightning strike and going back to work means that Hen has to go to that bakery (she goes to the same one every time) to get him a 'welcome-back' cake (one which will have a terrible pun written on it in icing, something like "we're not shocked you're back"), and you just know that every time she walks into that bakery the staff drop what they're doing because they just know that it's going to be something absolutely wild

[uyai1101-lads]

Sylus discovers…Daddy Kink secret. 🔞

MDNI/18+ content ahead

(Sylus x OC MC) + nsfw-ish “tame” art

Tags: Daddy kink, spying, masturbation, named female MC, kinda yandere.

Writer note: It’s been a while since I’ve written. So please bear with my rusty writing skills. Hopefully I’ll improve in the future.

When Mephisto flew into his office and settled on its perch. Sylus didn’t imagine the video the mechanical crow would project out of its eyes to the office wall would be that of his Kitten undressing with a vibrator in her hand before she crawled into bed. Luke and Kieran had stopped mid sentence in delivering their reports to stare at the projection on the office wall in shock. Though who could really tell with their faces covered in their masks.

Sylus slowly turned from the wall to narrow his eyes at his lackeys standing stock still captivated by the video still rolling.

“Enjoying the view?” Sylus’s deceptively calm voice shot through their ears. Luke and Kieran suddenly stiffened in terror as they realized the grave danger they were actually in.

“S-sorry b-b-boss” Luke and Kieran stammered out fearfully, dropping their heads to their chest and eyes to the floor with lightning speed.

“Get. The. Fuck. OUT” Sylus growled, jaw tight and blood red eyes cold as ice. Evol shooting through the air to grab them and hurl them out of his cold dark office to the hallway, the heavy wooden door behind them slamming shut.

Mephisto cawed out what sounded like a crow version of laughter. Fluttering its mechanical wings.

“you’re next, after this video finishes” he coolly threatened the mechanical bird, before leaning back on his chair, running a large calloused hand through his white silvery hair and shrugging of his black business suit. He hadn’t had enough time to change out of his clothes from his trip before being pulled into a sudden FaceTime meeting call with one of his secret contacts in the N109 Zone.

He had been gone for about 2 weeks handling some protocore selling and trading as well as getting rid of the moles trying to infiltrate some of his secret bases and weasel out information they didn’t need to know.

Sylus had deeply missed bugging his “Kitten” and watching her cute feisty little expressions each time he teased her relentlessly, so he had Mephisto keep an eye on her and help out if she came into danger. His poor baby had been quite busy chasing wanderers, saving civilians and attending grueling Hunters Association work trainings. It seems Uyai was quite pent up and needy. After stepping out of her bathrobe, soft rich deep skin gleaming from the rich fragrant body butters she seemed to like stockpiling underneath her bathroom sink. Uyai wrapped her now coily hair up and slipped into bed, expression determined. She held the pathetic sized sex toy in her slender hands up to her face and glared at it fiercely.

Sylus let out an amused chuckle as he lazily rubbed his chin, now darkened vermillion eyes hooded as he watched his Kitten trying to satisfy herself with what was supposed to be his replacement. They hadn’t had sex yet, despite their increasingly heavy flirting, his kitten kept hesitating, held back by something. Sylus had slowly backed off, wanting to allow her to come to him when she was ready for…more.

Uyai threw an arm over her face, body shuddering as she ran a hand over her soft breasts. Was she imagining his hands cupping them, his large firm fingers tugging at the sensitive tits and rolling them between his thumb and index finger?

As if answering his mental questions, she moaned his name into the crook of her arm. Voice breathy and whimpering.

Sylus’ body immediately grew rigid as his name was whimpered out again in the video, sudden goosebumps prickling his skin. His dick impossibly hard and tenting his slacks, damn near wanting to burst out of its confines.

Fuck…

His kitten was calling for him.

She turned on the vibrating dildo, sinking it further below her comforter, which unfortunately blocked out anything else from view, Mephisto hadn’t been equipped with bionic eyes that saw through fabric.

Sighing inwardly in disappointment, Sylus could only helplessly watch as his poor little kitten, gasped out desperately, eyes screwed shut as she tried to fill herself with the pathetic silicone.

“Please D-Daddy” she moaned out into her arm. “Please make your K-kitten cum” she whined, panting, as her hand under the covers jerked erratically.

Another shock ran through Sylus from the top of his silvery head to the bottom of his feet. He sat up straighter, tapping at his temple with a slow indulgent smile.

Oh?

Daddy?

Did he just learn his woman had a… daddy kink? While he had never expected that might be something they would introduce to their eventual bedroom time, he found himself… suddenlyVERY interested in hearing her call him that. Though he had a feeling she would be too shy and mortified to ever voice it. He would have to coax that out of her or bring it up first.

Intrigued, Sylus couldn’t help wondering what else his kitten was into and hiding behind that sweet innocent face of hers, he wouldn’t mind exploring and coaxing out whatever else she deeply desired. In fact he was looking forward to it.

With a frustrated sound, Uyai ripped her arm out of her covers and threw the slick vibrating toy out of her bed to the hardwood floor below.

A weak frustrated sob escaped her plush mouth before she let out a quiet muffled scream into her pillows. The video cut off there as Mephisto took flight away from Uyai’s apartment window unnoticed.

His poor little Kitten couldn’t achieve an orgasm without him. A satisfied cruel smirk stretched his thin lips and he let out a short mocking laugh into the cool air of his dark office, rubbing at his lips in thought.

Did she really think that pathetic plastic thing could take HIS place? Could fulfill all her dark secret fantasies? “Oh Sweetie” he murmured out still smiling coldly, vermillion eyes glowing in the dark. Guess she’d have to keep being pent up, he wouldn’t mind seeing Uyai finally submit her Everything to him and take her rightful place next to him…under him…over him…on him.

Video over and his threat kept of tossing the bird out of his office as well, Sylus stood naked under the warm shower spray, rock hard dick in hand as he stroked himself to the mental image of Uyai. Naked, needy and begging him to take her properly, he imagined her splayed out on his silk sheets, lithe body trembling as his Evol pinned her legs and hands to the bed. Face buried in her warm wet pussy.

Thick long fingers knuckles deep in her wet tight channel as he stroked over her g-spot and prepped her to take his thick cock. Tongue and lips working her sensitive clit and stealing orgasms out of her, he knew his poor kitten would have to suffer a little before she could take his size. Uyai would no doubt whimper and squirm under him with a brave face on, she was stubborn and feisty like that.

Sylus’ flushed dick throbbed and kicked in his large tight fist at the thought of talking her through taking his considerable length and girth, slowly sinking deep into that tight little pussy and filling her thoroughly. Showing her that nothing could replace him. “It’s ok sweetie, Daddy will make you feel good very soon. You’re taking it very well kitten. I’ll make sure to reward you later”

Fuck…

He wanted her creaming on his dick, cute sweet face dazed and drunk off of him, Sylus wanted her begging him to let her cum or begging to stop cumming. He also wanted to hear her whimpering “Daddy” again, this time underneath him as he fully claimed her, pumping his thick cum deep into her womb and watching her face go slack with pleasure as he fucked her brainless.

The imagery sent him rutting harder into his tight milking fist, silvery head thrown back and deep blood red eyes closed shut, a deep growling moan ripped out of him as his dick shot thick creamy ropes of cum down the shower floor and into the drain.

What a waste of cum that belonged on and in his sweet little kitten.

Hmmm… it wouldn’t be long now.

Don’t worry Kitten. Daddy knows just how to make you less pent up.

Also visit my Patreon for the uncensored explicit art of Sylus “finishing” lol

https://www.patreon.com/posts/sylus-nsfw-art-113106348?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

[disturbnot]

SO THE SNAKE GAZES SKYWARD, SO THE SERPENT GAZES BACK. Weird vibes are par for the course in this foisty, unwashed neck of the back-country; even the deadened eyes of the ornamental buck on the wood-paneled wall gaze upon you with a judgment beyond this world; beyond even these wizened old fools, regarding each other with playground surprise. Ash gives a half smile, wrinkling; you can smell sour fruit on the air a mile away.

" What— me? " he remarks mutely, over the lip-smeared rim of a shot glass, meeting the stranger's gaze with weary but wild eyes, vivid and piercing. " I'm just minding my business, " he pauses, taking a drink, swallowing lightly. " But if you've got a problem, I'll solve it, brother. "

" You're giving me kinda weird vibes, buddy. "

@disturbnot

[starlight-incarnate]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[disturbnot]

     " Red? Who the hell is Red? "

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

🎨 Artists File #4: @aeli-tan-art!

The Mystery Twin Mystery Bags project is a Gravity Falls-themed fundraiser for Gaza aid. If you’d like to learn more about us, please check our pinned FAQ!

Image Description: A graphic made to look like Stanford Pine's journal entries with aged paper, coffee stains, symbols, and ink splatters on it. Written in the top left corner in bold letters is "Eli" Below in cursive reads: "(they/them) Tumblr & Reddit: aeli_tan_art Twitter, Instagram, TikTok: aeli-tan-art" Below is Eli's art. It's of an orange creature with green horns sticking out of its head, and green and yellow fur around its neck. It has a green and yellow nose between its bright green eyes. An arrow points to that image saying: "Their diet of creamsicle ice cream and dollar store chocolate fuels them for daily activities of making comics and storyboard animatics" Next to that photo is Eli's art of Bill with his back to the camera and holding an electric guitar. He is wearing a leather vest with a skull and lightning on the back of it.

Check us out on our other social medias: Twitter Instagram

[disturbnot]

AND FAR BE IT FROM HIM TO ADMONISH THE CORN, for it feeds him come the eve, and cloaks ironclad motherfuckers when the sky is darkest. Ash regularly loses himself in the thought of it, tongue rolling from cheek to cheek in languishing impotence, especially on such unremarkable days as this. Peace comes double-edged to him, blessing his fields with a cloying quiet that only serves to make him itch from time to time, make him wonder when those slowly swaying stalks would eventually part to birth intruders upon his fine spit of land. There have been more and more wanted posters materialising on the town boards lately, and the bubbling anticipation isn't lost on him.

It's just a pity that keeping an eye on the rest of the fucking house is.

When Ash hears the clattering crash upstairs, he jolts and lets out a bizarre little yelp, completely wrenched from his wayward daydreams as he is from his seat on the veranda. He reaches for the big iron hanging by his thigh, the thumping of his heart keenly masked by the thumping of his feet across the wooden landing and up the stairs; the telltale clicking of his gun loading; the squawking of his hunting falcon in another room, prised from a lazy slumber. Somehow, the sickly sweetness of the prior calm doesn't seem so unappetising anymore.

Ash swings the door open upon the source of the crash, his aim ever sloppy in kind. And lo, the precious inflection of a first impression is underscored by his pistol sights ... and this ragged old clown is of little threat, he can tell. Then again, as Ash stomps and limply barks, it goes to show it takes a ragged old clown to know one.

" God damn it—we have a front door, dumbass! "

─── ⋆ PETER HAD TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE CORN . . . His draw was slower. His mount, sloppier. His leather jacket barely billowed in the wind the same way it used to. Old, faded leather on some worn out bones riding a tired steed. He felt like old cattle at the water trough being pointed at and laughed at by the other less tired, less divorced cattle.

Speaking of cattle—

Dust from the path swirled up as Peter pulled the reins to a full stop. He caught his glove between his teeth to pull it off. It flew ahead into a patch of dry shrubs with a quick toss. He'd be happy with however many bandits missing a few tools in the shed he could fool. It was worth a shot. The drumming of horseshoes against the ground started up again after he took hard turn towards the ranch in the other direction.

Now. Sneaking your own horse into someone's stables and crawling through their windows was dishonest work. However, the owner of this ranch won't even notice him. He only needed a place to hide for a few hours and be a fly on the wall— CRASH. Shit. He cursed as he found the desk fan he bumped into on the ground with approaching footsteps following within earshot.

( @disturbnot )

[pendingnomdeplume]

pairing: hozier x gn!reader rated: T (language)

PROMPT: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

author's note: This was pre-written and is part of a backlog of items I still have from the previous blog. xoxo.

Rain pounds against the windows as thunder rumbles in the distance. A flash of lightning illuminates the bedroom for a brief moment, and Andrew watches you jump as you catch his reflection. His arms are around you before you can react, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Thought you were writing,” you mumble. His grip loosens, and you spin to face him before pressing your body back against his. You sigh contentedly when he begins to stroke your hair and hum quietly–a tune you’ve heard, but you can’t remember if it’s his or one of the many songs that inspire him. 

“I haven’t seen you all day.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, a punctuation of his response. 

You pull away just enough to see his face–tired but bright, excited. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen this energy from him, and it stirs something tender in your heart. Andrew leans in, and you sigh softly into a kiss as another crack of thunder and lightning hits in the distance. 

It’s his hands that startle you as they slip beneath your shirt to touch bare skin. You gasp and break the kiss, your hands flying back to push him away. 

“Holy shit, your hands are like fucking ice,” you cry as he giggles and attempts to shove his hands under your shirt again while you fend him off. “Andrew, this isn’t funny, I’m being serious–” 

But you’re not, really, laughing as you slip from his grasp and rush towards the hallway–towards his bedroom–with him hot on your heels. 

[vennilavee]

diet pepsi

written for @ficsforgaza!! the prompts were squirting + nagi seishiro from blue lock. wc is ~3k (sorry)

warnings: oc is kind of a stalker

A familiar username pops up in Nagi Seishiro’s periphery, showering him with bits once again. As far as he remembers, fairygrl777 has shown up in every single livestream he’s done since he started. He usually streams when he plays video games, or if he has a quick twenty minutes before practice. 

But fairygrl777 always shows up, without fail. When he’s playing video games, he tries to answer as many questions as he can even if he’s on a timed side quest. All these strangers seem to be enthralled by watching him quietly play Overwatch or Final Fantasy, for some strange reason. 

Fairygrl777 doesn’t just send bits, chats and cute emojis to him, but when Nagi is feeling particularly exasperated by the gameplay and complains about how annoying this particular mission is, they always talk him down. Or tell him what the next step in the game is. He supposes they’ve already beaten it. 

Little does he know that fairygrl777 didn’t sleep for thirty-six hours in an attempt to finish this game for that exact reason.

Fairygrl777’s little fairy wings pop up on MapleStory as a mage, too, one of Nagi’s secret guilty pleasures. Sometimes he likes to do missions with her, his illium mage running alongside her ice and lightning arch mage.

It’s just footyboi7 and fairygrl777 spending time in the Secret Garden before standing in the Kerning Tower together. 

Fairygrl777: <3 how romantic… it’s almost like we’re holding hands isnt it

Footyboi7: if u say so

Fairygrl777: :) 

Fairygrl777’s icy blue hair and sword has become a comforting presence to him. It’s quite often that he finds himself trotting after you in the game, his bow tight in his character’s hand. The hours seem to fade away with her excited chatter in the chat as they both collect mesos and finish jobs together.

Sometimes he leaves abruptly, but fairygrl777 never says anything. Out of the two of them, she talks more than he does in the chat.

Nagi is curious what her voice sounds like- he bets she sounds ethereal, like the translucent wings on her back.

It must be a coincidence, how fairygrl777 is almost always online when he is. Or how she never seems to miss one of his rare livestreams.

Nagi shrugs. It’s just a sheer coincidence.

Nerves seize you the moment you exit the train and head for the platform, though you’d classify them more as excited butterflies than true nerves. It’s like you’ve been here before, even though you’ve never set foot on English soil in your life. 

All you’re relying on is Nagi Seishiro’s vague retelling of the area.

It doesn’t take long for you to make your new apartment in Manchester your own. The apartment was already somewhat furnished, so all that’s left is to decorate it. Trinkets sit on top of your desk, matching the rugs adorning your floors.

You absently wonder if you asked Nagi in the chat to help you move furniture in, would he have helped you? 

You sit on your bed after you unpack all your things and inhale deeply. This is your life now. 

Before the anxiety of being alone in a brand new country can wash over you, you take in a deep, deep inhale of the crisp, autumn air from the open window. Leaves have already begun falling, shades of burgundy and marigold settling tenderly along the roadside.

It’s overcast in Manchester today, but you are in high, bright spirits.

The apartment you’re renting for an indefinite period of time isn’t too far from the Manshine City stadium- only a fifteen minute ride on the rail. You’ve nearly the path to the surrounding parks and already researched what restaurants and grocery stores you may frequent during your time in Manchester.

It’s meant to be a fresh start for you, after all. A new country, a new city. A new you, with new friends, new lovers. A fresh start from your old, doldrum routine you had been desperate to escape.

If you only had five minutes, you could show Nagi Seishiro how well you’d be together. You could mold yourself into the perfect partner for him. Who knows better than you what he needs?

You could be anything he wants, like a blank canvas waiting to be filled in. You want him to fill you in with broad brushstrokes and streaks of color.

The timing has to be perfect. You trust that it will happen, that he will notice you. You just have to be patient. You can’t be too much or too little. You have to be just right to pique his interest and keep him curious for more.

Perfect. You will be perfect when the universe opens the door for you.

“Don’t you recognize me, Seishiro-chan?” your voice is sickly sweet.

“No, am I supposed to?” Nagi tilts his head to the side and you giggle, the sound reminding him of a windchime.

“I’ve been to all of your games since I moved here and watched all of your streams,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with your own. Nagi’s eyebrows raise as he traces your face, trying to place where he knows you from.

“You’re not the first or the last girl to do all that,” he mutters, “What is it? Do you want a drink or something?”

“If you’re offering,” you shrug, “Just a diet pepsi for me.” He turns his back to you and leans against the bartop, waiting to get the bartender’s attention.

The bar is packed with Manshine City players, security and the lucky few fans who were able to get through the crowd and into the bar. Purple and blue lights bounce off of Nagi’s perfectly tousled locks  in waves, making his eyes look softer than they actually are.

If you pretend hard enough, Nagi Seishiro could be your boyfriend. You could easily lean against him, feel him relax against your touch as the warmth of his hands wraps around your waist like gentle vines.

But instead, he stands a few inches away from you, his handsome face drawn forward and looking away from you. He taps on the bartop impatiently with his credit card, long fingers curled around the piece of plastic tightly.

Nagi huffs, turning to you with ire in his eyes.

“This is taking forever,” he complains.

“Maybe you should be a little more patient,” you reply, gesturing for him to give his order to the bartender. The bartender rolls his eyes at Nagi. He definitely heard his complaint. You get lost watching the planes of Nagi’s face, the curve of his nose and the depth of his eyes. 

Your fingers brush against his accidentally. You hardly notice his fingers linger.

“Patience pays off, I guess,” you joke when he hands you a drink.

“I guess,” he echoes.

“Everything has its sacrifice,” you reply, looking him dead in the eyes. Recognition flashes across his face momentarily but it goes as quickly as it comes. Where has he heard that before? It sounds so familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

The intensity in your eyes lessens before you offer him another sugary, sweet smile. It’s mismatched on your face, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. It would be unnerving if he didn’t think you were cute.

“Thanks for the drink, Seishiro-chan,” you chirp, “Cheers to new friends!”

“Friends? I’d hardly call us friends,” Nagi says sincerely.

“Maybe something more?” you tease.

“More? Like best friends?” 

Nagi thinks of Reo briefly, catching a glimpse of the man’s violet locks. The back of his head indicates that he seems agitated by something.

You don’t reply, instead peering at him from the top of your glass while you take a large sip. Nagi decides not to shake you away for the time being, basking in your attention and allowing you to cling to every word he says.

His eyes catch onto your forearm when you adjust your purse. He lingers at the patch of newly exposed skin, peering curiously at the not so hidden tattoo inked. 

It’s a pair of icy blue fairy wings, so small that if he wasn’t paying attention, he’d miss it. His dewy lips part curiously, a question bubbling on the tip of his tongue. But Nagi cannot find the words to ask it.

“Wanna see? You can touch, you know,” you say easily, “You just have to ask.”

“Can I?”

You nod and Nagi allows his thumb to glaze over your smooth, warm skin and over your tattoo. What you don’t say is that it’s a relatively new tattoo, only about six weeks old. To commemorate your move to a new country.

His touch his gentle but you shiver at the concentration captured in his baby brown eyes. The buzz of the bar fade away with each second he holds your gaze and you refuse to be the first one to break.

Nagi can hear Reo now, chiding him for what he’s about to do next-

“Wanna get out of here and go back to my place?” he says, taking your empty glass and placing it on the bartop.

“How romantic,” the familiarity of your words rings a bell in his head, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Nagi ignores Reo’s calls and texts, the buzzing on his phone incessant in his pocket in favor of pressing you against his closed bedroom door. He refuses to let you get too far, his lips chasing yours the moment he entered his apartment. You taste sweet, like his favorite cherries and vanilla, and he forgets to breathe for a minute when you bite his bottom lip.

He pulls away for a minute, devouring your smudged lip gloss and gilded eyes reverently. The depth of his gaze makes you excited, as if he’s devouring you slowly. 

You’ve sprayed on his favorite perfume. You hope he unwraps you with his teeth.

“Can I take this off?” he says hoarsely, tugging at your blouse.

“Duh, but,” you look at his pants, “Are you sure you don’t want to get that?”

His phone is still vibrating. 

“Sorry, babe, let me just get this,” he kisses your cheek in apology and you nod, getting comfortable on his bed. 

“What the fuck do you want, I’m busy,” Nagi nearly snarls into the phone.

“Did you go home with-”

Nagi turns his head, only to see you unbuttoning your blouse with a shy smirk. His throat goes dry and he gulps as you lean back once you’re completely bare. Your warm skin glows with the dim lights of the bedroom. He’s itching to touch you.

“No, I gotta go,” he says quickly and hangs up, ignoring Reo’s protests as his phone falls ot the floor carelessly. 

“Come here, Seishiro-chan,” you murmur, spreading your legs for him to rest in between them. He’s impatient, eager to touch you and run his hands all over your heated skin. 

Nagi’s breaths are bruising as he licks his reverence against your skin. You pretend that this is not the first time he scales your body with his hands, that his touch is that of something more than a lover. It’s easy to pretend when his fingers shake as he fumbles with the button of your jeans. It’s easy when he licks into your mouth and presses his clothed hips to yours.

He doesn’t know where to look first, so he lifts your hips easily and tugs your jeans off. His breath hitches when he catches the expanse of your thighs in his tight, strong grip. The sigh that leaves your parted lips washes over Nagi like a wave.

He wants to hear more of you. More.

Something sits on the tip of your tongue and it escapes your throat in the form of a breathy gasp of his name. Your belly curls at the heat in his dark, grey eyes. 

His body is taut, lean from hours and hours of training and practice. Your fingers ghost over his chest. Goosebumps rise on his skin. You reach for the belt buckle of his pants, but he stops you with a warm hand on your wrist.

You shiver at the strength concealed in those fingers.

“Are you sure about this?” Nagi rasps, his tongue feeling dry in your throat. He feels a bit depraved, for how much he wants to touch you, to claw at your heated skin and close the space between you both. He is hungry, the desire to consume you nearly overwhelming him.

You see it in his glassy eyes. The desperation for a release.

He won’t move, won’t give in to the friction that your skin grants to him. You place your foot on his chest, toes freshly done in a pretty dark blue, and nod at him with a soft smile.

It looks misplaced on the planes of your pretty face. Nagi can’t shake the odd sense of familiarity in you, can’t help but lean into it. Lean into you.

“Yeah,” your voice is choked by your own desire, “I’m sure. Are you sure?”

“God, yes-”

“You don’t need to bring god into this-”

Nagi kisses your ankle gently, a stark difference from the blazing look in his usually resolute eyes. Butterflies flutter around in your belly and he keeps eye contact with you as he kisses up your calf. It’s sweet, for someone that you just met.

You fall into the fantasy even more, unseen fairy wings taking you higher and higher.

He cradles you, his arms bracketing your head and your legs wrapping lazily around his waist as he presses a deep, bruising kiss to your lips. You chase his kiss, refusing to let him go too far and rolling your clothed hips into his. 

“Ugh, you’re pretty…”

You preen at his praise, unable to stop a smile from forming on your lips as you kiss him again. You bite on his bottom lip before slipping your tongue into his mouth obscenely, swallowing his groan and locking it deep in your chest.

You could pretend that he just confessed his love for you. You throb with longing.

He traces the shape of you with his hands, chasing with his lips before slipping you out of your panties. He holds you as if you’d disappear into the night, like you’d fly away on the wings of the tattoo burned onto your arm.

You’d stay here forever to convince him that he loves you.

The reverie is jostled when you hear his phone buzzing on the floor again, calling out to Nagi. But he ignores it and doesn’t allow you to question it, instead licking and soothing his way down your navel and your hips. 

He knows you, you think happily, he really knows you. How else would he know how to kiss you, how to mouth at you in a way that has you seeing stars and curling your toes. He stares at you as his tongue nudges your wetness, swallowing every sweet drop of you that he can. He laps at you with a ferocity that you’ve only seen when he’s on the field.

Maybe Nagi sees you as a prize. The thought sends a bolt of heat straight down your spine.

Nagi looks at your pussy in wonder before spitting directly on it and rubbing your clit languidly, searching your pretty face for the tell-tale gasp of his name that tells him where to go by following the sounds of your breaths.

You don’t know where to look, and instead grip his blonde hair with enough bite to make him hiss. You writhe in his hold, feeling balmy coils burn in your belly as he slithers his hand within yours.

“You’re so wet,” Nagi mutters to himself. Or to you, maybe. He doesn’t let go, always touching and pressing some part of you as you bloom in his hold. Like a lotus. He wraps his lips around your clit eagerly, like a trained puppy.

Your eyes meet his eyes as he pushes a long finger inside of you while he drinks from you. Nagi is reminded of sweet nectar, unable to get enough. He is starving for you, for you to whimper his name again. Pushing down on your hips as you writhe in his hold, he allows himself to feast on you.

“Make me cum, Seishiro,” you gasp feverishly, “Oh, I’m so close…”

It’s agonizing, how hard he is. Nagi wants to sink into you, fill you to the brim with his cock. Split you open, see your eyes roll back to your head. But before he can do that, before he can bring you to sweet rapture, he needs you to unravel all around him.

He brings you to the precipice, bringing you so, so close. He’s never heard the sounds your pretty pussy makes with anyone else, the way his fingers curl tightly in you makes you jolt. But you don’t beg him to stop.

An aching begins to burn in your belly. You don’t recognize the feeling, but you let him continue to devour you with hungry lips. The sounds that he pulls from you- from your throat, from your pussy- are filthy. Enough for your face to burn, if you weren’t so fixated on how swollen his lips were and how he belongs in between your legs.

You gush all around him with no warning, coating his lower face with your cum and your wetness. Nagi pulls away with wide eyes, as if he can’t believe it. The blanket below your body is soaked, but he doesn’t care.

“Woah,” he says, “Did you just…”

“Yeah. I’ve never… done that before,” you reply. Your legs feel like jelly and you’re seeing stars at behind your eyes as you try to catch your breath. Nagi looks at you like you’re a meal and he’s ravenous.

“Let’s see if you can do that again,” Nagi says, looming over you with a tenacious look in his eye.

“Whatever you want, Seishiro,” you say easily with a disarming smile, tugging him closer to you, “I’m yours to use however you want.”

“Hey, call me sometime?” you say, pressing a post-it with your phone number on it to his chest, “Or, you know. Maybe I’ll just see you on Maple Story?”

Nagi’s lips part in surprise, his breath catching in his throat. There’s no way that you’re fairygrl777. That would be an insane coincidence… But the tattoo, the way you know what bars he frequents, when he’s online…

Maybe Reo was right to try to interrupt him all night. Something somber washes over him, keeping him rooted to the floor.

“Wait- you’re-?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ as you gather your things and head out of his apartment with a wicked smile, “See ya around, footyboi7.”

[yourheartonfire]

Secret Santa 2024!

This one is for @wren-l-winter for the secretsanta2024 exchange! Prompt: Explore the dynamic between two rivals. One, an ancient vampire, and the other, a new vampire hunter eager to have her name written into legends.

It was a properly dramatic confrontation. Sheeting rain, lightning flashes, a marble floored pavilion in the middle of the city's oldest cemetery. The hunter skidded across the water-slicked surface on one knee, ending in a half-spin and a perfect three point landing, sword out and eyes narrowed.

The ancient vampire, the dreaded apex predator herself, rolled her eyes. "For fuck's sake," she said in a perfectly modern accent, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "It's going to be a clear night tomorrow, and this rain is going to wreak hell on all that fancy leather you're wearing. Can't we do this then?"

The hunter sprang. The sword flickered out. The vampire flung herself down into a shoulder roll. Sparks exploded against the pillar, inches from where her neck had been moments ago.

"Ow," said the vampire, brushing water off the shoulder of her wool coat. Somehow, none of the rain seemed to stick to her pale skin or dark hair. "How fun to see someone with a sense of the dramatic. Do you talk?"

"No," the hunter said and lunged again.

The vampire hissed, dodging and retreating from the flurry of blows, leaping with superhuman grace up onto the banister. "C'mon, kid. I'm giving you a chance here to walk away. I don't know which mothball-ridden cult trained you in sword-fu or whatever this is, but I can tell you this won't end well. It never ends well for your type."

"Don't try to get in my head, you monster!" the hunter snarled. "I grew up on social media, and believe me, your psychological warfare has nothing on unsupervised teenage girls."

The vampire arched a flawless eyebrow. "Oh honey. If that's your idea of evil, you are not at all prepared for this."

"If that's so," the hunter said with just the tiniest sneer, "why are you retreating?"

The vampire shrugged, and thunder boomed behind her as she spun around a pillar. "Maybe I'm sick of killing. Maybe the long centuries have infected me with a sense of empathy. Maybe I just don't want to deal with vampire hunter secret society bullshit again. The last time that was in fashion was the nineties. You don't want to go back there, kid. The economy was great but those cargo pants were a nightmare."

The hunter flicked water off her sword. "I think you're afraid," she said, letting the tip of her sword ring against the marble as she stalked closer. "I think you've gotten too comfortable, too lazy. Too used to picking off the easy targets. You don't remember what it's like to face a real threat-"

"I think you're dulling your blade," the vampire said with a half smile.

For a brief moment, the hunter glanced down. The vampire moved.

The world turned upside down with a painful crack, and suddenly the hunter was on her back, head dangling over the edge of the loggia. Hands empty, wrists pinned.

The hunter froze, adrenaline turning to ice in her veins. Oh god, her veins. Oh, no no no. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

"So," the vampire said with a fanged smile, shifting her weight over the hunter's hips. "Now what, honey?"

The hunter swallowed, and then flinched as the vampire's eyes flicked down to her throat. "You said something about a rain delay?" she said hoarsely.

The vampire chuckled, a noise like glass shattering. Her eyes seemed to widen, turning a honey-golden color as slow and sticky and sweet as molasses. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Who are you, sweetheart? More importantly - who sent you?"

The hunter gasped and slammed her eyes shut, before the hypnosis could take her.

"Now, now," the vampire purred. "No need for loyalty. You have potential, I'll grant you that, but whoever it was that sent you after me as your first target is either cruel or insane. Or," she said thoughtfully, almost to herself, "they wanted to send a message. Run a pawn out to take a swing at the queen, while they get the board in order. What an opening move. Where did that sword go?"

Abruptly the vampire's weight and grip were gone. The hunter flailed up to her feet with all the grace of an overturned hedgehog. The vampire was across the pavilion, examining the blade, her back to the hunter as if she'd dismissed her from her thoughts. As if the hunter was nothing.

"I am not a pawn!" the hunter screamed, water running down her face and empty hands. "They sent me to end you and I will!"

"Sweet girl," the vampire said, tucking the sword smoothly into her belt as she stood. "You're a Christmas gift to me from an old enemy. A little holiday treat before the real fight begins." She tilted her head. The hunter took a step back. "But. You do have potential. I'm rather curious to see what happens if you do make it across the board, if you'll be a rook, a bishop, a knight. Yes. A little catch and release might be fun. You go on back to your masters, tell them I reject their trap. Look them in the face and ask them what game they are playing. But-" The vampire's eyes lit up from within. "-that's after you pay the penalty."

The hunter turned and fled. She made it down before a clawed hand caught in her hair, yanking her back into an iron embrace.

"J'adoube, little pawn," the vampire whispered into her ear. Hot breath and sharp points sank into the hunter's throat and everything went white and cold.

[itsabouttimex2]

not sure if anyone asked about the Monkie Glaive AU yet, but how does it work, exactly? I'm really curious to know about the group and character dynamics considering it's a Monster Hunter crossover! (I was listening to some MH + MHS themes today and it reminded me of this au ! :D)

Monkie Glaive

(I’m really glad you asked this! I was hoping to expand on this AU!)

So, to start- it basically transports the beasts and ecosystem of Monster Hunter into the world of Monkie Kid, which maintains a very high-tech and futuristic world.

It also turns demons and Celestials into monster-hybrids! Here’s five of the characters who are monsters in the AU:

For example, Sun Wukong is a Rajang, which means he can potentially tap into lightning abilities- after consuming a Kirin horn. He can also transform into a full-sized form, and is capable of entering a “Furious” state.

Also, instead of beetles or moths- glaive wielders partner with little FFM monkeys! These monkeys also take the place of Palicos! So, Wukong’s legacy spreads beyond his defeat of the Black Dragon- people to this day emulate his fighting style and actively live with his subjects in day to day life.

No single weapon- he cycles through old glaives and hunting horns as he pleases- after all, he gave the Ruyi Jingu Bang to MK!

Macaque is actually a Nargacuga! Instead of commanding shadows, he can turn invisible and fling spikes from his tail. And, like any Nargacuga, he’s sensitive to sound- especially to Sonic Bombs, and he’ll immediately enter a rage state once he recovers. Macaque wields Leumundslist, and has his own little melanistic monkey partner- she’s the only thing he really cares about. Although, meeting Y/N might just change that…

The Brotherhood is active even to the present day, having never been sealed in the Ink Scroll. They still command Camel Ridge and keep their ���subjects” locked up nice and tight, refusing to allow any mortals amongst them to become Hunters or Riders. Instead, they themselves do the defending and fighting, and all their cherished mortals stay perfectly safe inside their walled kingdom- no one leaves.

But, with a little convincing and begging, a stranger may be allowed to come inside for safety and supplies- but only if they’re willing to stay. Expect to sign lots of contracts and papers written by Yellowtusk (who is a Gammoth, giving him the ability to create snow and ice. He wields the Iceshaker.) that were created for the sole purpose of keeping innocent and kind souls trapped inside their smothering protective city. These papers will be cited and show any time you try to leave.

Peng is a Gold Rathian, giving them the ability to both spit fireballs and secrete poison- instead of a tail, though, Peng’s poison is spread by their quills. Those quills also contains a mild paralytic, useful for quieting dissenters or subduing runaways to ferry back “home”. They wield the Gold Chordmaker and maintain a more supportive combat role than their Sworn Brothers. They’re usually first in line to track down any “wayward souls” that leave the loving protection of Camel Ridge.

Azure Lion is obviously a Lunastra, which gives him both a big pair of wings and ability to breath fire- as well as spread flammable dust to ignite later. With the Roilcloud Sword in hand, Azure has sworn to protect all his cherished prisoners subjects from the violent woes of a monster-ridden world- whether they like it or not. There’s not a single resident of Camel Ridge that he doesn’t adore with all his heart, nor even one that he’s forgotten the name of.

And not one is allowed to leave his care.

[mikuchan]

Aylin/Isobel Week, day 2

vengeance, service, devotion, protection

rated t | 2000 words | Aylin, Isobel

read on AO3, or below the cut

Lunaed Adiutor (also known as silverwort, mus tel’e’thal, glow-wort, or Selûne’s Footprints) is a relatively rare plant of the Lunaed family. It is a silver, downy plant with low stems, rhizomes, and a strong herbal scent. It is tolerant of wet or dry climates, though it prefers areas with sandy or rocky soils. It appears often in the company of oaks or conifers.

It is prized for its many practical uses. Like other Lunaed plants, L. Adiutor is luminous under conditions of extreme darkness.

☽︎

She finds the book under rubble and char. It’s half-burnt itself, cover blackened and pages ashen at the edges, but once opened it proves to be a surprisingly intact little guide to herbs. 

A crumbling ribbon marks a spot in the well-thumbed pages. Isobel flips to it, reads the passage. Black and white illustrations of leaves, flowers, rhizomes fill the opposite page, and she studies them with a surprising swell of homesickness. 

She doesn’t need the pictures, of course. Them or the written entry. She knows it already: silverwort, mus tel’e’thal, ‘healer’s friend.’ It grew in Reithwin, at the sandy banks of the river; all the summers of her childhood smelled of silverwort and cedar. She can still feel the soft-furred leaves, the stickiness from crushing them between finger and thumb. 

She slips the book into her pack. 

They move on. 

They travel occasionally with larger groups: other travelers met on the road, farmers and merchants with laden carts that offer to carry them to the next town or village, pilgrims who recognize those similarly devout. 

More often, however, it’s just her and Aylin, trudging together across the land. 

They have their goal: to find those who target Selûne’s holy enclaves. 

They will not be dissuaded.

Silverwort is a key component of many minor Selûnite charms. Its uses are as many and varied as stars in the sky, but the most popular, of course, are spells to protect against Shar’s darkness. 

☽︎

Is it luck, or is it fate? Two days out from the hamlet of Colmore, two days of pitted roads and ceaseless rain, they find footprints. Before another’s passed, they’ve caught up enough to see the other travelers for what they are: Sharrans. They’ve made camp just off the road, small campfire guttering weakly against the rain. 

“Two guards,” Isobel murmurs. The Sharrans have placed themselves in a small dale; an advantage against the wind, but not against Selûnites. She and Aylin crouch now at the crest of it, shrouded by thin rain and heavy brush. “A cleric. What’s the last?”

“A hopeful.” Aylin’s response comes through clenched teeth. She is still in a way that is not steady, still like ice before the crack, as they watch the Sharran group.

A hopeful. Isobel hasn’t seen many before, but she recognizes now the bleak uniform of the novitiate. 

She knows, too, why Aylin would recognize the simple robes, the void-blank novice amulet, and is struck with rage and sorrow mingled. 

“Shall we continue to tail them?” she murmurs. “Wait til they close on Vinsir, then loop around and alert the enclave first?”

“We have no need for Vinsir’s help,” Aylin hisses. “We strike now.”

Isobel nods shortly. “Selûne, guide my hand.” 

The guards fall swiftly to Isobel’s spells, too surprised by the onslaught to even retaliate. The cleric follows shortly under Aylin’s smiting blade. 

The fourth, the novitiate, scrambles away. She darts across the small dale, leaps back with a yelp as fine bright lightning shoots from Isobel’s fingertips. The lightning misses – but Aylin does not, reaching out to seize the Sharran by one thin arm. 

Her mask – an amateur’s blank mask, dark and featureless as the new moon – sits crooked on her face, knocked askew by the fighting. She moves to fix it, but with a single, harsh gesture, Aylin bats it away instead. It falls to the ground, splashing Isobel’s hem with thin dark mud. 

Round eyes. Snub nose. Sweat-soaked curls that cling to her temples where the mask once pressed. The novitiate is a half-elf barely out of childhood, younger than either of her captors.

“Where were you bound?” Aylin growls. “A cloister, a rendezvous? Speak!”

“Wretched weevils of the moon-bitch,” the girl snarls. “Craven fools clinging to lies and fatuity, too feeble to embrace the dark. Shar will carry me to loss, and I will be whole. You will die like moths…”

Her insults are vehement but stilted: a parrot passionately fumbling to recall what should be rote. It’s a discordant performance, and Isobel is sickened.

“Cease!” Aylin raises her sword in warning. “Shar cannot help you now, girl. Tell us–”

The novitiate spits in her face. Aylin grimaces. 

“Enough of this,” Isobel says. “We’ll take her to the enclave in Vinsir.”

“No!” The hopeful thrashes in the knight’s strong grip; when that doesn’t work, she begins to shout. “Shar, teshuel vian lyth! O Nightsinger, yewl salen dath! Teshuel nae tel suor'nevae–”

Common Elvish, but spat in panicked haste too frenzied for Isobel to follow. A spell, a curse? It doesn’t matter. Isobel raises her hands, magic gathering in her palms, and envelopes them all in Silence. 

The Sharran slumps forward. 

With one hand Aylin holds her upright; the other is tight around the hilt of her sword, blade buried in the Sharran’s belly. Her beloved’s face is grim, features twisted with fury. The Sharran tremors against her, eyes wide. Her lips keep moving, praying mutely, even as blood drips from them. 

There are no answers. Not from the dying hopeful, nor from the other three dead on the ground. No journals or diaries among their belongings, no penned missives or convenient notes. They are as they were, hands full of empty vengeance. 

Silverwort is well regarded for its healing abilities. It is an exceedingly potent herb, used in both external ointments and poultices and internally ingested draughts, tinctures, and teas. Even a single leaf is said to alleviate a variety of maladies. 

☽︎

They travel light, only carrying what they need: a change of undergarments, a shared bedroll, enough food to get to the next town. 

Isobel insists, however, on stopping when they notice healing herbs. They find a meadow full of rose balsam, and spend hours filling their packs with the fragrant leaves. 

“What a fine alchemist my Isobel is!” Aylin proclaims that night, and Isobel laughs. 

“It’s as easy as brewing tea.” Which is all she’s really doing: muddling the leaves between her fingers, boiling them with a handful of barley, until she’s made a thick tisane. 

She boils that down until their little cookpot’s full of something closer to syrup than potion, as potent as anything. Aylin, armor-clad and afraid of nothing, not even kitchen burns, holds the bottles as Isobel finally removes it from the fire and fills each glass vial to the brim. 

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. 

Villages wracked with shadowy illness, clotted with a befouling darkness. Crops failing, fishing nets empty, children coughing, wells once fresh and clear now polluted and unsavory. With the exception of the four near Colmore, they can’t seem to locate any of the Sharrans sweeping through this stretch of northern coast. Only the horrible aftermath. 

Isobel treats those she can with foraged potions and her own magic; Aylin blesses them with her mother’s healing light. But there are more in need than they have the power to heal. Their energies wane. The tisane runs short. Isobel’s cough returns, a hacking thing that tastes of rot and the cold north winds, and she finds herself more and more exhausted come each day’s end. 

“Isobel.” Days after leaving the previous town, Aylin kneels by her side. The moon’s a thin quarter in the sky above, and the night is cold around them. “Do not protest.”

“What would I protest?” Isobel raises one eyebrow, lips quirking into a smile. 

In the low light of their flickering campfire, Aylin’s face is solemn. She doesn’t respond, just presses a vial into Isobel’s hands. 

Isobel holds it before the fire, studying it. It’s one of hers: a rose balsam healing potion, scent heady and thick even through the stoppered glass. “Aylin! We could have used this!”

“We can use it, and we shall. A cleric is no good if she heals only others. You run yourself ragged, my love.”

She’s ready to argue; but there’s a worry in Aylin’s eyes, a physical creasing at their edges that gives Isobel pause. 

“Very well,” she finally says. 

It tastes less of herb and barley and more like some sharp-bitter dirt. All she can picture are the faces of those recent towns – cold, ill, weary, shaking – but she drinks without further complaint. Not for herself, but to erase those fine, vulnerable lines at the corners of Aylin’s gaze. 

The cough remains. The lines do, too. 

Silverwort is considered a sign of Selûne’s presence. While less widespread in the world at large, it is distinctly common near Selûnite temples, whether cultivated or not.

☽︎

Their map indicates a town called Moonbreak. 

In reality, they stand in a razed nowhere. Only the occasional low, blackened stones indicate where homes once stood, structures burnt to the foundations, foundations crumbled by time and weather. 

She wants to scream. She wants to rage, to curse, to howl to Selûne like one of her Lady’s wild wolves. But all Isobel can do, it seems, is stand there, all the ghosts of Moonbreak weeping around her. 

“Let us make camp,” Aylin finally says. There’s a low-burning note to her voice that sounds the way Isobel feels. “Tomorrow, we will assess our next steps.”

“Let’s,” Isobel says. 

She murmurs a spell to dry the ground, unrolls their bedding as Aylin stokes a fire. They work in silence as the sun sinks below the low cold moors. They’ve moved inland, just enough to lose the ocean breeze; all around them is still. Selûne’s usually bright face is shrouded by her sister’s darkness, new moon a void creeping across the horizon. Even the stars, cold spots of distant light in the deep blue of the twilight, seem dimmed. 

“Can we do this?” Isobel finally whispers. “What difference can we make?” 

Have heart, she wants Aylin to say. Of course we can. We shall make every difference, we shall be ever victorious, for I am the Moonmaiden’s Sword, her Shield, her Voice upon Toril, and you are my beloved. We shall live forever, triumphant and beautiful, and someday soon the moon will be ever-full.

Aylin says none of this. Isobel wraps her arms around her knees and leans against her love. They sit in silence as the last embers of the sunset descend beyond the low hills. 

Their small fire burns down to cinders, and then to ash. Neither moves to rekindle it, with wood nor with magic. Comforted only by the warmth of Aylin’s body against her own, Isobel closes her eyes. 

The black of her eyelids is very dark. Darker, even, than the moonless night. This seems wrong; no fire, no sunset, no soft light from her Lady of Silver. This shouldn’t quite be. 

She opens her eyes. 

There is a light. A low, gentle glow that emanates from all around them. She stands uneasily, and Aylin stirs beside her. 

“My love?”

“Look,” Isobel murmurs. Stepping around their ashen fire-circle, she crosses to what may have once been a main path. Filling the gaps of broken cobblestones is a low little plant, leaves furred lamb’s-ear and luminescent as the moon. It emanates from the ruined ground, sprouting from the corners of once-buildings, outlining garden plots that no longer exist.

“Selûne’s Footprints,” Isobel breathes. “Silverwort. Aylin, look!”

Kneeling on the uneven stones, she begins to gather the downy leaves. Clusters shine like constellations amidst the ruins, and the darker the night grows, the more she notices. She can make a tisane tonight, for her cough and Aylin’s spirits; the rest will become tinctures, more healing than rose balsam a dozen times over, than any other scavenged wood-herb. It smells like her childhood, this little plant. It feels like a blessing, and a reminder. 

They have their goal. In service and devotion, for vengeance and protection, they will find those who target Selûne’s holy enclaves.

No night is moonless forever. 

They will not be dissuaded again.

Lunaed Adiutor is 'moon helper' in Latin mul tel'e'thal is 'healer's ally' in Elvish

The Sharran novitiate says: "Shar, take your child! O Nightsinger, deliver me my end. Take me to your holy dark --"

moon banners are from here

[monkeysforapplez]

So what are the roles that the zodiacs play in the lmk show

I was gonna respond in pictures, but that’d take a REALLY long time to answer this, so I’ll try writing it out instead! Hopefully we all get the same idea..

Basically! My idea of Zodiacs are like Greek gods, just below the power of Sun WuKong and the Jade Emperor. Their role to play is to keep the world turning, each of them has a task to either change the weather or categorize events of the past(present, future etc.) They can do this because of a special relic the Jade Emperor has given them each.

Only those with good intensions can use them right. Those with negative energy, or bad intentions, will render the artifacts useless, or highly dangerous.

• Shǔ (Rat Zodiac) - Pipa - Stringing this zodiac’s instrument will bring Creativity in people’s minds. That being poetry, music, and/or art. Stringing it too much, will give people too many ideas, or really BAD ideas.

• Niú Léi (Ox Zodiax) - Manchu Bow - With pulling this bow, an arrow of thunder will reveal itself. Releasing this arrow, it’ll bring its location thunder, rain and lightning. The Bow will shrink or grow depending on the users height. Upon negative use, the arrows will bring terrifying storms in its location.

• Wǔshi hǔ (Tiger Zodiac) - Lion Dance Head - The reflective mirror on the lions head deflects a foes attack. Protecting the user, and whomever the user protects. It gives people the courage to stand up for themselves and others. The Head will remain useless if one of negative intentions uses it.

• Bèike Tù (Rabbit Zodiac) - WIP - Wanted to something related with harvest, or bread. She works in a bakery with another oc of mine.

• Ehecatl (Dragon Zodiac) - Bells of Wind Chimes - With ringing the Bells, the sound of Wind Chimes summon winds. Ehecatl is able to direct the clouds of winds to move the trees and seeds. With immoral use, the winds can become tornadoes or fiercer winds.

• Shǔi Ma (Horse Zodiac) - Lantern of the Sea - The Lantern controls the tides and currents of the sea. Giving each a direction on the control of the Lanterns flame. Upon holding it, the Lantern can give the wielder grace on walking the surface of water or sea. With Negative use, the Lantern can create whirlpools, storms in the sea, or water spouts.

• Qiao Rong (Snake Zodiac) - Writing Brush - The writing brush can write events of the past, present or future. Qiao Rong has a Library of Scrolls with information of times of old, new or current. With negative energy, the words of the scrolls will recreate events of what’s written in memory.

• Xiezhi (Goat Zodiac) - Wine Cup - The cup can turn wine into fumes of relaxation or sleep. Anxiety will wash worries away and leave the drinker asleep or settled either upon smelling, or drinking it. With negative morals, the cup of drink will heighten your worries, or drive you to theater play.

• Dú Ké (Monkey Zodiac) - Paixiao - With blowing into this instrument, Dookie is able to travel through different dimensions with ease. This device can also amp up the Monkey Zodiac’s speed immensely! This instrument is what makes him a good messenger and traveler. With negative use, the instrument is just a simple Paixiao, maybe perhaps will make the user slower.

• Ronan (Rooster Zodiac) - Hairpin - The hairpin gives a boost to all senses, enhancing sensitivity and a kickstart of adrenaline upon handling. If handled with ill intention, the hairpin forsakes the user with the opposite effects; demoralization, heavy slowness, and hindrance to the individual's best special sense.

(The hairpin MUST be wielded, NOT worn.) (by @imaginnqtor )

• Dog.. where’s the dog..?

• Júrēn (Pig Zodiac) - Hammer x Axe - An Axe with the Hammer back end of the blade. Júrēn uses the hammer end to construct mountains of cold, and his axe to cut the clouds to make snow and ice fall. Upon negative use, the axe becomes a weapon to cut off the top of mountains and the hammer to strike the tops to make volcanos erupt. But for now, Júrēn pushes a crank to keep the solar system running. One full turn is a full day of orbit. Only two others are able to crank this machine other than the Pig.

Each zodiac can use elements to talk to other people. They can use their elements to grow in size as well. The zodiacs reset every Cycle. New species of the same animal become the ones to be the zodiac. But due to MK not resetting the cycle, the zodiacs haven’t reset. Causing problems in the zodiac world as well.

[disturbnot]

IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, OVER AND OUT ENTIRELY. Suffice it to say, the anticlimactic end to their battle shocked even Ash. He blinks through the thinning dust; he mirrors the puzzled look his Raichu is giving him, the guilt as he realises the fun is already over.

" Well ... shit, " Ash's brow furrows—he even pouts slightly. " Guess my buddy doesn't know his own strength? " A paltry excuse. Young trainer meets unstoppable steamroller, what else was going to happen? Ash sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. " Our bad, kid—ah... maybe we can have a do-over? "

@disturbnot

"All right, no. Wait.

What was that."

A Raichu who single-handedly wiped out his whole Team? Yeah nah that's bullshit.