#Artery Bands

[drondskaath]

Endless Loss | Traversing the Mephitic Artery | 25th March, 2024

Australian Black/Death/War Metal

Artwork by Nox Fragor

[jwowwsboobs]

wrote a short story abt artery n idk how 2 open it or end it anyone wanna read it

[yanderenightmare]

TW: slight nsfw, omegaverse

gn reader

The big, strong Alpha who is super needy and clingy with his omega mate. Utterly infatuated by you—ecstatic you finally agreed to be his. Every day is a new honeymoon, wrapping you in his big arms and lifting you off your feet, squishing you tender. Telling you you’re gorgeous, nearly getting teary-eyed when gushing over how cute and bite-sized you are, even when you’ve got sleepy eyes and bedhead, wearing what you slept in—his oversized shirt.

He just can’t handle how baby you are.

Your mating mark has only just healed—the skin thin and tender, scarring nicely into a perfect print of teeth that are unmistakably his. And still, he wants to mark you anew every single day.

You’re trying to read. Lying on the couch with a book perched atop the mass of your giant Alpha boyfriend, who has you draped under him like a thick blanket. Your chin rests on the meaty muscle of his shoulder, peaking over the blade and his broad back to the book you struggle to hold open, arms only barely reaching around his waist in the position—it’s a little straining, but it’s the best you could ask for as you have no chance telling him to get off without him looking up at you, big puppy dogs eyes on the verge of tears.

His face rests in the grove of your neck, licking and sucking the healed bite he’d left there a couple of months ago. Grazing it with his teeth, he gives it a few lingering nibbles that cause a slight sting.

“Hey, you,” you warn, like an owner calling the name of their pet when they’re doing something they know they’re not supposed to. His movement stills, teeth resting in half a bite. “The doctor said to leave it alone.”

He hums and goes back to sucking again, only tenderly kissing it.

You continue reading, but it becomes impossible as his back raises. The link of your arms breaks, not long enough to sustain the stretch, and your book pays the price, lost in the struggle and falling to a close on the floor.

You sigh with a blank stare at the ceiling above, thinking—this is hopeless.

Meanwhile, he continues unbothered, mouthing along your artery up to your ear. You shy away from the tickle, and he moves on to your cheek.

“Hey—”

He eats the protest from your lips, replacing it with his tongue. You don’t push him away—it would only make him whine, so you indulge him. He growls softly as you open your mouth for him.

His hands squeeze your waist impatiently, slipping beneath the band of your boxer shorts and immediately grabbing both handfuls of your ass—lifting you and slotting himself between your thighs. The bulge is enough to make you moan.

“Geez…” you mumble once your lips part, speaking thickly with breaths “It’s like a never-ending rut with you.”

His voice is even worse off. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” A continuous whimper laces each syllable, all but feeding you the words, unable to keep his lips off you. “I need you so bad it hurts.”

Beneath the whining, there’s a rumble in his chest. You feel it as you put your hands on his chest, a low running growl pushed down and kept there as he does all in his power to hold back.

You cup his big jaw with both your hands, looking at his miserable face with a sigh, “What am I supposed to do with you?” You look him square in the eye with strictness. His hands all but quake, giving you the silent look of pleading, begging for your mercy.

You end up sighing again, this time in defeat. 

“Okay, big boy. Fine. Once more before bed. But you better go easy—I wanna be able to walk tomorrow—”

He kisses your pout and moves downwards, smearing sloppy pecks down your chest, chanting, “Thank you, thank you—”  and pulling your shorts with him as he goes.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, stupid soft Bakugou ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Geto, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins, Kageyama, Kuro ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ AOT – Eren, Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu, Tanjiro

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[cinnamonest]

I know the smut fanfiction blog is probably not the best place for awareness posting, but this is my only real outlet and I'd like to share what's happening regarding the storm.

My area was affected by Helene — I woke up a little over a week ago at 4 am from the storm, to no power and standing water within my apartment.

The area where I live now was not hit too badly, so everything is back to normal for me now, and obviously I have power and internet again.

But the same is not true for many people near where I'm originally from. This storm has completely devastated Appalachia.

A village that was like a second home to me is gone. Every single building in the village is either underwater or decimated, and some of its residents are missing.

People in the surrounding area are desperately trying to reach family and friends — whole areas have essentially gone radio silence with no cellular data, even now almost two weeks after.

Many Appalachians have lost literally everything, including family, pets, and homes. The region is heavily reliant on orchards, livestock and tourism, so many livelihoods have been swept away. This area also already had a major poverty issue to begin with, so many had very little, and now literally have nothing but the clothes on their back.

Moreover, the handling of this situation by federal administration has been disgraceful and negligent, if not outright malicious.

Any acknowledgement at all was absurdly delayed, and the financial aid being given is the disaster response equivalent of a band-aid on a severed artery.

The FEMA people are present (sometimes), but they don't do anything, they just stand there and occasionally harass people for taking photos or loitering in parking lots. If anything, they are dedicating most of their time to delaying incoming resources and actively impeding independent rescue efforts. All while we have corpses strewn up in trees and people still trapped in their homes.

But for those looking to help, or if you are affected by Helene and need help, Appvoices has a page full of resources for those who need them and verified donation organizations that can reach those in need.

It is going to be a long road to recovery. This is a beautiful region filled with wonderful, strong people, please keep them in your hearts ❤️

[shalomniscient]

as the world caves in. || multiple x reader

AND HERE IT IS / OUR FINAL NIGHT ALIVE / AND AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND / OH GIRL IT’S YOU THAT I LIE WITH / AS THE ATOM BOMB LOCKS IN / OH GIRL IT’S YOU / I WATCH TV WITH / AS THE WORLD CAVES IN

cw. major character death

notes. felt silly

arlecchino

You find her against a broken pillar.

Her once pristine suit is in tatters. You can’t even discern anymore where red fabric ends and blood begins. The black feather-like horn in her hair has cracked, revealing crimson enamel, pulsing in tune with the balemoon above both your heads. Her curse, once up to her elbows, has creeped up to her shoulders, her neck, and just below her jaw. Each breath she takes is labored, pained. One of her wings lies uselessly by her side, while the other is just a stump.

She will die here.

But that’s fine, because you plan on dying right along with her.

Arlecchino’s head snaps up as you hobble over to her. The second coming of the cataclysm hadn’t exactly spared you either; a rifthound’s cursed teeth had sunk deep into your thigh. The wound is likely fatal on its own, though the abyssal corruption spreading through you at an alarming rate only solidifies your death sentence. Still, it doesn’t stop Arlecchino from snapping at you as you approach, brows furrowed, her clawed hands digging into dead soil.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. You really know the extent of her injuries and exhaustion now—if she was in even slightly better condition, she’d have picked you up and flown you right back somewhere safe. But she isn’t, so you let yourself slide down the pillar next to her with a snort.

“What does it look like?” you huff. “I’m here for you, idiot.”

She gives you a look between incredulity and despair. “You—“

“If you think I’d ever leave you behind, I’m going to smack you.”

Arlecchino quiets at that briefly. You lean your head back against the pillar, a remnant of a building ravaged by the angry surge of the Abyss, and shut your eyes. You can feel Arlecchino’s eyes bore into the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, then the shape of your lips, as if to memorize you. When she speaks again, her voice is remarkably soft.

“You’ll die,” she whispers, and you turn your head to her with a smile, meeting her eyes. You take her larger hand in your own—your wedding bands meet with a soft clink of metal.

“I’d follow you to oblivion and back, Peruere.”

Something in her expression shutters, and Peruere leans down to press her forehead against your own. She’s so close, like this. Close enough for you to see the way the veins and arteries in her neck pulse under curse-marked skin to a beat that mirrors your own; close enough for you to feel the way her breath fans over your cheek; close enough for you to kiss her.

And you do, free hand cradling her cheek while the other cups the nape of her neck. Peruere returns the kiss like she’s trying to press her soul against your lips. To give it to you instead of whatever higher power will claim it in the end. Her hand in yours squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Her remaining wing rises, a little shakily, and wraps around you, pulling you closer. You smile into the kiss, even as wetness gathers in your lashes.

Peruere wipes them away with her thumb. Draws back just enough to look you in the eyes one last time, selfishly. The earth wails in the distance, cracking and splintering, and the wind howls above your heads. The crimson balemoon shines impassively down as the herald of the apocalypse, cold and unfeeling. But Peruere’s wing around you is warm, and her palm caressing your cheek feels like being at home.

“To oblivion and back,” Peruere whispers, and then the world ends—

—but at least for you and her, it ends in love.

shalom

Shalom has always known you would meet a solitary end. She had said as much to you, back in the bureau when she had first met you—or rather, when you had first met her, in your fragmented memory. And some part of her was content with the fact. She’s smart, diligent. A HUSH. She could learn you utterly and completely, dive into and discover the depths of your heart before her time runs out.

She does achieve her goal, in the end. But she also falls terribly in love with you, and now the thought of being without you makes her unbroken heart constrict in her chest.

Now here she stands, in this field of lillies she once haunted. This realm of Mania, deceptively beautiful, with a cloudless blue sky stretching on endlessly. She can feel the gaze of the Illusory Moon crawl up her spine, but that is not her concern. No, her concern is you, standing off into the distance, alone—a solitary figure of grey against the blinding white. And somehow, you just know she’s there; like Orpheus for Eurydice, like something bone deep in you compels you to turn around and look.

But Shalom doesn’t disappear like Eurydice. Instead, she steps forward and slots herself into your arms instead with a hum, her hands splaying on your shoulder blades, holding you close. She buries her head in your neck, breathes in your scent—lillies, always lillies—and speaks.

“This is it, then.”

You nod. Card your fingers through her wine-red hair. “This is it.”

“It’s quite peaceful,” she muses, shifting to rest her ear against your chest. Your heartbeat thuds, calm and powerful, and Shalom lets her eyes flutter shut at the rhythm. You manage a small chuckle.

“For now. It’ll get quite ugly soon, at least on the outside,” you murmur. Your lips press a kiss to the top of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She laughs at that. “There are many things I shouldn’t be, and yet, here we are. Mostly because of you, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you huff, and she smiles. Of course she does. This is your solitary end, the cold calculus of the universe that demands your life in exchange for the world. If she was still HUSH, she’d see it as a bargain. But she’s not HUSH anymore, just Shalom, and suddenly the price is too high, too unacceptable.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m selfish,” she admits, voice barely above the breeze rustling the flowers by your feet. “I don’t want to be in a world without you.”

Not when you are the one who gives it meaning.

You’re silent for a moment, before a rueful expression pulls at your lips. You shake your head with an affectionate sigh, resting your forehead against hers. You know better than to argue with her. Your hand finds hers, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. No words are exchanged between you, but no words are necessary. Her hand squeezes back, and then you’re turning, facing the growing light at the end of the horizon. You’re her Orpheus amidst the flowers, leading her forward step by step until the light devours you both. To life, or to death, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t quite care.

For like Eurydice, what else mattered besides the hand in her own, the proof that she was loved?

kujou sara

Sara once thought she knew pain. Cuts and bruises, arrowheads and sword slashes—none of these are new to her. Her body is a canvas of scars from her time as a warrior, some pale and faded, while others are pink and freshly healed. Pain is inevitable, in a profession such as hers. Sara once thought she knew pain, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the agony of seeing tears paint your soft cheeks as you lie in her arms, staining the burnt soil below you red with your blood.

It feels like someone has reached into her chest, fingers curling around her heart and squeezing tight. Everything else has faded to a dull sensation; the arrows lodged in her wings as she shields you both from the world; the gash in her side from an axe-wielding hilichurl; the throb in her skull from when an Abyss Herald had managed to get a lucky hit in. The war around you both is now an afterthought, even as the skies rage and the Abyss spills forth like a hellish tide. No, the only thing she can focus on is you, as your lips painted red part and whisper to her brokenly.

“Sara,” you choke out, “I love you.”

Sara leans down, pressing her forehead to yours. Her golden eyes meet yours, and she hopes you can see the sincerity within. “I love you too, dearest.”

Your breathing rattles ominously in your chest, and Sara holds you tighter. Closer. A small comfort as death approaches you both on silent feet, ready to collect. Your fingers grip the front of her uniform tightly, staining her white uniform red. “Promise me,” you rasp, and Sara exhales shakily.

“Anything.”

“Find me again,” you plead, your voice so small she would not have heard you, were it not for her tengu senses. “In the next life, promise you’ll find me again—“

She grips your hand tightly. “I promise. I promise, my love, so wait for me.”

She doesn’t even know what awaits either of you beyond this. Is there even such thing as a next life? Heaven? Hell? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care. If there is a next life, she will find you, over and over again until the end of time. If heaven doesn’t exist, she’ll build it with her own hands for you. It it does, she’ll meet you there. If hell exists, she’ll carry you out on her back herself. Sara would do anything for you—all you have to do is ask. She kisses you as your breathing slows, your final breath mingling with hers. As death’s shroud settles on her shoulders, she memorises every line on your face, the set of your jaw, the arch of your brows like they’re her north star, to shine forever in her sky and lead her home. Home, wherever you are.

(In another universe, a pair of crows roost on a powerline. In another, a black obi is tied around a beautiful kimono. In another, a museum’s display katana rests peacefully in its delicate sheathe.

In another, she stands hand in hand with you again, looking at them all.)

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

i only pray, don't fall away from me

fandom: The Lord of the Rings

pairing: Elrond Peredhel x Reader

summary: You get injured on patrol outside of Rivendell, as a result of your own inattentiveness. Elrond treats your wound, unaware of your affections for him.

tags/warnings: injury, blood, hurt/comfort, stitches, self-doubt

word count: 1650

As a member of Rivendell’s guard, you are no stranger to injuries. You’ve been shot at, slapped, and stabbed more times than you can count.

So, it’s hardly surprising when an orc blade manages to catch you while you’re out on watch. This time however, it’s your own lack of attention that causes the injury.

Your group is patrolling just beyond the borders of Rivendell, past the protection of Vilya. You ride at the back of the group, keeping your eyes and ears strained for anything out of the ordinary. A strange unease fell over you a while back, but you can’t decide if it’s just natural anxiety from leaving Vilya’s protection.

Before you can mull over it any further, a shout comes from the front of the pack, followed by a strangled growl. Orcs. They have been getting bolder, wandering closer and closer to Rivendell’s borders. You had hoped you wouldn’t run into any today, but that was a tall order.

Spurring your horse onward and into the now intense fray, you rapidly pull your sword and begin to fight. It’s a rather large band of orcs, not quite proficient in their fighting but certainly strong and powerful nonetheless. Already you hear some of your fellow elves grunting in pain as the orcs manage to graze them with their blades.

The battle is quick and dirty, the smell of orc blood thick in the air. As you fell the final orc with a quick jab of your sword, the rest of your comrades gather to clean their own weapons. A few of their flawless faces are specked with blood, but for the most part they seem unharmed. Just as you are about to sheath your own sword once again, a fierce roar sounds from behind you. You attempt to evade the oncoming blade but still, you feel the sharp sting of it against the side of your neck. Immediately, you press a hand to the rapidly bleeding wound, while an elvish arrow pierces the head of the lone orc.

The world spins around you as you hear your comrades calling your name. You wave them off with your free hand, assuring them that everything is fine. “Does anyone have any athelas?” you grunt. Someone hands you a bundle of the plant, and you crush it in your palm without hesitation before pressing it to the wound. The feeling of your blood is warm and slick as it seeps between your fingers. You vaguely register someone asking if the blade had hit your artery, and you manage a weak shake of your head. Your captain suggests heading back to get your wound treated, and you have no fight left in you to argue.

The athelas helps to soothe the sting of the wound, but in such a small quantity, it’s not doing much to slow the bleeding. You keep one hand pressed against your neck, the other on the reins of your horse. The gleaming light of Rivendell comes into view and you feel the gentle embrace of Vilya’s protection around you once again. The warmth of it nearly makes you fall over as your body relaxes. One of the other elves rides up beside you, concern on their face as they hold out a steadying hand. You shake them off and urge your horse on.

The ride is long and painful, mentally more than anything. You’re beating yourself up for missing the final foe, for allowing yourself to be blindsided.

As you step through Rivendell’s gates, you see that a small crowd has already amassed. Your captain and the rest of the company arrived moments before you, and it seems that word has spread quickly. As you dismount, the crowd parts and Lord Elrond steps forward, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Come,” he commands, and you have no choice but to follow as he leads you to the healing halls. You keep your head hung low, shame and embarrassment flooding through you.

As you enter the halls, Elrond turns to look at you inquisitively. “Why do you hide? Your wound is nothing to be ashamed of.”

You hop up onto a tall table. Through the slick of your blood, you can feel your pulse racing rapidly in your neck. “It is not my wound of which I am ashamed,” you murmur.

Elrond tuts and retrieves some healing supplies. The halls are quiet and deserted, which makes you feel even worse. Taking Elrond’s attention like this, when he surely has more important things to do. Elrond returns and stands before you, his voice steady as he reassures, “We all make mistakes. Do not linger on that which you cannot control.”

You try to take his words to heart but there’s a flicker of doubt that remains.

“Let me see,” he urges and gestures for you to remove your hand from the wound.

You withdraw, the cooling effect of the athelas fading as you move away. Immediately, Elrond’s face hardens into that of a healer and his eyes focus on the gash. “You are lucky the blade was not poisoned,” he mutters, still a few feet away as he examines your neck. “This is far too close to your artery for my liking.”

He steps closer, and you unconsciously part your legs to accommodate him within your space. A fierce blush washes over you and you avoid Elrond’s concerned gaze. “Are you feeling feverish?” he questions, attributing your flushed face to your injury.

You swallow thickly and instantly regret the movement as the wound pulses. You wince and rasp out a “no” in response. Elrond’s face softens and he returns his eyes to your neck. He holds a clean, damp rag to the wound to soak up some of the blood. “I’ll have to stitch this,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It will be difficult to heal. The wound will want to reopen with much movement.”

You groan internally at the thought of being removed from patrols while you recover. Your captain will have no qualms about leaving you behind, especially after this incident.

Elrond removes the rag and picks up a suturing needle and thread. You realize all at once how close he is to you, that you can feel his warm breath against your neck as he examines the wound once more. From this distance, you can almost see the twinkle of starlight in his eyes.

You push back the feelings of adoration and infatuation that bubble up within you. All your life you’ve felt… something for the elvish lord, but the discipline of being a warrior has left those thoughts to the wayside. You’ve been treated by Elrond for various wounds before, but never has he been so close. Now, with him standing so near, showering you with such attention, you cannot deny your attraction to him. But this is not the time for such childish feelings – you attempt to control the pervasive thoughts.

Unfortunately, your body is not so easily controlled. Your pulse continues to race, even more so under Elrond’s gentle touch as he stitches the wound. Your skin is flushed and you can’t imagine how red you must be – the tips of your ears feel on fire. Each breath is somewhat of a pant as the adrenaline of your schoolgirl crush courses through you.

Suddenly, one of Elrond’s hands is resting on your abdomen. His fingers splay across the fabric of your clothing, and you can feel the warmth of his palm seeping to your skin. The touch catches you by surprise and you meet his eyes.

“Calm,” he murmurs. “Breathe into my hand. You are in shock, I believe.”

How can he not see? How can he not see that his touch burns like fire, that his proximity only makes things worse in the best way possible? How can be so oblivious to the feelings that, to you, appear all powerful?

Yet, you manage a deep breath and it seems to help. Elrond keeps his hand upon your abdomen for a moment longer, apparently reassuring himself of your safety. His eyes flit back to the wound and he completes the sutures. You focus on the feeling of them tugging at your skin, a sensation which distracts you from the still-burning shadow of his hand.

Finally, Elrond places the needle back down. He secures a large bandage to the side of your neck, covering the gruesome injury. He doesn’t move away, instead bringing his fingers to your wrist to check your pulse. With nothing to distract you now, you have no choice but to feel the warmth of his touch, the electricity.

“Deep breaths, remember,” he reminds you, still attributing your rapid pulse to your injury.

Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so thick.

Sometimes you’re grateful for his obliviousness. It certainly spares you an enormous amount of embarrassment.

“The stitches will need to come out in ten days,” he says, fingers still circling your wrist. His thumb rubs small circles on the back of your hand, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. “Come to me immediately if you feel feverish or ill.”

You nod and wait for him to step away, to release your hand. He doesn’t, remaining standing between your legs with his eyes trained on your hand.

“Hîr nin?” you question quietly. The tips of your ears begin to burn again.

He murmurs your name in response, eyes flitting up to meet your briefly. “I hate to see you hurt.” He whispers the words like a secret, like they are just for your ears.

You are silent for a moment as the implications of that statement sink in.

Before you can answer him, he releases your hand and steps away. An admittedly large part of you misses his closeness. “Please do try to be more careful.” With a swish of his robes, he turns and walks away.

[cobrakaisb]

ever since new york

summary: the west coast brings out a side of luke you’d never thought you’d see, and suddenly everything you thought was right is slowly becoming wrong

featuring: SPOILERS FOR TITANS CURSE (according to the summary and my memory), fluff to angst 

word count: 4.36k

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

the curtains rustle softly from the cool breeze blowing in through the open window. while the heat is blasting, keeping the area nice and toasty, the two of you have always preferred the cold. you giggle softly, scratching your nails gently against his scalp as luke hovers over you. his hands are planted beside your head, caging you in, as he plasters kisses all over your face. 

you laugh again, trying to shove his face away from yours, but he doesn’t let you. instead, he takes a hold of your left wrist, thumb pressing softly into your palm as he kisses the pads of your fingers. 

“you’re not getting rid of me that easy, angel,” he teases, a playfully smile on his lips.

“well i know that now,” you reply, looking down at the jewelry on your finger. 

his honey brown eyes follow your gaze, focusing on the golden band wrapped delicately around a diamond. it’s nothing elaborate, and while luke wishes he could give you more, this will have to be enough. the love between you two is enough; his love for you is enough.

“no matter what happens, i’ll always love you. you have to know that,” he stresses, placing a fleeting kiss at the base of your ring finger. 

you hum absentmindedly, too busy twirling one of his curls around your finger. since coming to the west coast and fleeing new york, luke’s been different. he’s merely a shadow of his former self. everyone can see it, even you. but it’s moments like this, where he looks at you with pure love and adoration that you have hope that the boy you fell in love with is still in there. 

“i need to hear you say it,” he whispers, “that you understand.” 

you look at him, focusing on his face, and cup his cheeks. subtly, he leans into your tender touch so different from the cold purple irises haunting your nightmares. 

“i love you, luke. nothing will change that, i promise,” you assure, lips brushing against his. 

he doesn’t answer, instead kissing you as if tonight is your last night together.

*****

you awake in a cold sweat, fisting at the satin sheets. your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath, eyes frantically searching the room for any danger. once you determine your safety, you breathe a sigh of relief and your head falls back against the wooden headboard. 

your eyes flutter shut, but all you see are specks of gray, purple, and a flash of auburn hair. shaking your head and pressing your palms into your face, you try to dissipate the vision. another deep breath, and you’re calmer, surveying the room once more. you reach for luke besides you, but find his spot empty and cold. 

panic, that’s all you feel. everything seems smaller now. the walls. the bed. the balcony. the time to your demise. it’s all suffocating you. restricting your airways and clogging your arteries. your chest heaves, and you reach for the gold band on your finger. 

one twirl, one breath. 

two twirls, two creeks of the floorboard. 

three twirls, three doors in the room. 

four twirls, four plush pillows. 

five twirls, five fingers around your wrist.

you gasp, lurching back from the person in front of you. you swing your right fist, and they duck. it’s too dark for you to make out their face and you’re too panicky to think rationally. 

“it’s just me, angel, just me,” he whispers softly, catching your fist in his other hand. 

you relax at the sound of luke’s voice, shoulders dropping as your head falls forward onto his chest. he releases your right hand, cupping the back of your head to pull you closer. his other hand rubs soothing circles along your pulse point, and for a minute your panic quells. 

“you were gone,” you say, but you don’t sound like yourself. 

“i’m sorry. just needed a smoke,” he mumbles into your hairline. 

“why didn’t you wake me?”

“you were sound asleep, angel. i couldn’t wake you even if i tried.” 

you hum, already feeling drowsy and ready to cuddle back up under the covers. luke notices. he helps get you settled and comfortable, adjusting your pillows and the blankets, before shedding his winter jacket. as he steps away to toe off his timberlands, you grab desperately at his wrist. 

“don’t do it luke, please don’t go and hurt her,” you beg. 

and while he assures you that he’s not going anywhere, he can’t shake the ominous feeling of being watched and the thought that you already know what’s coming.

*****

“have you seen luke anywhere?” you ask, walking up to katrina and chris. 

they both exchange a confused look before katrina answers, “he said he was going to find you.” 

“yeah, something about you wanting to go for a walk in the garden,” chris finishes. 

your eyebrows furrow at her words and your head reels back in shock. firstly, you hate the garden and everything it stands for. it’s the place that destroyed your boyfriend, and you’re all too aware of the fact that he almost died fighting the stupid drakon while trying to retrieve that damned golden apple for his sorry-excuse of a father. secondly, luke specifically told you not to leave the ship today. 

“i hate that fucking garden,” you say, looking at katrina. 

she holds her hands up in defense and tries to justify herself, “i know that, but luke insisted. i figured your mindset changed.”

he lied. once again, luke was lying about his plans and intentions. he kept you in the dark with the lightning bolt. then again with thalia’s tree, and now he’s lying about his whereabouts. the thing is, you can’t figure out why. you’d supported him with the lighting bolt, and while it took time (and a lot of effort on his part) you were ultimately able to forgive the poisoning incident. this time though, you’re stumped. 

you blink, and all you see is a flash of gray. it’s the same one from your dreams recently. you thought maybe it was an indication of the weather on mount othrys and the overall west coast during the winter. now though, you’re not so sure. 

think, think, think.

and when the realization sets in, you gasp loudly. 

“what?” katrina asks, stepping closer to you. 

“i-” you stutter. 

“you what?” she asks, resting her hands on your shoulders. 

you meet her gaze, a silent conversation taking place between the two of you. katrina is your best friend, she always has been, and she can read you like an open book. you’re not even sure what message you’re trying to convey to her, but she understands anyways. 

“go. whatever it is, go. i’ll cover for you,” she assures, giving your shoulders a final squeeze. 

you nod, meeting her eyes one more time. she nods firmly, and that’s all the confirmation you need before sneaking off the princess andromeda. 

at the base of the mountain, it’s winder and colder than you anticipated. you wish you brought a jacket, and wrap your arms snuggly around your body in an attempt to keep your body heat in. your bowstring digs uncomfortably into your shoulder and your quiver feels heavy at your side. you’re bogged down with fear, and even though you haven’t prayed to your mother since leaving camp, you find yourself begging her for guidance. 

miraculously, she answers your prayer by providing you with another flash of gray. 

you huff, your breath coming out in a cloud in front of your face, as you continue to trudge up the mountain. 

“thanks mom. real helpful,” you sass.

the gray flashes again behind your eyelids. this time, however, you’re able to pinpoint them as a pair of eyes. you stop in your tracks, feeling like you’ve been run over by a truck. why would he do this?

you run the rest of the way up the hill, mumbling, “it can't be true. it can’t be true. it can’t be true,” over and over again. 

you know those thoughts are dangerous. delusions are dangerous, especially when you know your mother has never lied to you before. since leaving your home, she’s guided you in the right direction, even if her actions were unbeknownst to you. there’s no way for you to distrust her and while you may be allies with the people trying to destroy her, you won’t start now. 

yet, you still hope that she’s wrong.

the top of the mountain is always dark, but it feels darker this time. you can’t decide if it’s from the stormy clouds, nighttime hours, or the new knowledge you’re bogged down with. when you see luke slip up from a kneeling position, and watch with horror as annabeth takes his place, you know it was the latter. 

*****

“katrina,” you whisper, looking down at her. 

her mouth is open and her hair is a mess of tangled curls on the pillow; there’s one particular strand stuck to her cheek. her tank top, the floral patterned one, has ridden up to expose most of her stomach while the blankets rest in a heap at the foot of her bed.

you almost feel bad for waking her up. 

“katrina,” you say, louder this time, but she still doesn’t budge. 

you roll your eyes, taking a deep breath before you shake her shoulder and call her name once more. she jolts up in bed, blue eyes wide and surprisingly alert for someone who just woke up. she looks at you, taking in your outfit of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and your bow and quiver, before throwing her head back against the headboard. 

“why do you always think i want to be involved?” she asks annoyed, but she’s already swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

“trust me, you do this time,” you answer somberly. 

as if sensing the seriousness of the situation, katrina stops goofing around and asking questions. instead she tugs on a gray hoodie (you think it might be her girlfriends) and a pair of ugg boots. she grabs her sword from the nightstand, stifles a yawn, and nods in your direction. 

“lead the way,” she whispers, following you out the door and off the cruise ship. 

surprisingly, she manages to wait until you’re at the base of the hill to ask questions. a true christmas miracle, you think.

“what’s in the bag?”

“food, nectar, and ambrosia,” you answer, hiking up the dirt path. 

“for who?” she asks, and you can tell she’s raising an eyebrow without even looking at her. 

you struggle to come up with a response. how do you explain this to her? how do you explain that your boyfriend kidnapped his younger sister and is forcing her to hold up the sky, all to bait percy and some olympian gods? 

so you don’t. you just keep walking.

“no. no. no. no! you do not get to do that. you don’t get to wake me up at fucking midnight and not give me a reason. things just don’t work that way!” she shouts, stopping in her tracks. 

you huff, clenching your jaw as you turn around to face her. your hand clutches tightly at the strap of the tote bag over your shoulder, and you have to refrain from screaming the truth at her.

“katrina, you’ll see when we get there. and you’ll understand why i didn’t tell you, but for now i need you to trust me,” you reply in a surprisingly calm manner. 

there’s an edge to your voice, but it’s not mean rather vulnerable. katrina looks at you, her blue eyes scanning over all of your features. she notices the tremble in your hand, and suddenly she can feel your anxiety. she sees the tears brimming at your waterline — something you’ve surprisingly kept hidden this whole time — mixed with a sense of defeat and betrayal. whatever if troubling you, it’s too much for you to speak aloud. 

she puts her hands up in defense, walking into step with you, “okay fine. but you owe me big time.” 

“when we’re done here, i’ll owe you my life,” you mumble, continuing the trek up the hill.

at the top, you stop suddenly and pull katrina behind a tree with you. she opens her mouth to ask a question, but you shake your head no and hold a finger to your lips. she gets the memo. instead, she follows your lead, watching the older man/monster thing acting as a guard.

“whatever you do, follow my lead,” you whisper, darting out from behind the tree with a previously unknown confidence. 

“dr. thorn, you’re being relieved,” you announce.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing you for one second. as he’s moving towards you, you have to remind yourself to stay strong and confident; one look at the sight behind him does the trick. 

“by whom exactly?” he asks.

“by us,” katrina answers, stepping beside you with her sword held tightly in her left hand. 

he laughs in your faces, and you clench your jaw in annoyance. you want to slice him into a million pieces, watching as his body turns into nothing but golden ash and a mere memory. but, katrina’s hand on your arm keeps you steady. 

“you dare question the daughter of hera?” 

he laughs again, “that title has no meaning here.”

“fine. then you dare to question me, your future queen? i’ll remember your insolence from my golden throne,” you snap. 

he’s taken aback, but recovers quickly: “so confident. so cocky. that’s the problem with you demigods.”

“maybe so, but i’m just following your master’s orders. if you want to ignore them, fine by me,” you answer, gesturing towards katrina to pretend like you’re leaving. 

it only takes five steps for dr. thorn to offer to switch places. and once he’s out of sight, your real plan can begin. 

“unpack the stuff,” you instruct, getting down on your knees next to the young girl. 

“what are you doing?” she asks, voice trembling from both exhaustion and confusion. 

“taking your place. we only have a few minutes before they realize we weren’t scheduled to be here, so stop wasting time,” you answer. 

your words are harsh, you know they are, but you can’t find it in you to coddle her. she needs to know the truth; they will be coming back, and it will not be pretty. 

“but you’ll…” she stutters, and katrina shushes her. 

“daughter of hera. she’ll be fine.”

you slide in next to annabeth, hands already up and bracing the sky. the two of you are under it, and you can already feel the burden of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. you nudge annabeth’s thigh with the tip of your shoe, and she takes that as her signal to roll out. now it’s just you. 

you grunt from the heavy feeling. it’s worse than the anxiety or the crippling fear from your recent nightmares, but you have to push through. 

in through your nose, out through your mouth. 

closing your eyes, you ground yourself in the cold mud and frosty grass beneath your knees. the wetness seeps into your jeans, leaving a ring around your knee caps, and while you’d normally be at least a little annoyed, you’re thankful for the distraction. 

“you need to eat,” you hear katrina say. 

you can only assume she’s forcing ambrosia and nectar down annabeth’s throat. 

“just give me a minute,” annabeth mumbles, but her words are slurred and she sounds like she might pass out. 

“katrina,” you grit.

it’s a warning. she needs to save annabeth. 

“i’m trying,” she snaps.

you briefly open your eyes to see katrina crouched down next to annabeth, who’s still keeled over. your heart breaks for her. while luke has betrayed you in so many ways, you can’t imagine what she’s going through. he was her brother and she trusted him with every bone in her body. he broke that trust once again. 

“he tricked me,” she sobs, chest heaving. 

“i know sweetie. he tricked us all. but you need your strength okay? because it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” katrina whispers, soothingly rubbing her back. 

annabeth nods and eats the food. by the time she’s finished, and katrina has managed to calm her down somewhat, you can all hear the rustling of grass and leaves as someone rushes up the hill. 

“we need to switch back,” annabeth decides, sliding back under the sky next to you. 

“we’ll be back tomorrow,” you promise, looking at her from underneath the atmosphere. 

she places her hand on top of yours, nodding her head softly. you roll out, letting her take up the burden once more before hiding in the surrounding forest, all within the knick of time. 

*****

“where did you go last night?” luke asks. 

he’s standing by the door of your shared bedroom with his arms crossed. he’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans with a tight compression shirt to match; he looks devilishly handsome. his hair is slightly tousled and windswept, which makes you wonder where he’s coming from: the bridge deck aft or the top of a mountain. 

“what are you talking about? i was here all night,” you answer, refolding one of the shirts in your laundry basket. 

luke clenches his jaw. it’s obvious to him that you’re lying. he knows exactly where you were last night, but he wants you to admit it. 

“i thought we agreed not to lie to each other,” he replies, pushing himself off the wall to walk towards you.

“me too,” you say, but your words are sharp and pointed. 

luke grimaces. shame flickers across his face and eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. his eyes, which are now a melding pot of gold and brown, turn completely golden, a true sign of his loyalty and alliance with the titan lord. he takes a deep breath to ground himself in the moment as opposed to allowing kronos’s anger to consume him. if you’re going to be together forever, he needs you to understand.

“things are going to be different now,” he whispers.

his words finally have you meeting his gaze. you stare at him for a moment, admiring his sharp jaw and the curls that fall effortlessly over his forehead. there’s a softness reflected in them, but it doesn’t hold the same meaning that it used to. 

“tell me something i don’t already know,” you mumble, going back to the laundry at hand. 

*****

katrina finds you in the archery range. she pauses at the entrance, watching as you line up a shot. the target is already filled with arrows, all of which are clustered together in a meticulous order that makes it obvious you’re working on your accuracy. she watches with bated breath as you release the bowstring. the arrow glides through the air before piercing the fabric of the target with a loud thud; it’s only millimeters away from a previous shot. 

“you’re working hard,” she says, making her presence known. 

“i need a distraction,” you explain, reaching for an arrow in your mostly empty quiver. 

katrina hums in agreement, stopping a couple feet away from you. she watches intently as you line up your next shot. just as your hand grazes your cheek from the pullback, and she thinks you might release the arrow, you freeze. you wait a moment, but ultimately decide on placing the arrow back in your quiver and lowering your bow. 

“are you okay?” you ask, turning to face your best friend. 

“i’m hanging in there. are you okay?” she asks. 

your eyes dart around the room. even though the two of you are the only ones inside, you never know who’s listening. you take a step closer to her, and katrina follows your lead. 

“i want to go see annabeth again,” you whisper. 

katrina’s eyes widen at your statement. “didn’t anybody tell you?” she asks. 

“tell me what,” you demand, eyes turning frantic. 

“annabeth isn’t holding up the sky anymore, lady artemis is.” 

you gasp at the revelation. your bow clatters to the ground as your hands come up to cover your mouth. the news is shocking to you, and you start to wonder if luke would ever have told you himself. 

i should have told him the truth, you think. 

“where’s annabeth?” you ask. 

“i don’t know. all i know is the general wanted to kill her, but luke stopped him,” katrina confesses. 

“there’s still good in him, you just need to bring it out,” she continues, taking a hold of your hands and squeezing them reassuringly. 

you shake your head no, “not enough. i can’t fix him, katrina, not anymore. and as much as it pains me to admit that, i know i can’t keep convincing myself that i’ll be successful.” 

katrina nods her head in understanding. 

“i won’t be my mother, tree, no matter how much i love him,” you confess, barely getting the words out as she pulls you into a tight hug. 

“i’m with you every step of the way. i want you to know that. until the end of the line.” 

you nod, stepping out of her hold and straightening your shoulders. there’s a new look in your eyes, one of bravery and fierce determination. 

“when they come, and they will come, i’m leaving with them,” you decide. 

there’s no changing your mind. katrina knows that. “me too,” she agrees. 

*****

percy expected a lot of things to happen when they arrived at mount tam. he knew that artemis was going to be the one holding up the sky. he knew that zoe was going to come face to face with her father and sisters. he knew that thalia was going to see luke for the first time in years. what he didn’t know was that you were going to be by his side. 

he’d seen you helping annabeth and artemis multiple times in his dreams. he assumed it meant that you defected to their side. but he should’ve known what happens when you assume: you make an ass out of you and me. 

he studies you. your body language is relaxed standing next to luke. your arms are crossed and your bow is securely fastened to your back. by the looks of it, you have no intentions to fight. your eyes meet his seagreen ones, staring him down. percy is sure you’re trying to tell him something, but he can’t decipher your secret code.  

why do girls have to be so confusing?, he wonders. 

he stares at you some more, giving you a once over. there’s something different about you, but he can’t figure out what. then, your eyes flicker briefly to the tree line. percy follows your gaze, eyes locking on katrina. the brunette has her sword unsheathed, clutched tightly in her hands, and he wonders what your plan is exactly. 

are you his backup or luke’s?

he doesn’t have time to decide, however, as thalia let’s out a frustrated scream, jumping into battle with luke. atlas goes after zoe, which effectively keeps all of luke’s forces distracted. katrina bolts out from behind the trees, and for a moment percy thinks she’s running towards him, but she falls to her knees in front of artemis. he’s quick to jump in next to katrina, as she cuts the celestial bronze chains keeping the goddess in place. 

“roll!” he shouts. 

surprisingly she listens, and percy finds himself holding up the sky. 

his arms shake. he’s not strong enough for this, all skin and bones. looking back on all his major battles, most of them are won through his ability to annoy the other person; sarcasm really is his only defense. yet, he looks at annabeth and thinks about how long she carried this burden. he thinks of you, taking it on so willingly to protect his best friend. somehow, he finds the strength to keep going. 

it doesn’t last long, however, as he makes eye contact with artemis. her plan is clearly written all over her face, and for once percy feels like he understands girl-talk. before he can react, atlas is thrown towards him. percy is flung backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thud and a major wince. 

that’s going to leave a bruise, he thinks as he struggles to get on his feet. 

once he’s up, he almost wishes he had passed out. thalia and luke are at the edge of the cliff. luke is laying on his back, backbiter long forgotten as thalia holds her spear to his throat. percy looks for you. your eyes are locked on the scene too, but your bow and arrows still remain in place. you don’t make any attempts to help luke, to save him. instead, you keep a steady grip on annabeth, who’s leaning most of her body weight on you. 

“thalia please,” luke begs, and percy almost feels sorry for him.

“you had this coming,” she mumbles, kicking him off the edge. 

you turn your face away, shoulders shaking. your crying, percy realizes.

thalia focuses her attention on you, a menacing sneer present on her face. you’re her next target. percy rushes forward, but annabeth beats him to it. 

“she saved me. you can’t thalia,” annabeth pleads. 

thalia looks at you, and then at percy. percy gulps. he hates when people leave these big decisions up to him. he knows saving you is the right thing to do; you’ve helped them so many times despite leaving camp. 

“she’s right thalia grace,” artemis says, stepping forward to place a hand on his older cousin’s shoulders, “we would not be here without her.” 

thalia hesitates. percy can tell she’s displeased by the goddess’s orders. 

“you need to go,” you announce, directing all the attention back to you. “they’ll come looking for him soon, and when they don’t find him there will be hell to pay,” you finish. 

artemis nods, but she doesn’t make any moves to leave the mountain. 

“come with us. i will ensure you both receive a full pardon,” she promises. 

you look to katrina. “we’ll meet you in new york.”

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

[chimielie]

family dinner at the miya household (cw cuts , injury (from cooking) , tiny amount of blood)

“ouch,” you frown at your finger, where a fresh cut is welling up little droplets of red.

“that’s a biohazard,” osamu says. “go clean that up.”

“you’re doing it again,” you point your knife playfully at him before placing it down. your brother-in-law (almost) has a bad habit of forgetting that he’s not at work when he’s cooking at home. his face softens into a sheepish grin, and he jerks his chin to the right.

“bathroom’s that way, there’s first aid shit in the bottom drawer.” his tone is penitent, which is about as close to an apology as you’ll get from him.

“i know! i’ve been here before!” you shout over your shoulder, sashaying down the hall.

the door’s locked when you try it, so you cross your arms and lean against the frame until it opens a few seconds later.

“hey,” atsumu says, looking a little surprised.

“hey, lover,” you grin at him. “i busted my finger when i was cutting apples. you mind picking up the slack while i find a band-aid? should be just a second—”

“oh, no,” ignoring your request, atsumu’s tone is more akin to hearing that you’d taken off the whole hand, not a tiny slice that had barely stung. “are you okay, baby?”

“yes,” your tone is amused. “i’m fine. it was only little, see?”

you stick your hand in his face and he squishes all his features up, nose wrinkling, bushy eyebrows coming down.

“i’m gonna faint,” he tells you as he turns and squats by the sink, rifling through the drawers below it. “you sure you didn’t hit an artery? you’re bleeding way too much for that to be normal.”

“you would be terrible in an emergency,” you say. “‘samu said it’s the last drawer.”

“know-it-all,” he says under his breath, and you know he’s talking about his brother. “hey, that’s my name for him. you don’t getta call him that.”

“he let me into his kitchen, i think that means we’re close enough for me to use his nickname,” you retort. it had been an ordeal, getting osamu to trust you enough to make you an active participant in family dinner preparations. you wore the honor with pride. “why, jealous i don’t call you ‘tsumu?”

“ew,” he shakes his head, blond strands falling into his eyes. he needs a haircut by his mother’s standards, but you’re not going to remind him to get it. “that’s for my brother. you are not my brother.”

“thankfully,” you say, an irrepressible giggle bursting out of your throat. atsumu’s always had the ability to do that—to make anyone laugh, whether they wanted to or not.

“thankfully,” he echoes, then: “sit down, would ya? and gimme your hand.”

you obey, folding yourself cross-legged on the floor next to him, your knees touching his. you extend the injured finger, which he takes with the utmost gentleness. you could laugh at the grave expression on his face as he winds the bandage around it, but you try and mimic his seriousness because it’s sweet. you can see him bandaging up his little brother (not by much!!! osamu’s voice echoes in your brain) when they got into scrapes as children, and bolstering his teammates when they needed it in the same way as a captain in high school. atsumu brings so much lightness into your life you sometimes forget how much care he takes with you, too.

finally, he deems his work done, and finishes by pressing a kiss to your finger. you beam at him and wiggle the appendage.

“all better,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” he says, taking your left hand and kissing the ring finger’s knuckle, too. “anytime.”

[sinsandsweetness]

💿 I was thinking maybe Daryl and consensual somnophilia ? If that’s alright?

cw- somnophilia. proceed with caution.

18+ below the cut

You’re so fucking close to him. He can’t help the way his body’s reacting. Sharing a sleeping bag as an attempt to keep warm in the crisp autumn evening. It’s working. Oh boy, is it ever working. He’s warm. Hot even. Burning up at the feeling of your ass pressed to his crotch. And not to mention, he’s rock solid. Trying his absolute hardest not to move his hips against you but goddamn, you’re not making it easy. The way you’re pushing back on him in your sleep…

You are asleep. He knows that. You don’t want him. It’s just your body reacting to his. To the closeness. At least that’s what he tells himself.

What he wouldn’t give to pull your pretty little pyjama pants down and fuck you sideways til the sun comes up.

“Mmhm,”

He freezes at the sound of your moan. Was he rocking too hard? Did he wake you up from the throbbing tent in his pants?

But as he listens closely, he can still hear that soft, adorable snore coming from your nose. At the realization, his shoulders relax and he nuzzles his face into your neck.

He knows he’d be way too scared to touch you like this if you were awake. The way he’s breathing in your scent, with his lips brushing your neck. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. Against his painfully hard, swollen erection. The one that’s probably leaking through his flannel pyjama pants if he had the courage to turn around and feel. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to know if it’s true. The thought alone makes him cringe. God, he feels pathetic. The only time he can show you what you mean to him is when you aren’t even awake to see it. To feel it. Well… you can feel it. But you’re not aware of it. You’re not even conscious.

The hand around your waist trails lower. Reaching the thin band of your sleep pants, Daryl starts to fidget with the flimsy drawstring. Fighting the temptation to slip his hand underneath and rub you over your panties. Show him how much you really mean to him.

He shouldn’t. He knows better. But for some reason it doesn’t stop him from grinding further into your ass. Squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling, doing everything in his power not to moan right in your ear.

His stomach drops when he feels your hand grab his. The one fidgeting with your drawstrings. His mouth gets all dry and he feels like he’s about to throw up. That is, until you press his hand further down, guiding his touch to your cotton covered cunt.

He’s frozen. Confused. Heart racing so hard he can feel it against the pillow. He can hear his blood pumping through his damn arteries.

You moved. He knows you’re still asleep. He’d put money on it. But you fucking moved his hand in your sleep and now, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

His temptations get the best of him and slowly, he starts to rub lazy circles over your clit. Soft, tired mumbles begin to leave your throat. No words, just faint, sleepy sounds. Groans and whimpers. Subconsciously asking for more. Begging for some form of release.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. Continuing to grind into your ass. Slow as his body will let him. He can already feel his orgasm starting to build. Dick throbbing as he uses your cheeks. Chasing the sweet friction of your warmth against his cock.

He can’t help himself. He doesn’t even want to. It’s a miracle you haven’t woken up yet, and it’s giving him this rush of adrenaline that has him wondering what else he can get away with. What else you can manage to sleep through.

That’s when he slips his hands under your waist band. Under your panties too. The pad of his middle finger immediately going to glide up through your drooling slit. Already soaking with arousal.

Shit.

Your warm cunt practically invites him in. He starts pumping to the same rhythm as his thrusts against your ass. You let out a moan at the feeling of his thick digits hitting your sweet spot.

Fuck. He buries himself into your neck as he fingers you. He doesn’t even want to see if he woke you up. You’re not stopping him. So you mustn’t have an issue, on the off chance that you are awake.

You’re still gripping the arm that’s wrapped around you, muscles flexing against your touch as his fingers work their borderline magic below the covers. You feel yourself drifting in and out of that drowsy state between awake and asleep. Feeling the warmth encompass you as your orgasm starts to flow through you. A wave of dreamlike pleasure erupting from your core as the man’s hips from behind you start to stutter. Cumming right there in his pyjama pants. His movements slow to a halt as he’s forced to come to terms with what he’s done. His eyes are still closed. Too scared to look up and see your pretty ones looking back at him. So with his blue eyes closed, he gently removes his hands from your panties, still dripping with your creamy substances.

It’s hitting him. The fact that he just made you come. And he’s starting to feel guilty, the feeling quickly forcing him to come down from his high. Stomach beginning to churn as his heart rate speeds up once again.

Just turn around and go to sleep.

He listens to the voice in his head. Trying his best to turn over without making a sound. Without bothering your limp body laying next to him.

He lifts his fingers to his mouth and he’s convinced he could come again from the taste of you.

Within a few minutes, he starts to doze off, facing the dark, mesh siding of the tent. He feels you rustle beside him in the sleeping bag. Flipping around and snaking an arm around his own waist. Quickly settling your body against his back. Cuddling up like his puzzle piece and tucking your chin on his shoulder.

You press a sweet kiss right below his ear and mumble a quiet, “g’night, D.”, into his skin.

And to avoid the humiliation that rapidly shoots up his core and burns like a fire across his whole face, he decides that it’s probably his turn to pretend to be asleep.

[pigeon-pit]

~*PIGEON PIT FALL 2024 DATES*~

hey y’all! we’re really stoked to be hitting the road again this fall and play east coast shows for the first time in a long time. come hang out, we’ll be playing new songs, old songs, whatever songs we feel like and have some brand new merch for sale too. we got some really special shows on here! Will update bands and ticket links as time goes on but for the most part shows are pay at the door and all ages! <3

10/14 in Minneapolis, MN at The Artery w/ Erica Lyle & Mold Wine

10/15 in Chicago, IL at Pilsen Community Books w/ Sunday Cruise

10/16 in Indianapolis, IN at Longshot w/ Looter & Passerine

10/17 in Pittsburgh, PA at Mr Roboto Project w/ Frog Legs, No Jane, Cacklin Racket & Rayne Blakeman (https://dltsgdom.ticketleap.com/pigeon-pit-roboto/)

10/18 in Akron, PA at House of Jenk w/ Local News Legend, Joyful Forfeit & Erin Incoherent

10/20 in Brattleboro, VT at Buoyant Heart w/ Harm, Leaf Glitter & Kivimae

10/21 in Brooklyn, NY at Trans Pecos w/ Choked Up & precious human (https://www.venuepilot.co/events/114396/orders/new)

10/23 in Philadelphia, PA at Foto Club w/ Paper Bee & Ezra Cohen (https://dice.fm/partner/4333-collective/event/dk59l6-pigeon-pit-paper-bee-ezra-cohen-23rd-oct-foto-club-philadelphia-tickets )

10/24 in Richmond, VA at Crescent Club w/ Flora and the Fauna and Shotgun Princess

10/26 in Gainesville, FL at Roadhouse w/ Mechanical Canine, Heavy Lag, Shift Meal & the Alleged Band

10/27 in Gainesville, FL - FEST - at Vivid Music Hall w/ Chuck Ragan and the Camaraderie, Tim Barry, Brendan Kelly, Walter Mitty and his MAkeshift Orchestra & Apes of the State (https://www.seetickets.us/event/Vivid-Music-Hall-CHUCK-RAGAN-TIM-BARRY-BRENDAN-KELLY/610483) (18+)

10/28 in Atlanta, GA at Wallers Coffee w/ Dakota Floyd, Official Bard of Baldwin County & Ozello (https://pigeonpitwallers.bpt.me/)

10/29 in Pensacola FL at the 309 Project w/ the Taints & TBA

10/30 in New Orleans, LA at SASS w/ Twisted Teens & TACK (4011 St Claude)

11/1 in Little Rock, AR at River City Coffee w/ TBA

11/2 in Kansas City, MO at Howdy w/ Small Void & TBA

11/4 in Denver, CO at 7th Circle Music Collective w/ Fables of the Fall, Marissa. & Darling Driftwood

[xinfinityl0ve17]

KOZI (MALICE MIZER) ASTAN - 2005 Vol.21

Translated by my cousin (corrections are always welcome)

Malice Mizer: MALICE (MALEVOLENCE) AND MIZERE (TRAGEDY)

A comprehensive biography of this band, which is second only to X-Japan in importance within J-Rock or Visual Kei, would be too extensive. Here, we will focus on the period starting with Gackt's entry into the band.

Malice Mizer was founded in August 1992 by Mana and Közi (Kouji). After several line-up changes, the band consisted of: Gackt (vocals, piano), Mana (guitar, keyboards), Közi (guitar, violin), Kami (drums), and Yu-ki (bass) starting in August 1995.

Shortly thereafter, the group released their second album, "Voyage (sans retour)," marking a first step toward superstardom. The musicians' popularity steadily increased, attracting the attention of major record labels. Thus in 1997, MM signed with Columbia in Japan. Their first single, "Bel Air kuhaku no toki no naka de," was released followed by TV appearances and radio shows as well as the famous concert at Nihon Budokan.

In 1998, "Merveilles" was released. Malice Mizer was at the peak of their career, embodying everything associated with superstardom. Fan displays overshadowed anything conceivable, and Gackt could undoubtedly be referred to as the most popular Japanese show star at the time. The concerts were elaborate events, with costumes and staging that surpassed everything seen before. However, the fractures within the band were unmistakable. While Gackt seemed to thrive in the J-Pop Olympus the remaining members were striving for artistic quality. Disputes ensued, resulting in Gackt leaving the band in January 1999. As if that weren’t enough, drummer Kami passed away later that year due to an arterial brain hemorrhage. Following Kami's death, on September 21 1999 the band decided to take a hiatus.

Their fourth album, "bara no seidō," was released in August 2000 under an indie label, Midi:NetteM+M which was the newly established label owned by the band. The album "bara no seidō" is an epic work, heavily influenced by German classical music. Choral passages and long instrumental sections elevate this work to classic status. The trio of Mana, Közi, and Yu-ki experimented on this album without a fixed singer or drummer. This is undoubtedly the most impressive and monumental work by MM, although its reception from the audience could have been better. Perhaps under this impression, the band decided to recruit a new singer, Klaha, in August 2000. The sound shifted towards an epic and darker rock sound. With Klaha, MM returned to catchy melodies, though they were far removed from the J-Pop of the Gackt years. In my opinion, this is the best, albeit temporarily concluding, chapter of the group.

A few singles were released afterward. The last tour took place in July 2001, after which the band disbanded. Klaha began his solo career, Közi is currently active as a solo artist and as a member of Eve Of Destiny, while Mana has become a well-known figure in Japan with his own fashion line and Gothic Lolita shops. He continues to be active as a musician in his band MDM. Yu-ki is no longer prominently involved in music.

It’s also essential to look into the successor bands of Malice Mizer. I can't find anything appealing in Gackt and Klaha's solo works. I really enjoy Eve Of Destiny, as well as everything Mana releases to the public. EOD is an industrial goth band; Mana is much heavier but also more classical in orientation. Közi's solo work sounds very relaxed and somewhat French, although he writes in English.

I have met Közi several times and found him to be a somewhat shy and introverted man. However, he is a very nice guy. But that’s just a side note. What fascinates me is the band's fluctuating musical trajectory. By the time Gackt joined, the typical "growing pains" of any group had settled, and a first creative peak was reached with Gackt. The time with Gackt was the commercially most successful period, and the concerts were a dream visual event. The costumes changed multiple times during the show, and the staging would be compared to German theatrical productions.

Part 2

Groups like Rammstein would turn green with envy. Musically i find Gackt quite uninteresting. He knew how to present himself well in the spotlight but that’s about it. Gackt after Malice Mizer is nothing more than slimy, sweet-and-sour J-Pop. A nod to Herr Rohlen. Artistically an MM album like "bara no seido" is much more impressive. Some elements remind me that both Mana and Közi are great admirers of the German composer Bach. This influence is unmistakable. These influences, combined with Közi's and Mana's magnificent guitar playing, elevate "bara no seido" to a masterpiece for this group. The musicality of Malice Mizer is one of the outstanding characteristics of the Japanese band. The range of instruments spans from the standard instruments of a rock band to very European instruments such as clavichord, spinet, violin, or accordion. One might think that nothing catchy could emerge from this, but that is precisely one of the band's strengths.

Each song is assigned a style and a color. Mana represents the color blue, in which his clothing is designed. Mana is an imposing figure who can only be described as beautiful. When I first saw a video by MM, I thought the guitarist looked quite good. Not to mention, the guitarist is a male. In Japanese tradition, it is not so unusual for a man to appear feminine. Mana gives few interviews and hardly speaks in public, yet he is the creative mind behind Malice Mizer. He has perfected the Gothic Lolita style and can be understood as the counterpart to Gackt. Gackt does not wear white makeup and is considered by a large part of the female MM fans to be the quintessential fairy tale prince.

Közi represents the color red. He appears quite androgynous as an MM member. At the same time, he is aloof, reserved, and doll like fragile. Kami represents the color purple and Yu-ki represents yellow and/or orange. Noteworthy about him is his occasionally drawn-on occasionally real beard. Klaha’s color is either black or white. He later takes on Gackt's role but is much more masculine and less boyish than Gackt.

The look of this group. Malice Mizer seems to change costumes like others change underwear. It’s incredible how tastefully and stylishly Malice Mizer dressed and presented themselves. The staging on stage and in the videos is trendsetting and has not been achieved by any group known to me before or since. The transition from a metal band to a VK group and ultimately to a heavily Gothic-influenced act is marked by significant breaks. Yet, one can always recognize Malice Mizer's typical sound. For anyone who is now curious, I strongly recommend checking out the live DVDs or the group’s videos. Personally, I really enjoy the videos and music from the time with Klaha. The videos with Gackt are more colorful, vibrant and playful. I can recommend all DVDs from Malice Mizer.

The End

[chosclub]

After Last Night, 𝟏

PAIRING — choso ° f!reader GENRE — one night stand au!smut WORD COUNT — 6.1k (side eye) WARNINGS — cunnilingus (f!reader receiving) º penetration º 18+ smut! CONSPECTUS — After spending too long mulling over a breakup, you decide to join your friends to the bar they frequent, hoping for a new beginning and the guitar-playing, angel-voiced singer looks like a good contender. PARTS º 𝟷 º 𝟸 (coming soon)

A/N: If you were thinking to yourself:

"Damn, I wish I had a soundtrack-like playlist to listen to as I read",

We might intergalactically connected

It’s right here

Listen in order (obviously)

☆

According to the multiverse theory, there are infinite amounts of you, they all diverge upon different branches made up of decisions and indecisions. But out of infinity, there exist two current versions of you that are living simultaneously at almost midnight. One is curled up in bed, luminated only by your lamp, blurry light like a warm blanket as you scroll on your phone, eyes brimming with exhaustion. The other is squished between dancing, drunk bodies, in a dress slowly riding up your thighs, sticky, sweaty and exhausted. If your fate lay in your hands like a magic orb, every decision only decided by you, the beholder, you’d pick the first reality; To be half-asleep, in bed, alone but in good company. However, it’s been months since you got dumped and–

“I just thought to myself, fuck it yanno? Life’s too short to care about some man!” You shout over the blaring music to Maki, who seems to be completely in her own world, eyes shut, face jungled by her hair as her head sways side to side.

“Yeah! Fuck men!” To your surprise she shouts back, reaching out her drink to clash against yours and chug in solidarity. A cacophony of voices from your friends join in, shouting the same. Can’t count how many of these moments have happened up to this point, some with complete strangers, most with the girls who dragged you out in the first place. The burning that initially rested in the back of your throat is no longer there, replaced by the insatiable desire for more – more drinks, more dancing, louder music, more excitement – fast forwarding through a movie and trying to fit in as much as possible. 

This rush of adrenaline has taken over you like a quenched beast, thirsty for more energy in any form it can latch on to, you decide to take a lesson from Maki’s book, closing your eyes, trying to absorb the music into your fingertips and arteries. Granted it’s been…a while since you’ve gotten to have a night like this, relationships sneakily take it out of you, it’s apparent your tolerance has depleted and the expectations for a Friday-night-out for everyone is your wannabe-alcohol-blackout-bender. 

The bar your friends frequent is a small one but always lively, the building feels like it’s going to spill over with the amount of people that fill up the dance floor, the bar, the patio. Moreover, Nobara offhandedly mentioned a hottie (her words) that plays with his band every weekend. 

There’s a newfound feeling, a thought that screams within you to disregard the fear of what could happen next — you have no one to answer to, no man in the corner telling you your dress is too short, no policing on what fun you could have. It’s an epiphany, only amplified by the alcohol that takes over your whole body, swaying your hips more deliberately, leaning comfortably into the air, lifting you and everyone else up until the entire dance floor floats. 

In an instant, the bubble is poked, atoms popped and disintegrated into the air; you have the ball and a football player just hungrily tackled you for it. Except you’re at a bar and a tall shadow of a being just bumped into your shoulder with a rushed force like you were the gate blocking his way through.

His hands hover over your shoulders as he floats through behind your back. “Shit! I'm so sorry!” He’s stopped to, presumably, only check if your brain is still intact inside your skull before he sets to rush through the rest of the crowd. The linger feels like an eternity to you, two paradoxes standing still among the dancing crowd that elevates around them. He’s almost made it to the stage when you come back down to Earth, leaving you standing still, without words. Another you would’ve cussed him out, grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt and brought him close to your nose to spill threats straight into his nostrils, this you only stares as he maneuvers from behind everyone, spilling an occasional excuse me you can only decipher from the movement of his lips.  

You watch as he props his foot onto the edge of the stage, a leap he climbs over with ease. He props his guitar over his shoulder, resting his hand on the strings. He stands over the crowd like a giant, the murky clouds drifting at his shoulders, he stares intently down at the people that seldom notice his band’s presence, sans one. The lights are dancing along his frame, pink purple blues illuminating his visage. His hair is split in two spiky buns, only a few strands that frame his face, his eyes dark with seriousness, a stripe the color of his eyes tattooed across his nose. 

The music drifts, dragging a series of groans, cheers, boos with it as he enters the indigo lights. 

He stands alone, adjusting his guitar and stepping closer to the mic. The lights dim a cool blue, leaving him as the center of attention, the focus. 

He steps on one of the pedals by his feet and begins to play a riff on his guitar. It’s a slow intro, already having captivated the audience, who have begun swaying to the entrancing melody.

He’s closed his eyes at this point, dipping his head down causing the loose strands to stand still on the tip of his nose and cheeks. His chest rises slowly in preparation, he leans closer to the mic, lips just grazing the metal grid of the mic head. He joins the melody and God, his voice is fucking angelic. He’s entered his own world now, paying no mind to the captivated crowd at his feet. His voice is raspy but strong, he’s singing as if the next verse is his last, the grate of his throat transforming the cringy 90s song he covers into an emotional ballad. You remember the melody, blasting from your older brother’s CD player, chorus bleeding from his room into yours until you banged a fist against the shared wall, signal for him to turn the volume down.

Your friends emerge from the rest of the crowd behind you to join the statue they left behind, watching, gazing at the dark-haired, angel-voiced performer. 

“No fucking way, is this Boyz II Men?” Nobara calls, propping her elbow on your shoulder like a pigeon landing on a limestone sculpture. 

“Yeah,” is the only word you can muster. 

She nods, “I’m into it.” The rest of you nod in unison like ogling robots, all at the command of the singer. Everything else sounded blurry, except for his voice. He’s reached the chorus, belting the notes, occasionally letting the audience peak at his irises, flooded in the iridescent indigo light. 

“I used to hate this song but–” A sentence left unfinished, floating with the air particles because whatever you say is no match for his melody and the way it has enchanted the crowd. 

The song concludes, the crowd enveloping him in cheers as his other band mates emerge from the crowd, picking up their respective instruments and talking amongst one another. Maybe it is the wow-factor of the band or maybe they are from outer space but you notice their uniquely styled hair; The bassist looks like a sea urchin, hairspray-locked spikes peeking out from his head of hair, the one with a mint-green detailed guitar next to him, pastel pink hair washed out by the dazzling white spotlight. The main act, the lead, listening to the two conclude a quick soundcheck, two buns lazily hanging on his head, the strands of hair slowly being picked up by the soft breeze of the ceiling fans and being dropped back on his forehead. 

The bassist begins striking a weighty, groovy riff and like a stack of dominoes, the background track and the guitarist follow lead. The pink haired boy inches his foot to his pedal board, tapping one slightly and his guitar begins to sound gritty; It’s a beat you can’t help but bop your head to. The lead singer’s voice has also taken a new approach from the ballad-singing, emotional sound before. This time, he’s closer to the mic, head dipping down so his irises glare forward and his voice swings in a way you’ve never heard before, left fingers carefully changing chords. His confidence and slight smirk drive a stake through your chest, heart pumping blood to get any other body part other than your head to move. His ability to soften his voice in falsetto for the pre-chorus leaves you captivated because holy shit he’s good. And holy shit are the three of them coordinated. 

The pink haired guitarist quickly taps a different pedal on his board, the bassist immediately playing a different riff, one heavier, more viscous. The slow riffs from the mint-green guitar send the crowd slowly swinging, bopping their heads. The singer adapts as well, grabbing the mic stand with one hand; You can’t tell if the wavelengths traveling from the bass guitar to you are affecting gravity itself, if the three of them smoothly transitioning to the slower part of the song, or if standing for so long has made you light-headed, but you’d bet the triple digits in your savings account that the raven haired, two spike buns singer glanced into your eyes. 

You exhale at the slight exchange, two stars orbiting a galaxy and only for a nanosecond meeting at a conjunction; When you blink, his eyes are closed as the other two band members begin singing the background vocals, leaving the lead to show off more of his falsetto.

—☆

The alcohol that was streaming through your veins has died down, only leaving behind heavy eyelids and a fuzzy view of everyone dancing. You and your friends linger around the bar, your elbow propped up on the wood, your only crutch to stay awake. The people have begun to fizzle out, the band playing earlier taking a break, the speakers booming with 2010s R&B. 

You wish you would’ve seen him approaching, like an entity identifiable by their silhouette, the shadow growing bigger and bigger behind you. 

“Hi,” he begins and before you can turn around to acknowledge the greeting, he continues, “I’m really sorry about bumping into you earlier.” 

It is then you turn your head from the rest of the conversation, catching a glimpse of the girls as they stare as if they’ve seen a being and are too scared to tell you that it’s about to devour you first. 

Now that he’s closer, he’s taller. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, smiling, “I mean surely you could’ve navigated a crowded venue better but who’s to say?”

He has the same gaze from earlier, iridescent eyes unafraid to maintain eye-contact. He smiles and purses his lips to the side as a terrible cover up for his smirk. 

“Settle it with me and let me buy you a drink then.” 

You try to play it cool, but you’ve already used up all the shrugs and he’s already leaned his elbow against the bar, cocking his head to the side; He’s made himself comfortable because he already knows the answer. The other girls have already left, you see Nobara’s amber hair from your peripheral standing outside with Maki and Mai. 

All the confidence and allure you can convey to him, trying your hardest to mirror him – “Sure.” 

He turns to face the drinks, the only time you can look at him meticulously without him noticing. You stare at the tendons on his neck, his white shirt that hangs loosely on his form as he leans closer to the bar to get a bartender’s attention. Your gaze makes its way down, defined muscles outlining the shape of his arm, he rests his left on the bar and his right he holds by his face, a soft wave to catch the eye of the bartender who has his back turned to the both of you. You don’t dare look down further. He turns his head to you just in time before your eyes can make it past his waistline.

You blink at the bartender who stares expectantly back at you – An unsuspecting passer-by that watched you gawk at the spiked-bun singer. 

“A vodka cranberry, please,” 80% cranberry, you wish to add because you want to spare tomorrow-you the turmoil, she’s dealing with enough from the sleep-deprivation as it is. The bartender glances back at him, asking if he’s starting a tab or closing it off. He drives the inside of his cheek between his teeth before requesting to close it. 

Once the bartender has turned, tending to more drinks and drunken orders, the raven haired boy turns to you, leaning temple against his palm.

“I love your drink of choice –” He tips his head forward slightly, pausing for you to fill in the blank.

“____” 

“I love your drink of choice, ____”

“What did you get?” You pause as well, waiting for him to give a part of himself, an equal trade so that even if every memory from tonight diminishes tomorrow, each other’s names will remain. 

“Choso,” He reaches the arm he was balancing his temple on to shake your hand, you giggle at the sudden formality and he smiles expectantly, like he knew that’s the reaction the gesture would ensue, “A whiskey neat.” 

“Oh, simple, I like it.” 

The bartender comes back with the two drinks,  one a radiant rouge, the other a brooding umber. He leaves the checkbook for Choso to fill out and departs once again.

You take a sip of your drink, the bitter taste of vodka hitting your bottom lip; As if by telekinesis, the bartender had taken the ratio you thought of and flipped completely.

You exhale a biting breath. “Damn, that’s so strong.” 

“You don’t like it?” Choso looks at you as he takes a sip of his drink, lips tipping the edge of the glass back. You can’t help but stare, wishing you were the drink. He swallows a sip back without even wincing. 

“Not how I’d make it, I guess.”

He raises his brows, “You bartend?”

“Yeah, a few blocks down.” You nod, “I guess on my days off, I come to spend money here instead of getting the drinks for free at my own workplace.” 

He smiles, “Makes me feel fateful you chose tonight to blow your money on a 200% markup.”

You shrug, “of course, anytime.” 

— ☆

The cold fall air is nipping so late at night, you try your best not to stumble over the cobble, shamelessly hanging on to Choso’s arm as he tries not to stumble over you dragging his body down. It’s nearing 1 a.m. and the music booming from the bar suddenly turns off, drunken bodies shuffling out and trying to figure out where to venture to next.

“Who lives closer?” You suggest. You glance up, expectant, and although you reach his shoulder, it still feels like Choso towers over you. He turns his head slightly towards you, but the eyes are what lock in with yours, waterlines lifting as he smirks. 

“What’re you trying to whore me out? We just met!” He exclaims. Panic almost rushes to your chest before he quickly chuckles, “Fuck dude, I’m totally kidding, I’m sorry. My apartment’s nearby if you’re willing to walk a bit.” 

You exhale, nodding because he seized all your words from you. 

The night envelops you both in her dark embrace, mid-October wind pulling your coat back as you use your hand to cover any part of your face you can keep warm. You and Choso try not to stumble and you try not to turn and look at him as he walks, his eyes focused straight ahead, jaw lightly clenched trying to bear against the wind. His hair flowing behind him exposes part of his face you hadn’t seen yet, soft pale skin, he looks different, his tattoo more in view despite the color of it partly blending with the night sky. 

His apartment is a few blocks away from the bar, a duplex he says he shares with his bandmates, Yuji and Megumi. The road is quiet, streets lined with cars and the glowing of streetlights is the only warmth you two can seek out in the cold. From the outside, the duplex is brick-lined, bay-windows on the first floor that overlook the street; You can see a warm light radiating from a lamp left on inside. 

You reach the top of the steps, Choso unhooking his arm from your hold and fishing through his jacket. The keys jingle as he inserts one and opens the door, allowing you to enter first into the warmth. The living room is eccentric, a long lamp reaching over the couch, orbs that illuminate the room hanging from the metal. The couch is caramel colored leather, lined with pillows on each side, matching the side chair and the walnut wood of the table. A fireplace faces the couch and everywhere, everywhere, on the floor, on the bookshelves, propped against the coffee table, are vinyl records, they line the player, they cover the table.

“Wow,” You exhale a breath, face vibrating with warmth, “this is an insanely nice place.”

“I know, right? We’ve been renting it for a while, got extremely lucky.” Choso floats in behind, hanging his jacket on the coat hanger and heads for the kitchen. “You want anything?”

You turn to face him and the kitchen, a large bar counter lined with stools and next to it, a dining table. These guys really like lamps, you think to yourself, eyes glancing at a small lamp on the corner of the counter. “Water, please.”

Choso nods and you both turn in sync, him towards the cabinets and you to your left to look at the bar cart that’s placed in between the living room and the walkway to the kitchen. You gander at the alcohol, accessories, and the fancy, when-the-guests-are-here glasses. When Choso approaches from around the counter, he asks, “just water?” 

“My liver’s going to give out by tomorrow,” you cringe at the thought, tomorrow-you hungover, tired, and miserable. “But you do have all the ingredients for a mojito, and it is one of my favorite drinks.”

“Can I watch you make it?” You look at him and there it is again; his intense gaze, looking straight at you as if there was nothing else in the world that could keep you out of his sight. All you can do is nod. 

You grab the muddler, container of mint leaves, and rum; Choso reaches from behind you to grab the syrup and you both set the ingredients on the counter. He opens the fridge, grabbing ice and a container of cut strawberries. 

“Could these work?” He holds the container up.

You shrug, “haven’t tried that before.” 

You add the leaves to a tall glass as he grabs a cutting board and begins to cube the strawberries. You’re side by side working in sync but you can’t help but glance at the way his veins protrude from his forearm even when he’s relaxed, how muscular his arms look, the overhead lighting shading in the valleys of his forearm, making the muscle bulge in the light. Your chest tightens watching him glide the knife across the stem of a strawberry, angling the knife to cut the fruit into smaller pieces. Unlike him, you’ve been enjoying the secret glances you get at him rather than the blazing eye-contact. It’s a game you’re unsure he would participate in, an act you don’t want him to catch you in, a secret between you and yourself; In this moment the only person that gets to secretly admire the valleys of his muscles is you. 

Frankly, staring at Choso had already built up a demand of sexual frustration that you are taking out on the mint, extracting every last drop that you don’t notice when he slides the cutting board full of glistening, cubed strawberries towards you. You hope he doesn’t notice how much you’re torturing the mint, the creased leaves sticking to the glass. But you also hope he does.

He announces he’ll be back, departing from the counter and disappearing to the living room. You don’t want to turn back to follow him with your eyes, the desire bubbling inside you like a geyser. Instead, you can hear him shuffling, stop, then hear a record crackle as he lowers the needle. 

He’s back at your side, watching you intently split the batch of strawberries in two, adding them to their respective glasses, and smashing them as well. You can feel his quiet stare on your shoulder as the record begins to play. You almost laugh when the music floods the room; He’s queued slow songs, full of bass that have your body vibrating trying not to bop your head or move your body. The room is filled with honey, it radiates from the soft yellow lighting, it flows from the record player and sticks to every corner and has begun flooding to the ceiling until everything is tinted yellow. 

After adding ice, you reach for the double-sided jigger he pulled from one of the drawers, measuring the simple syrup on one side, pouring into the glass, and rum on the other side. 

“Oh, fuck, almost forgot,” he states, startling you in your state of thought about his body. He opens the fridge again, grabbing a lime and a half-consumed bottle of club soda. He slices the lime between his hands, handing one half to you to squeeze the juice out of. Your knuckles turn white at the intensity of the squeeze, all the frustration from his gaze, his confidence, his voice, traveling to your forearm. He hands you the other half for the second glass and then the chilled soda. After pouring, you give both the glasses a stir, sliding one towards him. 

He doesn’t waste time tipping the glass back and taking a sip. You have to divert your eyes to the dishwasher to not stare at the way his collar bones come into view and the way the tendons on his neck project. 

He exhales a quiet breath. “____, this is so fucking good,” he says, making your eyes switch back to him as the edge of your glass is steady on your lip, not quite ready to tip over. “I saw you pour in the rum but I can barely taste it.” Dangerous, he adds, grinning. God he’s almost making your eyelid twitch. 

You finally swallow back a sip. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You smile, amidst the warmth, the music, the soft lightening, his compliment striked out, making your cheeks warm; You have to look down out of even more embarrassment that he noticed a compliment so simple made you blush. 

Maybe the pent up nervousness has affected your depth perception because when you look back up, you swear he’s hovered closer. He holds the glass to his lips again, slowly indulging another gulp and staring directly into your retinas. His gaze is so fierce you can’t help but stare right back; His tattoo is in full view when he sets the glass back down, empty, the well of it rouge with strawberry nectar. The music that’s continued to play isn’t helping either, the way he has his arm extended on the counter, biceps stretched, isn’t helping at all. The record spins. The song that plays intros with a guitar solo which leads you back to him, thinking of his fingers strumming each individual string under the iridescent lights.

There’s a soft crackle as the record halts. It catches you off guard, eyes deflecting as you watch the needle automatically lift and levitate back to its place. 

From your peripheral, Choso hangs his head down before sliding his hand off the counter and turning to flip the record over. You chug back the rest of your drink quickly, head dipping forward again to admire his back and the way his white shirt hangs from his shoulders to his waist. You watch him take each side of the record in his palms and give it a flip. Then pick the needle between his fingers and hover it over the record. Then pause. Then turn. Then all of the sudden, he’s walking at a quicker pace, wider strides, back to you. You catch a last glimpse of his dark irises before he’s grabbed the side of your face and enveloped your lips in his. His lips are soft, cold from the ice, bitter from the alcohol, but tender nonetheless. His right hand travels underneath your coat to your hip, pulling your body forward by the flesh. He lightly sucks on your bottom lip before pulling away. Eyes blown out like supernovas, breathless, he says, 

“I had to kiss you,” the words spill from his lips in a rush like he was going to die if he didn’t get to taste your lips. 

You’re still both attached at the hip, a branch splitting in two, his breath reaching the tip of your nose, his eyes gazing into yours in expectancy. You lean forward once more and take his lips in yours again – If the universe were to collapse in on itself, what a way to go making out with Choso. This time, he kisses with fervor. His hand leaves your cheek to slide to the back of your neck and gently tangle his fingers in a handful of your hair. His tongue prods at your lips, pushing against the flesh to meet yours. The sensation of his tongue simultaneous with the way he drives your lip between his teeth has you letting out a whine into his mouth. At this, Choso’s nails dig into the flesh of your hip. 

Fuck, he softly groans, beginning to walk backwards and dragging you with him – you willingly follow like he’s holding you by the leash. You can’t let go of his lips the same way he can’t let go of his hands from your body; The feeling of him so close has sparked the fuse that’s slowly begun to inch closer and closer to the dynamite. The way he holds you steadily as you almost trip over his feet fills your chest with warmth, filling every crevice with color and making you lightheaded. You’ve wandered into a bedroom, his, unable to let go of each other and almost tumble in front of the bed. You slip your shoes off using your opposite ankle, detaching your lips from Choso’s to take a breath. He’s breathing loudly, his chest rising with every inhale, the hair on top of his head inflating and deflating when he exhales. 

“Kiss me again,” he breathes, waiting. And you do. He’s kissing you passionately, jaw wider, unafraid. His tongue slides on yours in passing as he slips his on the soft and slick side of your bottom lip. Your hands begin to stray over each other’s bodies and he pulls you close again. The tip of his hardening cock prods your groin shamelessly. He spins you both, your back now facing the bed; He lets his hands wander down from your neck to the zipper of your dress, dragging the fastener down the metal teeth agonizingly slow. Your dress loosens when the zipper reaches the end and he slides the fabric from your shoulders. You’re standing before him, almost naked, vulnerable. He’s staring and you have to look away, knowing the heat that flows through your temples isn’t because of the mojito. He backs you slowly onto the mattress, the lamp on the bedside table is a low light, the equivalent of a candle or the shade of moonlight when it’s a full moon, enough to keep the shadows of your bodies hidden but enough to appreciate what you can see and feel of Choso. With your distraction of the amount of lighting in the room, Choso has already lifted his shirt from his shoulders and hovers over you. His pale torso is wide, you can see the scales of his side abs, the shadows of his abdomen contrasted by the light. His right bicep is by your ear now and he leans down to meet your lips again. 

Your hands reach the stretch of his sweatpants, sliding your thumbs underneath the band and the rest of your fingers slide the pants down his thighs, he has to wiggle his leg to toss the fabric on the floor, making you laugh. He smiles. 

Choso brings his chest close to yours, reaching his hands underneath your back to unclasp your bra. It feels freeing when he takes the garment and tosses it to the side of you and begins to pepper kisses onto your neck. You’ve both fully committed now, there was no room for pointless mind reading; When he reaches your collarbone and sucks on the skin, you think you’d be stupid not to understand his feelings. He’s wandering down further, confident as he delves deeper into the anatomy of your body. He kisses the valley between your breasts, settling on a particular spot to leave a deep purple mark. He takes one of your tits in his mouth, licking the soft and sensitive skin around the nipple and suckling on the bud. The feeling leaves you whimpering, taking a handful of his hair and pushing him closer to your skin, trying to burrow him inside you forever. 

He doesn’t succumb to your pressure, traveling down the valley of your stomach to your underwear, he slides his palms up your thighs and slides the panties off. Without wasting any time, his mouth is on your core, licking whatever nectar has begun to seep out. A hot summer’s day and he divulges on an overripe apricot, sinking his tongue against the slit, sucking every drop of the juice out. You moan, the wonderful feeling is heat to your core, you can feel his cock harden against the flesh of your thigh. Yet, he keeps going, grabbing your leg to make sure it stays open for him. A part of you wonders if he’s even breathing, his mouth busy on the flesh of your cunt and his nose reaching your clit, you wonder if he’s too focused on your pleasure to breathe. His tongue peeks inside your walls, then retrieving to lick up your slit and repeating. You’re on the cusp of an orgasm, muscles clenching, when he takes his middle finger, sliding it in the soft flesh. His hands are cold, they cool you down like melting ice cubes when he touches you. The feeling of his tongue and finger is overwhelming but you don’t want it to cease. You feel an orgasm coming on, afraid if he adds another digit, you’ll combust like the death of a thousand stars. He looks up the hill of your body, watching the tendons on your neck stretch as you lean your head back against the covers, your stomach heaving up and down. Without a sense of control, he moans into you watching you relish every moment. He slips a second finger, a silence in the room between your soft whimpers all you can hear is a gush. He picks up his pace slightly, leaving you melting into the bed. Breathless and whimpering, your orgasm flows through you like thrashing waves kissing the shore. 

Every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes, you feel Choso plant soft kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are soft, relaxing you and bringing you back down to Earth. He floats back up to you, looking into your eyes, you can barely open them to look at him properly. He hovers over your lips, kissing them, softly sliding his tongue to yours, you can feel the moisture on his chin and practically taste yourself on his lips. 

You’re eager to continue, relish in his pleasure like he relished in yours. You don’t want the night to end, to conjunct at one point and diverge from each other forever. You’re trying to signal to Choso that you can continue, trying to kiss him harder, tougher. You reach your hand down to his briefs, the soft fabric slightly wet with pre-cum. He smiles into your teeth in response,

“You want to keep going?” He asks. You nod, licking his bottom lip. He begins to lift himself off of you, leaning over to his bedside to try and scavenge a box of condoms. 

You reach for his shoulder, “I got an implant,” smiling almost encouragingly. He laughs, it’s short but it sounds heavenly, a complete contrast from the brazen persona you’ve gotten to know tonight. He slides his briefs down his legs. He leans closer to the side of your head, driving your earlobe between his teeth. You take his divergence from your face to grab a hold of his cock and guide it to your entrance. 

The feeling of your orgasm is still remnant, overwhelming as Choso’s dick fills your walls but your desire to continue overrides any discomfort you have. He groans softly against the nape of your neck, dragging his hand to your hair and gently grasping a handful. You feel so good, he whines, his whimper a low and deep moan, sexy, leading you to close your eyes and drive your hips further against his. 

With each thrust, the movement between his push and yours makes a slush sound, sap spilling against him, it’s almost embarrassing, almost, because you swear it makes Choso’s cock even harder in you. 

Choso fucks you slow but hard. Venus observa. He feels so captured by your cunt, that he’s lost all other motor functions, his lips lazily and sloppily kiss and lick your neck, your face, your ear, he’s lost complete control, shamelessly groaning against your cheek. The sounds that come out of his throat only drive you closer and closer to your release. You whine and moan against his ear, his cock burrowed in you in perfect fit, your hands stray to his shoulders, then back, digging your nails in as he drives into you deeper. He reaches one of his hands down your stomach, pressing a finger against your clit and stimulating the area in rhythm with his thrusts. You clench your muscles against him in preparation for your orgasm, Fuck, he draws out the word, groaning at the feeling of your folds tightening against his dick. You orgasm almost simultaneously, you first, arching against him and yelping an ah! at the intensity. The air is popping like bright stars, you salivate at the feeling of spilling on his cock. Choso follows you, coming in you, adding to the complete mess he’s made. 

He stays on top of you, his skin warm against yours, until you feel him inhale and slide off your stomach. You open your eyes, retinas embracing the warm light; when you turn to face Choso, his eyes are closed, the light pours on him like golden nectar. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asleep,” he smiles, breathing slowly and softly. You think for a moment, eyes drifting to his torso, tattoos etched at his ribcage and abs. 

“When’s the last time you had sex before this?”

He scrunches his nose, trying hard not to laugh. “Actually, I am asleep.” 

You chuckle breathlessly, “I’m only wondering, I promise. It’s been six months for me.”

“Ooh, close enough. Almost a year.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, trying to remain inconspicuous to the surprise. No offense to Choso, on the contrary, you think someone so attractive would have a line out the door. 

He opens his eyes, indigo retinas flooding with light and you can tell by the slow blinks, the way his eyes are almost squinting that he’s tired. “Have you ever been to the small restaurant on Second street, a couple blocks down? They have a great breakfast.” 

“I don’t think so, no.”

“We should go.” He pauses, awaiting a reaction, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you smile, Choso’s fatigue drifting to you. 

He leans and hovers over you, clicking the lamp switch off and dragging his blankets over the two of you. Even with the light turned off, you can see the silhouette of his body, covered by the blankets, scooting closer to your warmth. You’re staring at the moon reflecting out the window, hearing Choso’s breathing slow, too tired to think a single thought. 

[slavghoul]

Hi, Slav! I'm planning a trip to Stockholm and I want to visit some Ghost-related places of interest. I know about Garlic & Shots and a church, where the Year Zero video was filmed. Do you know other must-sees? Thank you!

Garlic & Shots is a must of course. Try the Ghost burger, it’s very good, but I must also recommend the good ole Swedish meatballs, the extra garlic makes it ever more delicious. They also have a very cool room downstairs with pinball games and stuff, and good music.

For an opportunity to 'stand where Papa once stood' haha, definitely the golden hall at Stockholms stadshus where the Impera photoshoot took place (that hall has paid entrance, but worth it). Meliora photos were taken at Stockholms stadsbibliotek, in particular near the entrance on and on the staircase up to the book hall. I recall there was also a photoshoot with Papa III done at Botkyrka church in Norsborg. Tobias used to live quite near that church in his youth, and Norsborg is also where he wrote the very first Ghost song. The first demos I believe were recorded somewhere in Gröndal and Stadshagen. It may be nice to take a stroll through those places just to see where it all started. Eric Ericsonhallen where the music video for Spillways was shot. Very nice on the inside, but unfortunately I think it’s closed off from the public most of the time unless some event is taking place, but maybe you’ll be lucky. It’s on Skeppsholmen, so from there you can take a ferry to the ABBA museum ;-) Some recording studios where Ghost recorded - Artery Studios at Katarinavägen (Prequelle), Atlantis Metronome at Karlbergsvägen (Impera). Maybe Buttericks on Drottninggatan where Tobias bought the very first ghoul costumes haha. They still sell similar ones there.

While you're in Stockholm, I recommend taking a train to Linköping, it’s not far so you can make it a one-day trip. From the main station, you can walk on foot to Linköpings domkyrka, the cathedral from the cover of Opus Eponymous. It is being renovated right now, so you may not see it in its fully glory, but nonetheless it's beautiful inside and out. If you wanna see the streets where Tobbe grew up take a stroll through Tannefors - Nya Tanneforsvägen and Tegelbruksgatan; and where he lived later in particular when Ghost was taking its first steps - Apotekaregatan, Drottninggatan (get a kanelbulle at Babettes :))..  Some 'historic' Ghost venues where they played: Doom on Ågatan (where Papa III played his first show and Papa II his last), and Cupolen/Folketspark (first Papa's last show, II's first). Maybe S:t Larskyrka, which inspired one of the first backdrops the band used on tour. The record store Bengans, lots of Ghost goodies there and there’s a wall with signatures from Papa III and Cardinal Copia. Hmm I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but that’s it from the top of my head. Hope you enjoy the trip!

[viccharine]

do you guys ever listen to a band so much that you end up making fake merch for it?

(reblogs greatly appreciated!!!!)

close ups and commentary under the cut!

about the poster itself: do you guys know how hard it is to make art for a band that hasn’t been active in 13 years? the answer is HARD (yes, i probably could done research and looked for old interviews for inspiration but who has time for that)

—> the icons related to “take a vacation!” are inspired by lyrics from the song “take a vacation!” (haha, did you see what I did there?) specifically, the lines “we’ll leave the waves at the ocean” and “we’ll leave the sand in a suitcase”

—> the Jon Walker and Ryan Ross icons are taken directly from the album cover (it took ten years off my life trying to figure out how to get them on here w/ the color palette—graphic design may be my passion but I never said i was GOOD at it)

—> the heart imagery comes from the fact that the band’s called “the young VEINS”—although it annoys me IMMENSELY that i technically drew more arteries than veins in the icons (my anatomy teacher would be so disappointed, but alas, anatomical accuracy had to be sacrificed to make it. yknow. look nice)

—> i did hand-lettering for all the text except for everything that’s in Helvetica (i did THAT in canva). the art program i use has a basically unusable text tool so I was forced to draw all of it, so I choose to believe that the reason why it doesn’t look. the best. is because of the caffeine shakes

some extra commentary: am I the only one who’s genuinely REALLY bad at listening to music? i don’t really get into bands as much as i just find songs that sound nice—to illustrate the extent of this issue: i did NOT know that Brendon Urie was a part of Panic! At the Disco. I’m not even kidding, I thought the artist who made Death of a Bachelor and the artist who made A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out were completely different and just. didn’t bother to check if I was right.

also, I’m not the type of person to be interested in band lore???? I rarely know the names of band members if even I’ve listened to the band for years (I really couldn’t care less in most situations)

case in point, i did not know who the FUCK Ryan Ross was!!! i knew he was in p!atd but that’s literally about it—before a couple of days ago if you asked to me pick out either Ryan Ross or Jon Walker from a line up I would not be able to get even CLOSE

anyway, my friend/manager is really into band lore, so I basically got a crash-course in all things “early to late 2000s emo band” and subsequently found out about the Young Veins (i was also extremely disappointed when I found out they only had one album and hadn’t been active in over a decade) THEN I realized that decade old, inactive bands don’t usually have merch, so I made my own! “merch” used lightly—i don’t think this is actually fit to sell lol

anyway that’s all k thanks byeee :D!! (and go stream the young veins!!)

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

I just love your Mob turtles and their headcanons! I was wondering how each turtle would act with a medic crush. Maybe someone that works for the Mob as a lower leveled nurse that catches their eye after they need to be treated by them. How would they meet again? Who would move their crushes position up in the Mob to get closer? And who would just bash their head in again to see their crush to get treated? Love the headcanons your write and keep up the amazing work! ✨

This is really interesting, thank you for this!

DISCLAIMER!!! Because they're all evil pieces of shit, this will not be cute. it's gonna be scary and abusive (esp Donnie's one) so viewer discretion is advised

Mob! Leo

you first treat him for a stab wound, it was a bad night at one of his clubs. Some guy got too handsy with one of the dancers, Leo intervened, the guy smashed a bottle....

he got stabbed just beneath the ribs, although the other guy was put in a medically induced coma when Leo was done with him sooo... A small stab was nothing by comparison

He's sat, slumped down, in the doorway of the living room, enter: you

his body guards (as useless as they normally are) called you straight away. the pay is pretty damn good if you say so yourself, being on the mob boys retainer has its perks.

you're got your kit with you, all your medical supplies.

"sir" you start "We need to head to the kitchen, I need a flat surface to examine you" you were polite, but clear.

Leo stands without so much as a grunt even though it's got to hurt

lies down on the kitchen table

you talk him through every step you need to take, starting with "I'm going to need to cut the shirt off, I'm sorry"

he doesn't care, it's ruined anyway

when you're done, he's surprised "I didn't even feel the stitches"

"I have a gentle touch" you wink and then instantly regret winking at your boss, it shows because you're blushing

he smiles too. 'He's got such a handsome face' you think and then you can't make eye contact

you almost shove the painkillers at him in your efforts to leave

the next time there's an incident, it's your day off, but he asked for you specifically and you can't exactly say no...

after that, it's you every time and the "incidents" are getting more frequent and less severe

you're at the house almost every 2 days

it gets to the point where a band-aid would suffice for the injury

but he's started sending you home with gifts, now

fancy chocolates, a bottle of wine, gift cards to high end shops ect

it's getting obvious why it's always you he calls

until, one night, it all comes to a head

he accidentally sliced his finger cooking and it will need stitches, but there are 2 place settings at the table and he asks you to stay for dinner after you patch him up

a hour in, and a little wine drunk, you blurt out "You know you could've just asked me out, there was no need to maim yourself to get my attention" you instantly regret this

he just chuckles

"Wish you'd told me sooner, I was deciding which one of my fingers I needed the least"

Mob! Raph

Oh he's so accident prone

will never admit it, but he really is

you're one of his newest hires and were excited at the chance to get some hands on experience since leaving med school

boy does he give you some

his first call is because he was shot right in the thigh

it almost hit a major artery

even you were panicked

you kept asking "is this ok? It doesn't hurt too much right?"

but he had to to keep face and even when he'd wince he'd command "Keep going!"

you weren't exactly dressed for the occasion, you were wearing what was once a baby blue crop top (now red) and and shorts and your mid-drift was showing

Raph seemed to notice this a lot

and when the bleeding had stopped you'd got him stitched up, he put an arm around your waist and told you how great of a job you did

it got you a little flustered

eventually, at some team meeting (you did not know there would be team meetings and neither did the other medics but Raph treated this like it's always happened) he announces you as head medic

this comes with more pay, but more responsibility

you're on call 24/7 basically

you get his personal phone number and a "don't be araif to call if you need anything, the phone works both ways"

this kind of earns you the cold shoulder from Donatello who was usually the one who fixed up Raph

everything was going great as was pretty professional until-

one night the phone rings, it's Raph, and he's clearly drunk

words slurring, talking real slow and basically humming down the line

he asks you to come over and if you "have a nurses outfit"

you ask who's hurt

"It's me, I'm so *fake cough* ill... I could use a little TLC..."

you're a medic, not a call girl so you hang up

the next time you see him he's a weird mix or embarrassed and pissed off

like he knows he shouldn't have done it but he's angry you wouldn't fuck him

it's one of his guys who's been beat up, needs a few eyebrow stitches

Raph is too close, really in your personal space as you're trying to work

when you're done he walks you to the door and, through gritted teeth, says "I'm glad my little.... Indiscretion the other night hasn't made you unprofessional"

"That's a weird way of saying sorry" you reply in the sweetest tone you can muster

he glares

"...I'm....I'm sorry"

you smile until he pulls you in by the wrist

"Don't get cocky now!" he hisses "Remember who pays your bills"

you lean in and whisper "It's funny that you asked, because I do have a nurse outfit. Only men who respect me and my boundaries get to see it" you say that last part more forcefully as you pull away from his grip

after that it's a pretty clear game of cat and mouse between you two

Mob! Mikey

It's been crystal clear since day 1 that he wants you

stroking your hair while you're trying to assess him, rubbing up close to you, giving you pay rise after pay rise...

you try not to be alone with him

but one day, and you're surprised because it's only like 1pm, you get a call

Mikey had a chunk bitten out of his neck and needs urgent attention

you're pretty used to all the weird and wonderful injuries he acquires and when you're done seeing to him, you realise it's now only you two in the room

he gets up and clicks his neck

"That's one thing I love about you, you know" he had a habit of starting sentences like you'd been talking this entire time even when you hadn't "You don't ask questions. It's a lovely quality in a girl" the space between you is getting smaller

"it's not my job to ask questions" you say timidly

he's closing in still "I like that attitude"

your back is to a set of drawers now

he's right in front of you

I think the lidocaine is wearing off, this is starting to hurt" he gestures at his neck "Can you kiss it better?"

your heart is racing and you're not sure if it's because this is threatening or because he's shirtless and you haven't taken you eyes off his abs for too long now

He laughs and puts his hands up

"Hey, just joking!" he begins to back away

you turn to leave and right as you grab the door handle he calls

"But, sweetheart, you ever feel like having a crazy night. You know who to call, no strings attached" and winks

after that, and extra 2k is put in your account under the reference "for your discretion"

lingerie is sent to your apartment as well as flowers

the next time you need to go see him, he asks if you're wearing it

you blush and look away, he just grins at you

eventually he throws a huge party that you're invited to, he never leaves your side

you drink a little too much to cope with the circumstance and before you know it you wake up from a black out in the back of his car just as it pulls up to your apartment

he walks you in, you're still unsteady on your feet, and kisses you at the door

"angel, you should be more careful" he does not elaborate before leaving

you hand in your notice which is only mailed back to you with "nice try" written on it

Mikey always gets his way, one way or another

Mob! Donnie

He's a very hot and cold man

he'll smile and talk to you one day, then you don't exist the next

you can't get a feel for him at all

he's never been inappropriate or rude just... cold and distant

it's normally you he calls, you know this because the other medics are pissed off that they don't have an "in" with him

you did ask why, once

he just said you give the neatest stitches

it had been a while since you'd seen him

his brothers and he just had a big court case so they were laying pretty low

it had been nice, something about him made you feel things

a mix of unsettled and like you had to prove yourself as worthy

you needed a drink

hat night you come home, your phone died at the bar and you're a little tipsy

only to find your door broken in

you walk in

was that a wise move? no.

waiting inside, leaning against a doorway, is Donnie

you can smell blood but can;t see it in the half light

the he grabs you

you freeze, his arms are around you and his face is in your hair, gently smelling it

something trickles onto your face and you wipe it away to find it's blood

"If- if you're hurt... J-just let me grab my supplies"

he lets go

you turn on every light you pass, something about being in the dark with him just isn't right

when you come back he's gone

the next time he needs you, you do get a call

he got into a fight with Mikey, bottled straight over the head

you found out because Raph is still laughing about it when you get there

Donnie is seething

when his brothers leave, all of them including Donnie a little drunk, he pushes you against a wall and gets in close

you can feel his breath on your neck

"You know, Mikey hired on of those topless maids last week. Cleaned his car, tits fully out. How much would it cost me for you to take this off" he pings your bra strap

you're so insulted

he was a man of medicine too and he was treating you like you're something who can be bought

as if he reads your mind he says "Everyone has a price"

"I don't know" you try to sound less scared than you are, let the anger shine through "how much does a new set of balls cost? Because if you don't back off you're gonna need them"

he laughs harshly

then his hand is around your throat

"Was that a threat?"

his thumb strokes your cheek

he leans in, his nose pressed against yours "I like a woman with guts but, if you're not very careful, I'll take them out and keep them in a jar"

"Was that a threat?" you retort

"No, I'm flirting with you"

sooner or later, you know he'll have you

Him and his brothers aren't the type to back down from anything

so the next time you treat him, when he pulls you onto his lap, you kiss him, make it your choice to go through with it

[sludgevomit]

SludgeVomit’s Goretober Exhibition: Day 2

Blood Letting

A harsh snap vibrates against your skin as Sir ties a thick rubber band around your bicep. Feeling the pulsating rush of fluid spread through the arteries and veins of your left arm. Beads of sweat drip down the open-slit above your eyebrow. Saline becomes your worst enemy at the moment. Yet, it does not compare with the sand-like touch with every swallow of sacred water and food. Nor, the pounding against your skull partnered with the incessant flame that coated your flesh. The change of seasons was not kind to you. Finding that the sporadic temperatures in the basement had created an even harsher environment for one to find solace in.

You watched Sir’s movements; disgust evident from the borderline permanent scowl on his lips. Spinning a shard of broken glass between his fingers, just as he would with one of his knives. Speaking as he flicked the crease of your inner elbow with his free hand. “Meat that was once ill tends to not sell well. The sickness affects the taste, it creates a bitter product that is subpar to my clients high expectations.” His tone was professional, matter-of-fact. No sense of emotional connection in his words. It sent the human part of your brain in a frenzy, wishing to be treated like his other Pets. The ones who are faced with the man’s ever fading compassionate nature.

Nonetheless, you were here. Arm dangling out of your cage, waiting for your treatment with high anxiety. “This will cure you overtime.” As his sentence ends, the sharp edge digs into your flesh and you swear that you can hear the exact moment of splitting dermis. A combination of dark and bright reds begin to spurt from the wound, heartbeat adding into the dramatization of the arterial spatter. Dancing white lines and dots fizzle your vision. Losing strength in your legs as blood ejects across Sir’s face. The man stood still, never flinching, even with the carmine landing in his dark, evil eyes.