#Let Corpses Tan

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

”why aren’t there any designs of the dsmp characters as poc?” i do agree on principle that it’s shitty there’s barely any but the reason is you literally got called out on multiple platforms and sent slurs for drawing c!tommy with a tan. i know bc it happened to me i literally lost friendships bc i dared draw him with dark skin. people used the fact i was in toxic overly sexual environments as a minor as a weapon against me bc… being pressured into sexual situations was my fault and i was evil and dangerous and that was somehow proven by the fact i didn’t draw c!tommy as lily white. this wasn’t even a poc design he literally just had a tan i can’t imagine the harassment people who actually tried to design characters as poc faced.

[301-302]

Laissez bronzer les cadavres (Let the Corpses Tan | Hélène Cattet/Bruno Forzani | 2017)

[watchmorecinema]

I tried putting together a list of my top 250 movies. This ended up being really hard because: 1. Turns out I watch a lot of really bad movies that I need to sift through.

2. I am incredibly bad at deciding the relative "goodness" of a movie.

3. I watch a lot of different genres so there's a ton of whiplash as I read my own list.

It's so easy for me to say that I prefer Back to the Future 1 to 3, or rank slasher films, but as soon as I try to rank all films it becomes a very muddied affair. Is The Shining better than The Princess Bride? How do you even compare those? I think I like Let the Corpses Tan more than How to Train Your Dragon but not as enjoyable as Turning Red. I legitimately believe that but I don't know if that's meaningful in any way since it's not like I'm picking between an artsy shoot out movie or an animated coming of age film on movie night. And yet I still spent hours deciding where 13 Going on 30 fits (look, it's a fun movie). And the real indignity of it all is that looking at my finished list I am constantly angry at the placements. It's like hating your own music when it's on shuffle.

[mydarkapron]

LET THE CORPSES TAN | LAISSEZ BRONZER LES CADAVRES, 2017

Hélène Cattet + Bruno Forzani

[mtonino]

let the corpses tan (2017) Hélène Cattet, Bruno Forzani

Let the Corpses Tan (2017)

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 30

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"So, are we done shooting each other now?"

"What the hell do you mean you lost them?"

"If you saw a crime about to happen, what would you do?"

"Can you just explain exactly what you do?"

"You see what this place does to people?"

"Can we not do this right now?"

"Has it occurred to you that perhaps I want to be alone?"

"Why is there an ear in the omelette?"

"You've been around a lot of corpses. Is that one normal?"

"What, you admire him now?"

"Was it worth it? Compromising yourself for money?"

"Nothing ever changes with you, does it?"

"You realise I'm still here, right?"

"Do you have any regret for the things you've done?"

"You know you're a suspect, right?"

"You know who I am, don't you?"

"Must you always be such a smartass?"

"People rarely notice things right in front of their eyes, don't you find?"

"Have the headaches started yet?"

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Do you have nothing better to do?"

"Why would you say something like that? What kind of person says something like that?"

"Don't all husbands lie to their wives?"

"Did he arrest you or something?"

"What's the possible upside to asking a question like that?"

"Is this the part where you tell me there's something I should know?"

"Do you only date cops?"

"This isn't a training exercise, is it?"

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Why are you singing?"

"I know you've got a secret. Won't you tell it to me?"

"Do you think you can tell who a person is just by looking in their eyes?"

"Do I look like I tan?"

"Are you asking me a question, or are you accusing me of something?"

"Are you in love with him?"

"Can you promise me you're not going to let anyone hurt me?"

"Are you trying to fix me?"

"You're giving me orders now?"

"Do you have something you believe in so deeply, so passionately, it goes beyond simple loyalty?"

"Why is your house so big?"

"Haven't you seen enough blood for one night?"

"They told you I was crazy, didn't they?"

"You don't think very much of me, do you?"

[psycho-static]

lmao the next two!! Me pickles n Nathan designs Nathan was hella hard to design cuz i just...didnt have any ideas for him, unlike pickles lmao what do u lot think? Design notes under cut: (warning very long lmao)

PICKLES .His neck is scrawny his frame is rather small but has like a weird potbelly less average more..skinny fat build (despite this hes still pretty strong when anegred, fuled by darkness and hatred 😍) .He wears a pretty thick bandana to hide his balding head .And he only has so many dread...alot of em probably fell out lmao .Said dreads are also....sentient??? idk man i think pickles having living hair would be cool asf lmao little tentacles that let him pick up 5 weed baggies at once! wahoo!!! (Inspired by the hamburger time dream sequence) .His vest is more distintcly ripped and has the exodia sign on it despite what its associated with, he still thought the shirt was cool, so he wore it anyway lmao .His trousers are hella baggy, thick comfy, and patchy, that man almost NEVER changes his trousers its like the only pair he has .So he has them custoimsed with skull kneecaps because thats BRUTAL!!!! .He has fishnets ontop of his cuffs because it looks neat, also weirdly both aquatic and metal??? it works lmao .This man would defo have a tattoo, in this case a massive drunk (or dead) octopus on his arm (his spiritual awakening told him it was a good idea ) (the only tattoo he has that isint complete shite) .The rest of the tats he got he was drunk asf when he got em (not pictured here but they defo exist lol) .His teeth and eyes are yellow cuz hes c r u s t y as f u c k . He has more peircings, pickles is a pretty big peircing enthusiast he some some on the back of his neck his nipples and probably his nuts too lmao .And obligatory arm hair lmao --------------------------------------------------------------------------- NATHAN. Ngl i had....no ideas for him lmao nathans design works as is tbh hes a pretty smiple guy he dosent need nothing fancy to be brutal HE IS THE BRUTALITY .Ik alot of ppl draw nathan pretty tan but ngl...i think hed be pale as fuck lmao nothing screams more brutal that permenant corpse paint .He has pretty dark black bags around his eyes aswell as some black drippy tears round them .His shirt n jeans are a bit ripped, but thats about it .His hair covers one of his eyes, topped with a menacing face shadow, the moment he flips his hair back though, he turns to a right sofite .And the obligatory body hair, he defo deserves some lol

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.1; Awaken

Your soul is stuck in your corpse after your tragic demise...lucky for you the mortician who's prepping your body is a hopeless romantic willing to bring you back to the land of the living

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of death, corpses, and gore (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Heavily implied suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 2.4k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

If we can get our truths out now, you know exactly how you died.

This must've been the worst year of your life. The contents of it are blurry due to the effects of your soul and its current condition but you remember the feelings well enough. Although the memories didn't stick you remember the sinking pit that it felt like you were swimming in. Too far from the top to go back and too far from the bottom to see an end to what was an incredible amount of emotional suffering.

The one memory you do have is one of surrender. Relinquishing all your emotions and all the pain into a single, unforgivable action. There is no excuse but your room just felt so empty then. It had all your things in it but it didn't have you, you were not there. Your mind had wandered away with the joy, the joy that you were sure you hadn't felt in months maybe years. And the unfortunate thing about a mind that wanders too far from the body is that the body will do whatever it can to get its mind back.

This leads to the only reasonable-awful-but reasonable way to ground a person completely. Death.

For a split second before you did it, for just a moment before the full surrender, you thought "I wish I had someone to stop me.". At that moment, a really quick moment might I add, the thought of loving someone, the thought of someone loving you through all of the hardships and pain, it might've stopped you. But you didn't have anyone, did you? You had been lost and wandering for a while and it was time to come back home. You had no one to call you back so, yeah, you had to call yourself back.

And so you did.

The awakening process for a soul that has refused to move on, despite the wishes and through the confusion of the person themself, is an interesting one. It is almost like that feeling right before you go to sleep. You remember what you did up to a point and then you don't remember having actually fallen asleep. Or to be more correct you don't remember dropping dead. Then, with no prior warning or vision of heaven or whatever movies may have you believe this experience might be, you woke but you woke in a dark and cold space. An unfamiliar space. The laughter of a man could be heard from above you, you think. And in the middle of your reeling, you are met with blinding fluorescents.

The morgue.

For the sake of brevity and to not bore you with your own story I won't go into the processes that go on within the walls of a morgue. More or less it's identification, waiting, maybe an autopsy, and more waiting. Then you are shipped off in a body bag to either a mortuary or a funeral home. Lucky for you a mortuary was more than satisfactory.

Some amount of time passed before you felt yourself be lifted out of the car and onto some sort of table or stretcher. Now it seemed you were in the care of only one person. Quite strong as well to be able to handle the dead weight (no pun intended) of yourself. The sound of the zipper would've sent you jumping if you were able but perhaps more surprising was the visage before you.

A tall and handsome man, tan skin showing through what little you could see behind the protective gear he wore. Dark eyes studied you immediately and for some reason, you could feel them soften as they looked upon you. You didn't feel discomfort, in fact, a warming and welcoming feeling came to contrast the cold of-well-your everything at the current moment. The aura that came off the man was something like stepping into the home of the friendliest person you've ever met.

And he was oh so gentle with you. The way he was careful with his movements as he heaved your stretcher onto the main table. Your eyes followed him as he went ahead and gathered various things from around the room. Setting them on a smaller table next to you. A deep breath settled in him as he scanned your body.

You felt vulnerable in this state, not much you could do about it but still. He got a clipboard and read through it. "Y/n…" your name rolled off his tongue like a small prayer. He circled you, tapping gently at different parts of your body as he went along. Assessing your situation and what he would have to make "presentable" no doubt. Then he stopped. Pausing as he made his way back towards your head. Another sigh as he gazed at you.

"You were so pretty. I wish we had met under other circumstances y/n."

If a heart was in your body it would be beating so fast right now. His hand reached out and grazed your forehead. Is he moving the hair from your face? If you had working veins you would be blushing wildly.

This is crazy. You've decided that this is crazy. Your soul for some reason has decided to stick to your body instead of following the heavenly trumpets towards the pearly gates of paradise. And here you were, prisoner in your own skin, unable to move or speak or do much of anything. And the only thing on your mind is the man who is preparing your body???

Oh, Christ. What the actual hell is happening?

Also, why does it seem like the mortician is just as invested in you? Are morticians supposed to have organ jars in their preparation rooms? You suppose they do take care of those sorts of things, plus he's the professional in this situation, right?

"The more I look at you…The more I wish…What am I saying?" he shook his head with a huff.

Your eyes were open, not like you could willingly close them, but you were somehow able to see in this state. You could see the way the protective gown fell on his arm, very faintly outlining some sort of muscle. The way his breath caught on the mask, not shallowly at all either, a heavy breath. Almost like when he looked at you you had taken it away and he was grasping to get it back. The gloves that held snug to his big fingers, his warm hands, the ones that graced you gently with every touch. So caught up in memorizing his features you hadn't noticed that he was tracing your inner arm and staring right back at your lifeless eyes.

"Actually, you might be perfect and these might just be perfect circumstances y/n…" he tilted his head as he said those words, gazing deeply at all of you, taking you in like some person at the other end of the bar.

Why was he walking away? What did he mean by perfect? Is he walking over with one of those jars right now? Lord, you should've followed the trumpets you thought. And then the giggle came in. Like a wrecking ball to the heart, the man let out a sound of excitement and happiness. The confusion that writhed through you at this moment was unparalleled by anything experienced by anyone before. Not only are you dead but now you have some sort of weird mortician, handsome, but weird on your hands.

He came back, his arms full of the organ jars from the shelves. "Y'know some of your own should suffice for this little experiment but I always tend to keep extras…", he said this in haste as he set up a plethora of equipment around your body. For what it's worth you could listen to him talk about whatever nonsense he was on about for hours.

"I always was a fan of Frankenstein. It inspired me to do this profession, actually. I know strange but even stranger is my need for you at this moment. Sorry. Not in that way, not in a disrespectful manner at all if I am being forward. But your circumstance saddened me and well- it does not help that you are so beautiful. AH! I am getting ahead of myself. I must wait until I know that you are here and that you are mine, y/n. Forgive my rudeness."

He was frazzled and all over the place. His speech was punctuated by heavy breaths and before you can even begin to process his mess of words he is discarding the protective gear. The only things he thinks worth keeping on being his apron and gloves.

In the corner, although you cannot see it from this angle, sits a computer. Mingyu weaves around wires to get to it. His fingers work at a fast pace as he types. "I knew it. It's all just perfect. It truly is. I could just jump with joy!". Mingyu had confirmed his suspicions or rather confirmed if his memory was correct. There was a chance for a storm tonight and everything just kept lining up for him. As if a gift from god themself here you are, there the storm is, and here's Mingyu ready to conduct a risky experiment, one that he's been building up in his head for years, one that he honestly did not think would happen within his lifetime. It was just a hobby, a thing not meant to occur, and more than that it was probably illegal.

But he didn't care. He just knew, a gut instinct if you will, that you were the one. The person he was meant to be with. Love at first sight some might call it, he sure thinks it is anyway.

Hours passed as he continued with his ministrations of gathering items and setting them up. The sun began to set and Mingyu's confidence rose. The table where you lay was wheeled into the middle of the room, you hadn't noticed it before but there was a skylight in the ceiling. A large one at that. He centered you as best he could to match the opening and began to dig metal hooks into your skin at different points. Although gruesome in my wording these punctures did not hurt you. They felt like a pinch to the skin that left nothing in the way of actual pain.

He hummed and smiled as he went about this work. The last thing he did as he began to hear the pitter-patter of rain outside was give you another once over. His eyes were at their most intense. Taking great care in making sure all of your details were perfect. Fixing your hair in the way the picture he had of you instructed, moving your hands to be at your navel, and stretching out your joints which had been effected by rigor mortis many hours prior.

"Perfect. Really and truly." he tried to calm himself of the adrenaline rush that had been keeping him on his feet the entire time. He sat on the rolling stool near the computer using his feet to make his way towards you once again. From a lower angle, you could just barely see his figure from here. He gathered himself and a sad look overtook his face.

"God, what are you doing Mingyu? This is crazy. The probability is so so so low. And look at you. Sat here in front of the most enchanting person you've ever met and they're dead… If this doesn't work then what? I give up on love? I try to date again? Knowing that no one has set my heart ablaze so immediately as the one before me now? No. If this does not work I will just have to admit myself. This would be the heartbreak to define my life." He took in a big breath before allowing it to leave his lungs completely empty. He took off his gloves and rolled his sweaty palms along the length of his thighs.

"I have gotten this far, it is time."

Rolling thunder shattered through the night sky. Mingyu began to pull a chain and the skylight opened. Droplets of water started to saturate your skin. He turned his attention to the computer bringing up some program that allowed him to control the various devices he had set up. The whirring of machinery is all you can hear as he sets lighting rods to lift up at the top of the mortuary.

A crack of thunder whips through the air. 1…2…3…Then the lightning scorched its bright head in the sky. The storm kicked up, your body was at this point soaked in rainwater as the shallow table tried its best to keep the surface tension of the water at bay. WRSHKKK the thunder once again, 1…2…The lightning seemed all the more close as it flashed before your eyes.

Then time stood still, what was nothing but seconds stretched until you were almost sure you were outside of space and time. The water hits your face, seeping into your eyes because you cannot close them. Your view only being the sky but what you heard could bring you tears, thankfully the rain allowed your face to communicate your emotional intent as beads fell from your eyes like the statue of Mary. Amongst the chaos of the storm, a chant-like prayer is whispered as Mingyu makes his towards you in strides. Standing at your head, towering over you, he leans down and with the gentleness of a man defined by love that makes him soft, his lips graze your forehead as he says "Please y/n, please." repeatedly finishing each prayer with a peck to your cold, wet skin.

KRSHHK the thunder growled with ferocity, 1…The lightning finally answered the plea.

A forceful blast flung Mingyu back, leaving him to hold onto the counter behind him. Every device alight as electricity surged through their wires, all of them leading to you in a maze of information and metal.

And as that energy reached your body you were enraptured in pain and ecstasy and every single physical feeling a human could possibly feel. As if you were being held gently while needles pierced your nerves, like floating on a cloud of cotton as you were being burnt alive. Every sensation came online all at once and it was exhilarating. The rain on your skin felt cold and burning. Your soul and body finally connect with existential bliss as they reunite. You felt everything.

Then your lungs finally filled with air. Your chest began to heave as your heart caught up to the fact that you were here again. Blood coursed through your veins and warmed your skin.

With a jolt you were alive and awake.

…And also falling off the table.

A/N: It's out! I really do hope you all enjoy the weirdness that is this fic. I tried my best to not be too descriptive with the details of death and the body, trying to focus more on the emotional than anything. Let me know what you think and please reblog if you liked it and would like to see more!

{If you're interested in being on the Taglist for this series please let me know!!}

[demonsword586]

Hades pp headcanons! (Only the nobles)

I am...SO FREAKING SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! I AM IN MY FINALS MONTH AND I HAD SO MUCH TO DO AND I'M STILL NOT FINISHED!!! I am still writting but it's going slow since I don't have much time. In any case,I will be free in 2 weeks so this series should pick up the pace. Anyway here is more penis.

Barbatos

- Judging just from that bulge.... It's big,his balls I mean. The dick I presume is rather normal.

- 17 cm, 14 cm when soft.

- With how much time this man spends naked,you think he would have a tiny bit of tan. All over his body,his dick too since this man forgets what clothes are for when he sees the sun. But nope! He uses sunscreen with 120+ protection. You probably can't even see anything when he's around. The sunshine illuminates right off of him,making him as sunny as his personality.

- His dick is a bit on the leaner side. It's nice and slim like a rose stem. Suprisingly,he's circumsized! His tip is also a very gentle shade of rosy pink.

-It is a very beautiful penis,fit for a man like him and he's proud of it too! Unfortunatelly when you have a king as envious as Leviathan,it may be the best to keep it hidden when he's around. Barbatos had to learn this the hard way...

- Anyway the only thing that makes his pp a bit...unperfect,is the giant ballsack under it. A very pretty pp with big,squishy balls. Very squishable,but please don't play with them for too long. He's a bit of a tease so whatever you do to him,he will do it twice as pleasureable to you.

- Also,has a few small cuts on his inner thighs and butt. He likes to sunbathe around roses he grows and he's not the type of gardener to cut the thorns off. So he has to suffer the consequinces. But he's not too bothered by the little sting of those flowers when they bloom so beautifully and can still be fierce.

-But if you're sunbathing with him,he will be very careful to not let the thorns get you. He places you on top of him and holds you against his bare body. After all,you are the most perfect of all the flowers in the garden and he can't risk his rose to get pricked by thorns.

Glasyal La Bolas

- He stinks.

- This man is literary putting his pp into corpses. That thing smells and not the nice Beel smell but a smell of expired meat.

-He showers after...um....doing his thing,but this specific stench is quite hard to get rid off. In shame,he had to ask Orias for the strongest shampoo he knows off and 100% alcohol disinfectant from Paradise Lost. His king knows everything that happens in Hell,because of a certain invisible spy. You can imagine what horrors await him if his king found him walking around with a dirty willy.

- It's very cold too. No one knows how he does it but his body is naturally cold. Almost as if he's a corpse himself....meaning his pp can be quite refreshing in hot summer days!👍

- Now if you two are planning to have sex,berate him to take a shower. Even if he already did,make him do another one. I don't know about you,but I don't trust this man or his cock.

- Speaking of cock,we should talk about it. He is....large. Very large. He could have a shlong fight with Mammon if that ever happened. He is a centimeter behind Mammon though....still that thing is a beast.

-Some who got a glimpse of it said it is the stuff of nightmares. Not because of the size but the shape.

- He's thick,long and has a very unique tip. His tip is a bit spikier than most but only enough that it's noticable and very much pleasureable when he makes love with you. It's like his tip it designed by God to reach just the right spot in your insides. Not only that but his shaft naturally leans up when he's hard. It's like a pillar of monstrosity....If only you didn't know what he used that amazing dick for.

- But as amazing as it is,you need a lot of preperation to take him. It takes awhile for you to actually start to feel good and...he's not a very patient man. A night with him is like flipping a coin. You can either end up in heaven or in a hospital. Marbas as another big-pp owner always scolds him when you need to be healed up.

-Glasyal is not a monster though. He feels bad when you suffer because of his lust,though he will never admmit it straight. He does apoligise to you but not only with his words. He will put that evil mouth of his to good use and please his dying darling.~

Foras

- Shiny~

- He's...average in lenght. Nothing special,just a nice 15 cm pp.

-The color however!! Mm,tasty-looking. The shaft is a pretty,milky color with a pinkish hue. And the tip is just like his horns. A beautiful crystalic rainbow. It's a bit firmer than the rest of his cock. It also shines like a crystal when light hits it.

-He once skinny dipped in the sun with Barbatos and accidentally became the focus of gossip in Hades for a few weeks.

-It was a very sunny day and as soon as his pants fell to the floor,his member feeling the fresh air...Barbatos and a few by-standing devils got blinded by his penis. The sunlight shined right on his cock or more precicelly at his tip and blinded the eyes of many innocent devils.

-From that day onward he was rumored to have stolen a chip of the sun and now decorates his cock with it.

-The rumors ended up reaching his beloved king's ears...Let's just say Foras got a thorough examination by his idol while also threatened to be castrated by the envious king. Still the best day of his life.

-But do not worry about his shiny pp when you two are being intimate. He now always makes sure his foreskin is covering the tip. He will only show it once you two are in private without any natural light being close to it.

-Has a mole on his pubic area. Just a bit higher than where his member stands and on the left side.

- His cum...is of low quality.

-Mostly because it's invisible. You won't know when he's finished unless you check on his face. His face is very honest when it comes to pleasure.

- But yes,his seed is invisible. You can taste it in your mouth but can't see it. (If you randomly slip on nothing,it's his fault.)

- No hair. This man is as smooth as a baby's ass. Only because he thinks it would be rude of him to stand in his majesty Leviathan's presence while knowing there is pubic hair growing inside his pants. What if his king one day orders him to strip and be of service?! Oh...and for you too.

Orias

-....I fear him and his penis.

- He has a body of a young adult so...you can see why I am not sure if this is right of me to do...

(I will do Orias if people want but I am scared this could get....controversial.)

[strangelittlestories]

The sign atop the arch was painted in bright primary blue and yellow; it featured a crudely daubed image of smiling dead bodies, atop which in bold capital letters was written: ‘Corpse Market!’

A stooped cloaked figure stepped under the arch. From beneath her hood, big wide eyes looked up at the market’s many stalls. Each was decorated in that same style: vibrant colours, cheery signs, enlivened with cheerful drapes of dyed cotton. And behind the swathed smiles of drapery hung row after row of the dead.

Frost clung to the bodies; though amidst the jolly decor, you would be forgiven for thinking someone had decorated them with shining pale glitter.

The cloaked figure stopped to read a placard hung on one of the stalls. It was illustrated with a woman stepping out of a coffin and giving the viewer a big thumbs up. The text read: “Give a hard-working adventurer a raise!”

As if from nowhere, the market’s proprietor appeared.

“Greetings!” They wore a sleek black frock coat and pressed white breeches, with a blood-red neckerchief providing a pop of colour at the throat. “Are you looking for anyone in particular?

“I was told that, uh, I might be able to find my … my sister here?” stumbled the cloaked wanderer. “What- uh- what is this place?”

“Why, ‘tis as the sign says!” chirped the proprietor. “We are a market of corpses. The physical shells of bold souls who explored the dangerous highs and lows of the world. ‘To help you avoid your final rest and instead achieve new personal bests.’ That’s our motto!”

“You, um, you sell dead people?”

“In a way. It’s more that we provide resurrection services. But plenty of these mighty heroes don’t have people looking for them, sadly. Strays, you see.” The proprietor patted the frozen leg of a cadaver covered in leather and knives as they spoke. “So if you pay the costs of bringing them back, we put that cost as a downpayment against future adventuring services. So can I interest you in a rescue adventurer? You look like the bookish sort, so maybe you need a strapping defender to keep you safe?”

“I��m really only looking for one, you know, one dead person in particular.”

“Of course, you did say. A sister, was it? Let me check our records.” The proprietor produced, from the aether, a huge tome bound in tan hide of some sort. “What was her name?”

“Ava. Ava is- *was* her name.” said the wanderer, softly.

The proprietor’s eyes rolled back into their head and a sudden gust of wind rustled through the pages of the tome. The shadows in the market seemed to lengthen and the multicoloured drapery whipped around them.

“Ah.” The fell wind quelled suddenly and the proprietor’s eyes returned to normal. “I’m afraid we have no Ava currently. My deepest condolences for your present loss.”

“Oh.”

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in someone else instead? A dashing cavalier? A righteous templar? I can do you a deal on a rugged woodswoman - if someone doesn’t take her in the next few days, we’ll have to put her down. In the ground, that is.”

“What? Why?” the wanderer exclaimed, equal parts confused by and caught up in the proprietor’s spiel.

“I can only keep their souls from crossing over for so long, I’m afraid. I’m good with guiding the dead, but even I have my limits.” For a moment, the proprietor seemed very strange; their face too long and too sharp, a shriek hidden beneath their soft voice. Then they slapped the cheerful mask back on. “You know what they say: styx and stones may take my bones, but wards can barely hold me.”

The wanderer thought for a moment.

“Alright. I’ll pay for the woodswoman.”

“You will?” The proprietor’s eyes lit up.

“Yes.” said the cloaked wanderer. “After all, if Ava isn’t here … I may need help finding her.”

---

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[sarawritestories]

Love Story (All Too Well Chapter 1 Pt 2)

Cassian X OC, Eris X OC

Summary: Under the Mountain, Estella, have flash backs to her 50 years in captivity, and losing hope she will ever see her lover. That is until a human girl shows up and give her and her brother Rhysand something they lost decades ago...Hope and in a matter of mere months she is reunited with the love of her life. The General of the Night Court Armies.

Content Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Torture, Dub con, Physical abuse, Under the mountain trials

A/N: Special Thanks to @milswrites and @eve175 for keeping me sane when I wrote this and honestly prevented me from scraping and starting over again!

Also Two post in one day from me! I am on a roll! And probably will be taking a small break 😅😅

All Too Well Master List ACOTAR Masterlist

The sound of Amarantha’s screams was like music to Eris Vanserra’s ears. He watched as Tamlin ripped her to shreds, glancing over to see Estella holding Feyre’s body close to her murmuring something to herself that his fae hearing couldn’t pick up on. The screams ceased and Tamlin walked back to where the young fae princess and the human cursebreaker.

Eris watched as Estella a tear-streaked face looked up at the High Lord of Spring her laced covered chest heaving, “I’m so sorry Tamlin.” She lowered her head in shame, as if this was her fault.

Tamlin lifted Estella’s face to meet his eyes, “This wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

Eris moved toward Amarantha’s mutilated body as he heard Estella let out a sob, “You asked me to protect her I failed.” Eris closed his eyes and rubbed at his chest hoping the ache would dissipate.

Eris looked over at Amarantha’s remains that were mostly ribbons of flesh and found what he was looking for as Tamlin hushed the Princess of Night. “You did no such thing, Stella, now please give her to me.”  Tamlin’s voice was tender as he knelt in front of the female holding his love’s corpse. “Come on, Flower.”  

Romeo Save Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone

Eris looked over at the dais to see Estella, half of her pinned to the back of her head, the rest of her hair had fallen past her breast in soft curls. Clad in a sheer orange gown, the fabric barely covering anything, especially how his high queen had her positioned on Tamlin’s lap. Her legs spread by his thighs, her back pressed against his chest. The Princess placed her hand over the Lord of Spring and Eris noticed his thumb moved over hers and began swiping periodically. As if he was trying to bring her comfort. The heir of Autumn knew those two were friends just never realized how close the pair was.

The red-haired male moved his gaze to the rest of the ballroom, fighting the urge to clench his fist, he caught his brother’s attention. His russet eyes met with a similar pair of Lucien, his metal eye zeroing in on him. The young Emissary of the spring court’s face was impassive though his eyes, held pure resentment. Lucien didn’t let his stare linger on his brother rather it moved to his two friends at the front of the room. Guilt threatened to take hold, but the eldest Vanserra brother forced it down in a box where he kept most of his emotions shutting the lid tight. Another person that he had let down.

“Estella, darling be a dear and entertain us.” Amarantha’s voice drew Eris his attention back to the princess of night. “Dance.”

Estella froze, “Your Majesty?”

Amarantha pinched her chin, “I said dance, has whoring you around my court made you dumb.” Eris gripped the side of his leg tightly as he glanced over to the High Lord of Night, his tanned face a mask of cool indifference, Eris gazed lowered to Rhysand’s hands to find his knuckles were white as a result of gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

“No, Your Majesty,” Estella responded. “Or perhaps you would prefer to give a dance to one person.”

Rhysand cleared his throat, “Your majesty, I would be-“

Amarantha whipped her head, “No.” She looked out to the assembly in the hall. “I will accept volunteers from anyone that is not related to her.”

Eris’s feet moved of his own accord and managed to reach the dais before Lucien could. As he bowed lowed, “Your majesty. Though I have no need for a dance, I would be honored.”

Amarantha’s voice had a jovial lilt to it, “Ah Eris Vanserra. Yes, you have my permission to use her, however, you please. Rise. Claim your whore.”

Eris rose to his full height and walked up to the young heiress. He held out a hand for her, “Come now, Viper.” Estella curled her mouth in a small snarl, though her eyes were vacant, hallow as if she mentally went somewhere else. Though she gripped his hand all the same. He yanked her off Tamlin’s lap and pressed her chest to his. His arm snaked around her waist, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her hip. Electricity bolted up his arm at the contact though he easily ignored it.

“Estella, how do you thank Eris, for claiming you this evening.” Amarantha prodded; Eris didn’t miss her face contorted in a grimace. Before she looked up her ice blue eyes meeting his warm copper ones, life had returned to her, but Eris could feel her dread, it emulated around her like a shield. Though that didn’t stop her from lifting her hand sliding it up the red velvet embroidered vest he was wearing. Or when her soft, gentle fingers slid up his neck and through the silken strands of his long hair.

She rose on her tippy toes her plump lips inches away from his own, “Thank you, Prince Eris,” Estella closed the distance kissed him. Eris slid his hand up her back, lightly grazing her spine as his hand wrapped around her raven-colored locks and yanked her back hard enough to cause a gasp from the princess’ mouth, giving the Autumn Court Heir access to slide his tongue against her. She tasted as sweet as he hoped she would. His tongue clashing with hers he could have sworn a small moan escaped her throat.

The need for oxygen and knowing that the two had put on enough of a show for their audience, Eris pulled away, with a smirk as Estella opened her eyes her pupils blissed out from their moment. Before he could ask, Amarantha, was waving her hand, “Eris you and your pet are dismissed for the evening.”

Eris bowed, and Estella followed suit, aware that it would expose her backside to the fae standing behind them. Eris placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out into the hall. The two had walked down for a few moments the sound of Estella’s skirt swishing against her skin, her hands clasped in front of her, when she asked, “What do you plan on doing with me, Princeling?”

Exhaustion weighed heavily on the prince’s body, as he sighed, “Sleep, My Little Viper. We’re going to sleep.”

This Love Is Difficult, But It's Real

The whole court ogled around and watched as the High Lords of Prythian dropped a kernel of power on the human girl that saved them all. Eris Vanserra on the other hand watched as his brother held onto the Princess of Night as her sobs softened. He could see Lucien whispering in her ear though from where he stood even his fae hearing wouldn’t be able to decipher. Ignoring the spectacle Eris walked over to one his handmaidens.

She bowed when he approached, saying nothing, he gripped the plump woman’s sleeve and began wiping the blood of the Tiara he grabbed. Once he was satisfied, he turned and walked over to Lucien and Estella. The youngest Vanserra son tightened his hold on Estella when Eris approached. “Relax, brother, today is a joyous day. We can put aside our differences for now.” Lucien growled, “Feel free to hate me again tomorrow.”

Estella’s eyes pierced the Autumn Prince’s and Eris presents the tiara glancing down at the lace covered bodice of her dress that dipped down to her stomach, “I believe this belongs to you, Little Viper.”  He smirked as he met her eyes again. She glanced at his hands and reached out to grab the accessory from him, tearing herself from Lucien’s arms as she did so. Eris took a step back and dangled the tiara above her head, “Allow me.” He motions for his index finger to spin around. She obeyed and crossed her arms, the dark red silk of her dress swirling as she did. Her scent of Ocean mist and Jasmine invaded his nose he fought the notion to bask in her scent, as he placed the tiara on top of her head. Stepped closer and noticed the sharp breath she took as his nose brushed against her ear, “There now you look fit to rule a kingdom, Princess.”

He could hear her heartrate quicken as he took a step away and once more as cheers erupted through the cave. The three of them turned to find Feyre embraced in Tamlin’s arms, ears pointed heartbeat strong and steady. “By the Cauldron.” Lucien whispered and ran up to his friends. Leaving the two alone.

“I have to thank you, Princeling.” Estella’s voice broke the tension.

“For?”

“Giving me brief little moments of reprieve from this nightmare.” Her piercing eyes met his, “I am in your debt.”

Eris was about to dispute it when in a flash arm wrapped around Estella pulling her into a tight embrace, had he not seen the matching raven-colored hair, the heir of Autumn would have prepared for an attack. Rhysand pulled away as if remembering where he had put his hands in his pockets assessed his sister. “Are you hurt?”

Estella turned to Eris only to find he was already gone. She sighed and looked back at her brother. “I’m fine, Rhys.”

He nodded and, in her mind said, The High Lords are meeting to figure out the next steps. I don’t know how long that will take. Then out loud he said, “As your High Lord, I’m demanding you head home immediately and make sure our court held up in our absence.” Estella noticed the hint of a smirk on his face, Tell Cassian hello for me, and that I’ll be home soon.

Estella’s face lit up, she kissed her brother on the cheek, “Thank you, High Lord.” She took a step, looked back toward Lucien and Tamlin. Both males embracing Feyre. Green eyes met hers and with a dip of his chin she bolted and winnowed home.

I’ll Be Waiting

The Summer night breeze kissed her skin as she arrived in front of the town home. Home. She was home. Picking up her skirts she bolted through the front door of the town home. She could hear laughter in the dining room pause when the door slammed shut. Before anyone could get up, she ran into the room. Gasp and fallen utensils were the only thing she heard before, Morrigan her hair in perfect waves and dressed in her signature red gown rose from her seat, her eyes turning glassy. “So, it’s true? It’s over?” She asked.

Estella wiped the stray tears that had begun to fall, “Yeah. Its over.” She croaked as Mor pulled her into a bone crushing hug. “Fuck, I have missed you guys.”

A pair of scarred calloused hands tugged at her bare shoulders, “Don’t hog her, Mor.” Azriel’s deep voice joked as he pulled her into an embrace of his own. He pulled away and she felt the cool kiss of his shadows up and around her body, checking for injuries. He pressed his forehead to hers, “Its good to have your home.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and guided her to a chair. He began to make her a plate of food, as he asked, “Where’s Rhys?”

Estella eyes grew wide with the spread Azriel placed before her. Taking a heaping bite before she answered, she couldn’t help but moan as the warm food met her mouth. The bountiful flavor bursting on her tongue. She looked at Mor, and Az as she swallowed her food and said, “He said there would be a meeting with the High Lord’s about what is going to happen next, no doubt trying to get Amarantha’s” She fought the cringe at the sound of the female’s name coming out of her mouth, “men collected and figuring out what to do with them.”

Amren’s cold calculating voice was a welcome reprieve, “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

Estella turned her head to the female and smiled, “He wanted me to come home, let you know he would be back soon.” Estella, smiled and looked at the table, acutely aware of the empty missing, “Where is he?”

Azriel gave her a warm smile and placed his hand on top of her own his hazel eyes ablaze with warmth and happiness, “He went to the Illyrian camps a few weeks ago. He has been spending a lot of time up there to personally train his soldiers.  He says its to make sure they have the best training we can offer.”

Estella felt guilt bubble in her stomach, “But?”

Azriel’s face fell slightly, his shadows curling around him as a form of comfort, “He had been struggling staying in Velaris for too long. It Reminded him of you and the future you two were planning. He missed you.”

“We all did, Girl.” Amren corrected. Estella’s blue eyes met her swirling silver ones, “Don’t look so surprised. Your quick wit against these overgrown bats was impressive. It was nice to not be the only one with a silver tongue.”

Estella blinked; she couldn’t remember a time when Amren had outwardly complimented her. Though she wasn’t about to question the tiny one’s motives, she went back to shoveling food in her mouth. She went for seconds and cleaned that plate too, Azriel grabbed her plate when she attempted to go for more, “Pace yourself, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“The food was awful down there.” If she got any that was. She didn’t miss the concerned glances from her friends when she arrived. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in 50 years and she was afraid to, terrified at what her reflection might reveal. How badly Amarantha’s abuse taken a toll on her physically as it had emotionally.  Estella met Azriel’s gaze and he gave her a smile, kissing the side of her head. Estella cleared her throat, “Um, I am going to go upstairs and wash up.”

Mor gave her a warm smile, one she never thought she would see again, “Your room has not been touched, your clothes have been routinely cleaned.”

Estella rubbed her chest and the base of her throat fighting the emotion threatening to come up. “Thank you.” 

Azriel cupped her cheek. Stroking his thumb against her cheek, “Welcome home, Princess.”

She wrapped her arms around Az and squeezed him tightly. “I missed you. I never thought I would see you again.”

“Likewise.” He pressed his hand on the back of her head holding her close. “Fuck.” She pulled away at the Shadow  Singer’s expletive and saw that his eyes lined with silver. “I’m just..” He took a deep breath, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Me too, Az. I missed your face.” He laughed wiping his eyes, as she looked to all three of her friends, “Not a day went by that I didn’t think about you.” The two females rose from their seats and as if they were reading each other’s thoughts smothered the young female into a tight embrace, where she let her tears flow freely.

Home. She was finally, Home.

On The Balcony In Summer Air

The cool night air kissed Estella's skin for the first time in fifty years as she leaned against the balcony the silk of her red night gown doing nothing to prevent the chill, but the female couldn’t bring herself to care. Looking up at the night sky. She couldn't help but smile as tears pickled her pale blue eyes. This is what it felt like:

To be free

"Hello, Sweetheart." The low timbre of a familiar voice elicited a sob to escape her throat. Turning from the view of the city, she met glassy hazel eyes, bruises darkening his tanned skin under them. His wings were tucked back, but his siphons glowed.

She gave him a watery smile, "Hello, General." She covered her mouth to stifle the sobbed. Not being able to contain herself, she leaped into his awaiting arms and legs wrapping around his waist. Burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Cassian's arm held her up by her waist, his free hand pressing the back of her head holding her close, tears streaming down his own face. Estella pulled away and pressed her lips to his.

Cassian pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, "Welcome home, Estella." And his lips reattached to hers as he took her to their shared bed. Plopping her down on the bed his hazel eyes met her blue ones he swiped a strand of hair from her face.

She cupped her hands against his face, and took a moment to look at him, his eyes had dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in the last fifty years. He had grown out a beard the scruff rough against her skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”  She whispered.

Cassian cupped his hand against her cheek, tears spilling down his face. “I’m thinking that you are just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.” He kissed her forehead, “I’m thinking that I can’t believe that you are right here in my arms.” She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I’m thinking…” He took a deep breath, and she opened her eyes. “I’m thinking, how I never thought I would see you again. And yet here you are.”

Estella smiled, “Here I am.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart and he closed his eyes as he felt its steady beat. “Cassian, not a day went by where I didn’t wish to be with you. To be in your arms.” Tears threatened to fall but she forced it down. “I missed you so much.”

Cassian shushed her and placed his lips on to hers in a gentle kiss, “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know. I missed you. More than you could ever know.” He kissed her again, “And just so we’re clear when your brother comes home. I am beating the shit out of him.”

“Cass?”

“Hmm?” He smirked.

She gripped the collar of his leathers and pulled him closer to him, he growled in approval as she whispered on his lips, “Do not say my brother’s name while you’re in my bed.” And she clashed her lips onto his.

Estella ran her fingers through Cassian’s curls as the General was fast asleep on his stomach.  Sliding out of her bed, she opened the drawer of her nightstand, grabbed a piece of parchment, and walked back out onto her balcony. Looking back once more she made sure that Cassian remained asleep as she turned back to the parchment in her hands. Opening the parchment thinking about the author of the note.

Estella awoke back in her cell. The memory of Autumn leaves and cinnamon returning to her.  She adjusted to a sitting position her brows furrowing as she felt something in her palm. Opening the note, her breath quickened as bile threatened to rise as the question, she asked the night before came to the forefront of her mind:

“Then what do you want with me, Princeling?”

One sentence gave her his answer in perfectly neat handwriting.

I want you, My Little Viper.

Estella folded the paper and threw it on the opposite side of the cell. Pulling her knees up to her chest she had to question just how far the Prince of Autumn would go to get what he wants.

Estella sighed, staring down at the swirls of Eris’ handwriting, questions swirling in her mind.  As if she summoned him with her thoughts; a note appeared in front of her. Grabbing the parchment, she unfolded it.

Will you ever truly be free, Little Viper?

Estella glared at the parchment hoping it would erupt into flames. Folding both notes, she walked into her room, placed the notes in her nightstand, and went back to bed. The General of the Night Court’s armies arm pulling her against his chest. Though luscious red hair and russet eyes plagued her dreams.

You’ll Be The Prince and I’ll Be the Princess

After fifty long years Eris, stepped into the familiar room of orange, red and gold hues of his study. Twelve heads perked up as they saw Eris step in. The familiar dark eyes of his hounds perked up and all of them ran to their owner’s side. He bent down on a knee and allowed each of them a total of one lick per dog. Unable to fight the smile from his features of reuniting with his companions. “Hello dear Friends. I have missed you dearly.”   They all swished their tails at the sound of their master’s voice.

Home after Amarantha’s fall, the High Lords met for two days in a row and after sitting in a room with massive egos, it was nice to return home to the quiet of his study.  He walked over to his desk the mountain of paperwork there. He sighed and leaned against his chair closing his eyes, only for the ice blue eyes and raven-black hair plagued his brain. He pressed his hands to his eyes and groaned.

He sat up and removed his hands from his eyes, as an idea began to form. Opening his drawer to find his favorite quill and ink pots right where he left them. Pulling them out along with the stack of parchment. Eris began to write, as soft pink lips and the scent of Ocean Mist and Jasmine lingered in his mind as his quill began swirling across the parchment:

My Sweet Little Viper. My Beautiful Mate.

It’s A Love Story, Baby, Just Say Yes

To Be Continued...

Story tags: @milswrites @eve175 @melsunshine @believinghurts @awkardnerd @historygeekqueen @mischiefmanagers @mybestfriendmademe @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glitterypirateduck @littlestw01f @mal-adaptive-dreams @lilah-asteria @hellodarling1357 @shadowdaddies @bxm-1012 @inkyvelvet @chasing-autumns-chill @ghostwritermia @esposadomd @anuttellaa @slytherintaco @marigold-morelli @saltedcoffeescotch

If I missed someone please let me know!

[301-302]

Laissez bronzer les cadavres (Let the Corpses Tan | Hélène Cattet/Bruno Forzani | 2017)

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor. 

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty. 

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target. 

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it. 

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing. 

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.” 

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.  

“So unwilling to have fun–” 

She had just been bait. 

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—” 

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror. 

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t. 

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight. 

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down. 

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes. 

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor. 

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks. 

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

[thelittleangel]

Cowboys are frequently (secretly) fond of each other.

Tags: Dean Winchester x Cowboy! Reader, fluff, flirting, male reader, soft romance.

Warnings: possibly OOC, no use of Y/N, implied violence toward an animal, references to “taking someone home” (I’ll let you interpret that how you want.), romantic-ish interactions between dean and reader toward the end.

Taglist: @agroovygoose @pumpkinhead666

Walking into the bar, I see heads raise.  I try not to pay them any mind.  I know what kind of impression I give off.  I’m tall, shaggy hair that barely kisses my shoulders, dressed like I just wandered off the set of a Clint Eastwood movie.

I know what kind of expectations I'm supposed to fulfill.  People look at me and they see a cowboy.  A man’s man.  A straight man.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of that entire train of thought.  My dad taught me that if this was the way I was going to live my life, I needed to stop worrying about what others thought of me.  I walk over to the bar and order a beer.  The bartender hands me a frosty bottle.  I put my ring under the cap, tilt the bottle and push.  The cap pops off and I take a swig.  I put my beer on the bar, wrapping my hands around it like it’s a mug of hot coffee.  I look around the bar, watching the people.  

It’s a habit I picked up.  Me and my dad would go to a bar, and he’d order me a Coke and point out all the small details that a quick glance couldn’t catch.  

The woman at the bar had just been divorced, the tan line on her ring finger.  The couple in the booth are cheating on each other, seen by the way they sit.  The man at his table is waiting for his friend, he’s fallen madly in love with him.  

I smile for a moment.  It’s been a few years, but I'm out.  My dad didn’t like that I wanted to leave, but he’d understood.  I got an honest job working at a ranch.  The hours were long, and the work was hard, but I felt like it was a job I could be proud of.

The doorbell rang and a gust of summer air blew into the bar.  I look over at the door.  In walks the most stunning man I've ever seen.  

He was dressed in a suit, with brown hair that almost looked like gold in this light.  Eyes that may have been green, but I couldn't tell from this far away.  Freckles and stubble decorated his face in a way that complemented each other.  

I clear my throat and look away.  A man in a bar like this dressed like that was here for a girl.  But, no.  His posture suggested he was here on business.  

I turn back to my beer.  I didn't need to find a man to glance at for the rest of the night.  I look down at my drink, trying to clear my head.  I sit like that for a moment, savoring my beer.  Someone settles into the seat beside me.  I look over, and he’s smiling back at me.  

My face burns hot, and I hope that the lights are dim enough that he can’t see me.  I turn back to my beer.  I hear him order a drink, his voice strong and deep.  He turns back to me, beer in hand.

“You’re ____, right?”  Dear god, how does he know my name?

“Special Agent Hammett, FBI.”  oh. That explains it.

“Yeah, I am.  Why do you ask?”

“We’re investigating the cattle deaths that are happening at your ranch and we wanted to know if you’ve seen anything strange.”

“Strange?”

“Cold spots, weird smells, crop failures…”

“No, just the cows.”

“And what would you say happened?”

“I just… went into work one day and there was a bull ripped to shreds.”

He nods.  “Could I see it?”

The next day, I was showing Agent Hammet onto the ranch.  The way the sun hit his eyes was one of the most beautiful things I've seen.  Like seeing the way the light hits the trees for the first time.  I look away.  I need to focus on why we’re here.

I led him toward the barn.  Inside a cooler, the bull’s body was resting.  The agent pulled on some gloves and started looking through the body.  I look away from the corpse and try to suppress the urge to vomit.

Eventually, he pulls out a small tooth.  Small and pointed, it was very scary looking.  “It looks like a fang…” He turns to me.  “Is there anything that lives around here that might leave something like this?”

I shake my head. “No, not that I know of.”  He puts the tooth into a tiny bag and pockets it.  

He looks up at me, and he must see the sick look on my face, because he stands up and says, “Let me buy you a drink.”  We both climbed into his car, a nice-looking thing.

“I can’t believe the FBI lets you drive this car around.”  He just smiles, still looking at the road.  “They do.”

I shake my head, a goofy grin stretched onto my face. “I don’t know, seems a little conspicuous.”

“You’d be surprised.”  I looked over at him.  His smile is gone, looking at the road lost in the thought.  When I look at him, I just want to reach over and-

I look out at the road.  I can’t entertain that thought.  I refuse to.  I glance over and I find him looking at me.  He turns his eyes back to the road.  

Eventually, we found our way back to the bar.  Walking inside, it was deserted.  We chose the same seats we picked last time.  Ordered the same drinks.  We settled in, sitting in silence for the longest time.  It's not uncomfortable, just quiet.  

He watches me.  I can feel his eyes in all of their silent intensity.  I want to look back at him, but I know if I do, he’ll break his gaze.  “So, what do you make of this, cowboy?”  I laugh to myself.  “What?”  

I finally look back at him.  “The last person who called me cowboy, I ended up taking home with me.”  

He gives me a soft smile.  “Who says I wouldn't want to go home with you?”

I look away, my eyes wide.  My face is a bright burning red.  He throws his head back and laughs.  I put my face in my hands, trying to make my face normal again.  He places a hand on my back, and I startle.  I groan to myself.  Jesus Christ, this man is making me act like a teenage girl.

I look over at him and he’s still watching me.  We fall into another silence, this one not uncomfortable like the last.  Peaceful, like the answer to everything was in each other’s eyes.  He reaches over and tucks a few stray hairs behind my ears.  My breathing began to slow, my heartbeat decreasing.  

I slowly place my hand on his face.  A few of my fingers gently touched his jaw.  I watch his eyes dart around my face, maybe doing the same thing I did last night.  Searching for micro expressions, any type of indicator that this was too good to be true.  I realized something.  

I pull my hand away from his face.  “Are you...?”

His brow furrowed in confusion.  “Am I what?”

“Are you a hunter?”

His eyes widened for a moment.  His chest begins to go up and down a little bit more.  He was breathing heavily.  I’d caught him.

“How do you know what hunters are?”  

I look up and watch as my father enters the bar.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Part 2

[leah-lover]

Meeting again. Alexia x reader part 3.

Reader is confronted by her friends.

Saying that tension was in the air would be an understatement. After the hellos, hugs and kisses the whole team went back to the changing room and took Leila with them. So there I was standing in front of Alexia, mapi, ingrid, parti, claudia, and aitana.

The silence was loud and their glares were unforgiving. All i thought to myself was that i didn't belong in barca anymore, i was cursing myself for ever choosing to leave city before Ingrid said “ We cant talk about this here how about we go to a restaurant and have a proper conversation.”

The rest of the girls seemed to agree with her, then Parti jumped and said “ okay then we will meet at our usual spot in about an hour, you still remembered no ?” she asked me with a sarcastic tone.

Confused, I only nodded and waited for them to all get inside before I breathed again. This encounter was harsh but I had a feeling it wasnt gonna get any easier.

After an hour I found myself at a table in my favorite restaurant with feelings I buried three years ago. All the anger, shame, and sadness came back with it. I waited a little before they all came together except alexia who was running late.

“ So how do you want to start this? Maybe with an apology for what you have done.” started Patri as soon as she sat down, which earned her a jab from Claudia who told her to be nicer.

“ i don't know what had gotten into you these past three years Patri but i don't this i have anything to apologies about.'' I replied with a defensive tone.

“ yes you do carino. You let us, no goodby no nothing we had to learn the news from instagram like everybody but we are not everybody we are your family and we felt hurt. Plus you didn't talk to us for 3 years. You denied every try at contacting you. You abandoned us you……” said mapi softly so as to not sound angry because she wasn't. They all went angry; they were just hurt.

“ Look, we don't have to do this. I came here to do my job and play good fucking football. I did this for my career not to rip my insides out again.'' I replied, trying to hold back my tears.

“ Darling, we are not trying to hurt you, we are trying to understand you. We are just curious why our best friend left us. ” explained ingrid with a concerned look on her face.

“ there is nothing to understand that your bestfriend is dead. She died three years ago. I have been a walking corpse since I left. I don't feel anything i am numb to everything.'' I managed to get out before a few tears left my eyes.

I then got up and went out. I was overwhelmed and all the feeling came back rushing. Which led me to hyperventilate. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back.

“ I am sorry about our reaction. We didn't know this would happen. We acted out of love for you. We missed you. We just are so very sorry just come back inside.” said aitana before pulling me into a hug.

I then started crying, all the tears i have been holding back decided to go out all at once.

“ i love her tan, i still do, i abandoned her, i gave up on her i didn't fight for her.'' I said while crying into tana’s shoulder.

“ I know darling, I know. She loves you too. She has been suffering without you we all have. Now just come back inside please.” she added running her hand through my back.

“ i dont think it's a good idea, I just want to go home now.” I said after we separated.

“ okay. Call me when you are ready to talk, okay.” she added before going back in.

When I got home Leila was already there. So as soon as I saw her on the couch I went straight to her and laid on her chest.

“ How did it go?” she said, running her hand through my hair.

“ fucking horrible.” I answered.

“ Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “ I will get you some ice cream.” she answered herself after looking at me.

When Leila was gone the doorbell rang so i went to answer it.

And there she was in front of me, beautiful as ever. “ I know you want space but we need to talk.” she said and I ushered her in.

“ I miss you and I want you back.” she started after sitting on the couch. “ I know I was shitty to you, you didn't deserve what I put you through. I changed carino. You motivate me to get my priorities straight. You are my number 1 priority. You matter more than football more than le and more than life itself. Please give me a chance again. Please mi amor.”

Her words left me speechless. I was too tired to start over. I just want to be comforted and loved.

[simplepotatofarmer]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream & Technoblade - Desert

mirage

The map was useless; never ending brown stretching out to the edges of the cream paper it was printed on. Dream would have thrown it away but there was some comfort in looking at it, trying to piece together the location he was currently and where he was supposed to be going. A security blanket that probably would've been more helpful if it had been an actual blanket.

He wiped his hand across his brow, careful not to get sweat or the tiny grains of sand that clung to him in his eyes.

"This is so stupid," he said and the desert swallowed his words in silence. For a brief moment, Dream shivered, cold.

Hours ago, he had removed his armor. It was heavy and dark and trapped heat and he would have more of a chance against an opponent without armor than he would against the beating sun. He trudged on.

And he trudged on, only stopping when the sun was high in the sky and there was a small mound of sandstone to press his back against. There was terracotta mixed in and Dream checked the map once more, looking for any landmark that could match up to whatever this had once been. Nothing. He should head back, he knew that, but somewhere out in this desert was an old village and in it was a library and, possibly, a book.

If it's still there, thought Dream, not wanting to speak out loud again.

Using his overshirt as paltry shade, Dream closed his eyes, the cold bones of the sandstone lulling him to sleep.

He woke when a shadow fell over him.

He stared up, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, wondering sluggishly if he had died or gone crazy from the heat. Either was possible and more plausible.

"You alive there, man?" asked Techno.

Blinking, Dream pushed himself upright, hands slipping on the sand covered stone. The tiny granules digging into his palms felt real. He pulled his shirt down and wiped his face with the hem.

"What the fuck?"

Techno crouched down, the brim of his wide, floppy hat almost hitting Dream. He wore no armor, no bright red cloak like usual, but a loose white shirt and baggy tan pants.

"Hullo to you, too, Dream."

"What-- What are you doing here?" His brain felt like it was slowly beginning to move but in the wrong direction, the question not the one he really wanted an answer to.

"I can't make sure a friend doesn't die of heatstroke?"

Techno shifted where he was crouching, hooves leaving marks in the sand. He glanced out across the desert, away from the rocky mound. Dream frowned. Confusion and relief and a little bit of fear all swirled around in his chest.

"What- Wait. How did-- How did you find me?" he asked, closer to the question he really wanted to ask but not quite. Maybe he was afraid of that question and the answer.

"Ah." Techno sat next to Dream, his back also against the sandstone. "I have my ways, I have my ways... Also it wasn't that hard when Tommy wouldn't shut up about seeing you head out this way."

"Heh."

It made sense. It was even funny and Dream grinned. Next to him, Techno was watching him with concern but chuckled when Dream let out his quiet huff of laughter.

"Yeah, he thinks you're up to something but apparently the only thing you're up to is gettin' lost and dyin' of dehydration," Techno said.

"I'm not dying," said Dream and rolled his eyes, ignoring how dry they felt.

"Oh, sure, sure. You just normally look like a corpse."

Dream tilted his head.

"Well, to be fair, after the prison..."

The laugh Techno gave was choking, surprised, and he shook his head. Strands of pink hair stuck out from his braid and he flicked one of his ears.

"Alright, you got me there, man."

"Yeah."

Dream leaned his head against the rock. The sun was lower in the sky now, waves of heat visible off the sand. There was silence but it didn't feel as ominous now.

"D'you find what you were lookin' for?"

With a sigh, Dream brushed some sand off his pants.

"No. You- You could help me."

"I dunno." Techno frowned, looking over at Dream. "I only brought enough water to get across this stretch of desert then back. Speakin' of, you look like you could use a drink."

"Right," said Dream, as he pulled out his canteen and took a sip, the first one he had had in hours. It made sense; from Techno's perspective this was a rescue mission and nothing more. Or it was Dream's subconscious telling him what he already knew. Both scenarios led to the same conclusion. He took a deep breath. "Are... Are you real?"

"Heh? I'm real." Techno held out his arm in front of Dream. "You wanna pinch me and make sure?"

"No." Once more there were two answers that led to the same outcome and either Dream could make the trek back alone or with company, real or imagined. "Alright. Let's go."

@sixteenth-day-event