#Sticky Note: Eden

[cokoweee]

I’m feeding my own brain. Guess what imma do next year is that..

[feinyan]

DATING HEADCANONS featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago, wolfgang akire, desmond hall and mark berskii.

edens garden maxxing rn :] i enjoyed chapter one a lot, so i’ll be pumping out a bit more writing of them ^^; feel free to send in requests, (even if its for different medias) though i already have 3-4 drafts ill be dishing out eventually.

damon, who treats you like you’re a fragile little doll, prepared for you to break at any moment. hence, why he worries for you so much. though he attempts (and fails) to play it off as a casual concern. ‘are you hurt? bleeding?’ ‘what? no? i just tripped, damon.’ ‘are you sure? let me check just incase. come on, stop moving.’ damon, who always has a limb around you. his hands? wrapped around your waist, or intertwined within your own. his legs? always pressed up against yours. if you point it out, he gets flustered and denies it, pulling away. but you’ll still find his eyes constantly lingering on you, as if he hasn’t felt your contact in months and needed it desperately. damon, who is a tease, yet gets flustered just as easily. sarcastic, teasing remarks always escaping his lips, smirking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. though the minute you retort back with a comment of your own, he's completely quiet. blushing and muttering embarrassed insults under his breath. damon, who doesn’t quite understand standards when it comes to dating. holding a door open for you? walking close to the road? wearing a hair tie on his wrist incase you’d needed one? a foreign concept to him. but regardless, upon hearing things told to him by other people whilst rambling like kai, he tries his best to adapt to it. things that would normally be unusual for him, he attempts because he wants the best for you. damon, who is stingy and a bother about little trinkets you point out. ‘do you really need that?’ ‘that looks stupid.’ ‘its so small. why is it expensive?’ yet of course, they’d somehow end up within your residence. somehow. obviously, it were damon. damon, who spoils you with acts of services. openly doing things he’d refuse to or need convincing for from others, going out of his way to do things for you without being asked, etc. sure, maybe once in awhile he’ll knock on your head and call you an idiot for not being able to do something yourself, but it’s just teasing. he truly doesn’t mind providing for you, or helping you. anything that offers spending time with you is worth it for him.

kai, who couldn’t get enough of you. your touch, your attention, your words, you name it, he likes it. his hands are constantly all over you, any opportunity he’s given. he melts within your touch, in his most vulnerable state, unable to resist anything when it comes from you and your grasp. kai, who spoils you with anything he can offer — cute endearing nicknames, gifts he’d found that he thought you’d like, or even little snacks he thought looked silly that you two could try together. he loves to see your expression light up when he offers you some item he’d found that he thought you’d enjoy. even if you don’t end up liking it, the idea of him being reminded of you or thinking of you enough to make the purchase still leaves you feeling warm. kai, who whiningly calls you princess whenever he needs something from you. aside from his casual nicknames that he adores, like sweetheart or baby, whenever princess leaves his lips, you know he wants something from you. kai, who is admittedly quite insecure. he’s scared he’ll be abandoned by you, just like he’d been left by so many others who viewed him differently due to the persona he puts on online. but because of this, it just means he cherishes what you give him more than anything. he wants you to be able to touch those negative emotions inside of him, and see what really lies within his heart, not what he puts on the internet or around others.

wolfgang, who leaves encouraging little sticky notes around your desk when spending time away from you. reminders to take care of yourself, reminders that he loves you and wishes he were with you, etc. wolfgang, who gently takes care of you whenever given the opportunity. brushing your hair in the morning, making you coffee, assisting you in filling out paperwork, you name it. despite being such a busy man, he works hard to make sure he’s around for you. wolfgang, who despite appearing so cool headed, is such a jealous boy. the type to watch you talk to someone from behind and give them a disgustingly stern glare, but the moment you turn to face him, hes smiling sweetly in your direction. the type to wrap his arms around you and get all close and mushy in order to scare off someone else eyeing you. wolfgang, who invites you out on the sweetest dates ever. picnics under the warm, dimly lit night sky, only the stars witnessing the two of you giggling away and laying together. or, a romantic date at a a fancy restaurant, where the two of you dress elegantly, yet he can’t take his eyes off of you. his mind too caught onto the gorgeous attire tight against your body, too lost in how gorgeous you look whilst speaking to him. wolfgang, who spoils you with luxurious items. anything you want? you’ll get it. he doesn’t mind what you wear, whether or not you like cute or cheap things. what does matter though, is if you want something. and if you want something, you’ll get it.

desmond, who is so smooth with his words, you could die. the way he speaks to you in such a soft and caring tone. the way he goes along willingly with whatever you say, because admittedly, what makes you happy makes him happy. the way he speaks about you in such an endearing way to others. others may be embarrassed when speaking of or sharing about someone they love, but desmond expresses the way he feels for you without hesitation. desmond, who teaches you little quirks about his ultimate. little things that could be useful for protecting you, or just things he finds neat and wants to share with you. desmond, who is perfect for a clumsy you. about to trip? hes already grabbed you, hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back up onto your feet. about to spill something? hes grabbed the glass, preventing it. his quick reflexes are almost scary.

mark, who loves to kiss a certain part of you. your hands, your nose, silly yet specific places which just make him feel warm. mark, who gets embarrassed about the way he thinks about you. who will be listening to you rambling like usual, yet turn his head out of no where, muttering to himself like a flustered mess. mark, who has an attitude which is no joke. it doesn’t come off as a surprise, but the way he rolls his eyes and grumbles makes it much easier to decipher when he’s displeased or irritated. but to him, you’re a soft spot which can always manage to cheer him up. your silence yet presence close to his serves as a type of battery for him. mark, who is constantly sharing songs that he likes to you. new songs hes found that remind him of you, a song hes been listening to a lot recently, or even just songs hes worked on. he wants you to enjoy what he does.

@ feinyan

[thyln4gf]

Cheri cheri lady

✞ Watching you on the top step of the podium for the first time, while still in your rookie year... It all tasted a little bitter for Lando, but he wasnt complaining too much... he did get the best view out of them all - right from p2.

✞ Word count - 808

✞ I have synesthesia! Heres 5 songs that I associate with this fic - "american jesus" - Nessa Barrett, "heavy metal lover" - Lady Gaga, "flawless" - The Neighbourhood, "take me back to eden" - Sleep Token, "hall of fame" - The Script. Note - i do have a whole playlist. Ask if you want it.

✞ Warnings - none, I guess. A lot of fluffy shite. Slightly suggestive. A short little blurb inspired by Landos first win<3 Gg, my boy.

✞ Lando Norris x Mercedes!Reader

The sound of a crowd yelling someone elses name annoyed him till no end - it reminded him of the fact that he hasnt won yet, and that hes currently holding a pretty sad record - the highest number of podiums without a win. That, until it came to you - it immediately became something that he wanted to hear over and over. It was almost as sweet as the champagne swirling down his body, the sun kissing his face, or the sweet, sweet sound of an anthem that wasnt the dutch one.

It all started at the beginning of the season, really. He was intimidated by you at first, just a little - for the first quali of the season, your rookie season, you had already grabbed the pole. But, quickly enough, he found himself getting more and more curious about you. He would ask you about the weather, or about the ridiculous activities the media admins made you do - to "see if it matched his". It was far from enough for him though - he wanted to know everything about you. How do you like your waffles? He wanted to ask you about that. He wanted to ask you about breakfast and honey. Sunlight. Do you like strawberry smoothies? What was the name of your childhood cat? Do you have any scars?

There were so many things he wanted to say, but didnt know how to. Thats why he spent quite a bit of his time quietly observing you. He felt as if you were just a mere result of his imagination - one touch, just one taste - and youd disappear.

His newly found obsession, however, was watching the wide grin fighting for its place on your face. You were stood on that step, taking up the space that you deserved oh so much. He was a little jealous of the success that you found yourself in so soon, but he couldnt peel his eyes away from you - the way you were stood there, proud. The golden hour danced on your face, making the sweat drenched features pop out. Just like him, the sun seemed to enjoy your eyes - they looked like the shiniest gems you could find.

The champagne celebration rolled around. He was already giggling, looking forward to absolutely drowning you in the sticky, sweet, liquid luck. He looked at Daniel on the other side, the English anthem for Mercedes coming to an end. They both wiggled their eyebrows at each other, seemingly getting the exact same idea, and locking it in.

They could have planned all they wanted, honestly - but you were just quicker. You jumped off the step quickly, it almost looked like you were flying. To Landos surprise, you didnt go for your usual move. Instead, you seemed to use his - the famous champagne floor smash. He was so pleasantly surprised that he didnt even register a stream of the beverage aimed right into the centre of his face. Wiping the champagne from his eyes, he saw your wide grin - and Daniel getting the back of your head. You shrieked - and it wasnt from the surprise, he knew. You washed your hair just this morning.

As much as he would have wanted that scene to last forever... Like all good things, it quickly came to an end. But that meant that he got to stand by your side for the photo - and it made him nervous, almost like a young, teenage boy, whos crush went to the same school.

He was nervous. Oh, so nervous. He was a little scared of messing something up, taking great measures to avoid exactly that. He did end up on the wrong side of the step, somehow. He didnt even notice, but thats until he felt your hands on his waist, gently gripping onto the material of his suit.

"Youre in the wrong spot, darling." You had murmured into his ear, gently guiding him to where you wanted him. A smirk was so evident in your tone, even if he wasnt looking at your face.

The hands.

The. Gentle. Fucking. Hands.

His stomach quickly got filled with a ton of butterflies, his brain shortcircuiting. He would have frozen in the spot, if the circumstances had allowed him. And he did, at first - was given a slap to the back of his head by Daniel quickly enough to not be noticed, though. Or, thats what he thought - people were talking about it already, and it would continue for days. If not weeks. And not even the fact that you just casually moved him, just like that. Not the placement of your hands - but the fact that he could be seen blushing, all shy, like a little girl.

Despite it not being his victory, it was his favourite podium of all time already. But, who knew. Maybe the next one was gonna be his?

[softmangoes]

cabin fever | eden x defiant!pc

18+ only

summary: you finally slip free from your leash. eden finds you not long after.

includes: defiant!fem pc, captive to lovers, violence, animal death, pov switches, blood, first-aid, a very touch-starved eden

author's note: this is my very first DOL fic and of course it had to include my favorite forest husband. this was so fun to write, so please let me know what you think! 🧡

-

the large man pushes you back into the cabin before he falls to the floor with a dull thud. his hunting jacket is dark with blood flowing from an angry gash in his shoulder. you watch him, your knees stinging from scraping against the wooden planks, but he does not get back up.

behind the strands of his dirt-caked hair, you see one of his eyes trained on you.

"is this what you wanted?" he says, voice strained. "to run away?"

a part of you still wants to. with him in this vulnerable state, you're pretty sure you can.

ever since he had first dragged you into the cabin, you had spent hours weakening the leash with a flint arrowhead you managed to find near your post. finally, after days of being fucked against your will, you managed to slip free out of the cabin and into the woods.

it had not taken him long to notice you were gone. in your desperation, you did not think things through. he was a hunter, after all. of course he would find you.

and when he did, he had yanked you from the forest floor, kicking and screaming, gripping you so tightly that your shirt had ripped and your skin became bruised with his fingertips.

and now he's here in front of you, half conscious. you look at him, panting softly and bleeding out onto the floor. despite the pain he must be in, he's still staring at you.

"get away from her," he had growled to the onslaught of snapping teeth. "she's mine."

you had watched the wolf lunge onto him, sinking its teeth into his skin. in the scuffle, he had lost his grip on his rifle. you picked it up, the metal cold in your hands, before training its sight at the writhing struggle between beast and man.

in that moment, you could have ended it all. but before you could pull the trigger, you heard a sudden snap of bone. the great wolf went limp, its last breath a pained whine. with a huff, eden pushed its body off of him and took you by the collar.

"you had your chance," he said, voice hollow. "but i won't die that easily."

right now, you could get up. he could watch you leave. in his current state, it would be impossible for him to follow you.

a part of you wants to hate him, but there's something in the way he looks at you - like he's afraid, ashamed even - that makes you get on your knees and crawl to him.

"what...?" he manages.

"don't make me regret this," you say before tearing off a piece of your shirt and pressing it to the wound.

he does not cry out. blood, warm and red, wets your fingers but you do not stop. you feel his hand wrap around your wrist and for a second, you think he's going to snap it just like he did with the wolf's neck, but he just keeps it there. his palm is rough with calluses, his knuckles silvery with scars. you keep the pressure steady all while he watches you silently.

once the bleeding has stopped, you wipe your hands on your shorts and go to the kitchen to retrieve a jar of poultice and a jug of water. on the first night you spent in the cabin, you remember that he had applied some of it to cuts you sustained during your time in the forest. they had healed quickly after that.

gingerly, you unbutton his shirt to expose the wound. seeing him bare isn't anything new to you, but this was different.

"an hour ago, you wanted to kill me," he says. it's a statement, but also a question. you don't give him an answer.

his chest is sticky with drying blood, but you manage to peel away most of his shirt from the gash. he winces as you do this, grunting softly under his breath.

at the orphanage, you would bandage the little ones whenever they came crying to you with cuts and bruises. one time, robin had slipped into your room, tears in his eyes, as he held up an arm marred by a deep cut from biking too fast down a hill.

all of them had hissed in pain from your ministrations while trying to heal their affliction, but not eden. he was silent, giving you nothing else more than breathy huffs.

you wash the wound with water, watching as dirt and debris flow away. once it's clean, you apply the poultice, tearing off another strip of your shirt to wrap it around the torn flesh.

there is no fear you sense from him, no anxiety at this angry wound - only a weary resignation. it's an exhaustion that you can't help but find familiar.

--

eden was not afraid of death, but he had a hard time trying to figure out why he was still alive.

hours later, as the dawn light filtered through the window, he felt rather than saw your attempt at giving him first-aid.

it was shoddy work, but satisfactory: the result of the exhausted desperation he saw in your eyes as you worked to patch him up for reasons he could not understand.

but why?

at this point, the pain had significantly lessened due to the poultice and he could finally gather his thoughts. eden expected that your kindness would end at the last knot tied for his dressing. if there had been any moment you could have chosen to fled, last night would have been perfect.

instead, he was surprised to see your sleeping form curled up in front of the fireplace. something like relief made him relax at the sight of you, dirty but uninjured. but there. still there.

--

"you didn't leave," he says, his eyes still closed.

you blow into the wooden cup, sending curls of steam into the air. it's a simple broth you made with mushrooms from the barrel, herbs from the garden, and leftover rabbit bones and gristle leftover from a previous meal - nothing special, but nourishing enough.

"open your mouth," you instruct, bringing a spoonful of the hot soup to his lips.

earlier, you had somehow managed to prop him up with some cushions without disturbing himself and his injury. it had been a challenge - the man was so huge - but whatever was in the poultice must have kept him asleep.

he opens his mouth and lets you feed him, groaning in satisfaction as he swallows. a lock of his hair falls over his face, so you push it away and let your hand rest on his jaw to ready him for another serving. the pad of your thumb presses against a slash of soft scar tissue.

"are you okay?" you ask when his breath hitches.

eden's eyes open. they bore into you, wary. you can feel them shift from your face to your bare skin. the events of last night had ruined your shirt, so you were only in a pair of shorts and a sports bra.

"i'm fine." he licks his lips. his gaze falls on the old scar sliced across your neck, a memento from bailey. it's something the hunter would stare at often whenever he would take you. "just give me more."

hours later, you're still not sure why you're keeping him alive. perhaps you felt sorry for him, a man all alone in the wilderness. perhaps it was because if you left, there was hardly any life for you to go back to. at this point, you were definitely behind on your weekly payments, and bailey would not let that slide without making sure you would regret it.

you dip the wash cloth into the warm water, wringing it before gently wiping the hunter's face. blood and grime disappear to reveal scattered scars, a mole, and tawny skin made golden by hours in the sun.

in the weeks you had been held captive by this man, you had never seen his face this close. his features are strong - a sharp jaw, a nose that looks like it had been broken once, and cheeks framed by long locks of dark hair.

despite all the reasons he's given you not to think so, you find him beautiful.

you don't want to admit it, so you tell yourself that the heat that spreads across your face is not from seeing the strong, corded muscles of his bare chest, but the fatigue earned from another day of caring for him.

that was it. that was all.

--

when he comes to, eden sees an angel. her skin is sweet, warm. her touch is gentle, a perfect palm pressed against his forehead. she is beautiful, ethereal. a blessing.

she is everything he has never deserved.

when she opens her mouth, soft lips like fresh petals in the spring, she says, "eden, you're burning up."

the sound of his name is nothing short of salvation.

"fuck!" she says, voice drifting off into the distance. "fuck fuck fuck!"

something like glass presses against his mouth. he turns away.

"why aren't you swallowing it?" she curses. the next thing he sees is her tipping a small amber bottle to her face.

then: warmth. soft petals press against his lips and he gasps at the closeness, at her scent encompassing all of his senses. a tongue probes at his teeth and he opens himself to receive her offering.

sweet liquid fills his mouth: valerian, oregano, echinacea, honey. the taste is similar to the antibiotic tincture he keeps in his pantry.

he takes his good arm and steadies her against his body, pulling her deeper into the kiss. she makes a sound like she's surprised and he feels her hands cup his jaw. he does not deserve any of it, but he wants more. he wants all of her.

"eden," she breathes, pulling away. the angel wipes her wet mouth with the back of her hand, scarlet coloring her cheeks. she rolls off of him.

the absence of her warmth is agony, but before he can call for her, sleep takes him once again.

--

the next morning, you're on top of eden with the flint arrowhead pressed against his neck.

you do not think about the kiss. you do not think about the way he held you as you forced the medicine into his mouth.

in fact, you could end this. right now, you could take the cabin for yourself. there are enough provisions to last you until you find a way to figure out how to live here. all you have to do is -

"do it," he says, eyes clear and watching you. they look like storm clouds. like morning fog. like the water of the crystal lake where he found you.

you pause, hesitant.

for the first time since he brought you here, his eyes soften.

"someone did that to you, didn't they?" he asks, voice thick with fatigue. "they hurt you."

somehow, you know he's talking about the scar on your neck. you remember bailey pinning you to the wall, his pocketknife carving your skin after you bit him for daring to lay his hands on robin.

"i know what that's like," he says, averting his gaze. there's a note of shame in his voice. "to feel helpless."

you see the silvery scar along his jaw.

and then you break. because in the end, you are both just two animals with the same wounds.

you toss the arrowhead away and it clatters on the wooden floor. then you replace your hands at his neck with your mouth against his.

there's a moment of hesitation before he kisses you back, hungry and desperate.

"more," he growls, and you obey by pulling your bra off over your head.

you lean over him and he takes your breast into his mouth, lapping slowly at the soft bud of your nipple with his warm tongue. you mewl, tightening your thighs around his torso.

when he sinks his teeth into your skin, you gasp, taking his hair into your fist. it's going to bruise, but you don't mind.

"more," he says again, licking between your breasts. you feel his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and after a moment of shuffling, you oblige.

he grips your thighs as he lowers you down to his face, his breath hot against your wet slit.

moments after he brings his tongue to your clit, you come shaking and whimpering.

although he's fucked you more times than you can count, this is different.

before, he would never take your pleasure into account and would ram into you until he was satisfied. even then, it would not be enough for his appetite. he'd pull you to him for more, no matter how sore or hurt you were.

but now, he's licking small circles in this part of you that aches for his touch, pulling you deeper into him as you shudder. it's exhilarating. you can't get enough of it.

"eden," you breathe, your voice trembling from coming undone once again.

"mm?" he pulls away. his eyes are hazy with lust - storm clouds rolling through the sky, rumbling with thunder.

"i want you inside of me," you tell him, ready for the lightning.

gently, he guides you onto your back. the floor is still warm from his body, the cushions you placed a few days ago soft against the back of your head.

he sheds his shirt, careful not to undo the dressing. you help him unbutton his pants. there's a scar on his hip and you think about biting it.

"are you sure you'll be okay?" you ask, worried that the wound would reopen. "i don't want you to get hurt."

"i'll be fine," he says, trailing kisses along your neck. "as long as you're here to take care of me."

there's a gentleness to his voice, an implied question. you're tempted to say yes, but you're not yet quite sure.

eden presses into you, his length brushing against your clit. you grip his arms, his muscles tight under your fingers, as you moan.

"let me hear them," he breathes. his voice is soft, tender - this is not the roughness of the man who became your captor. "you were always so quiet before."

eden groans, thrusting himself into you with one long slide. his dark hair cascades over you as he lowers his body to meet yours.

"take me," you say, biting your lip at the sheer pleasure curling hot within your core. you buck your hips towards him, meeting him at the hilt. "all of me."

it's his turn to gasp. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face to yours as he rocks his hips into you.

you kiss the scar on his jaw, tangle your fingers in his hair. the scent of him is earthy, like the forest. you wouldn't mind getting lost in him.

eden huffs, pleasure building within the both of you. you're holding him like that when you begin to come, his name whispered between your lips.

it's not long after that he climaxes, too, burrowing his face into your neck once the shaking stops.

there are a few moments of silence. you hear nothing else but the wind howling outside.

"don't run," he says. so quiet, just barely louder than the crackling of the fireplace.

your bodies are warm and sweat-slicked, glistening with the glow of your embrace.

"i'll protect you." his lips trace the scar on your neck. "i'll provide for you." his mouth brushes yours. "all you have to do is stay." when he lifts his face, you see his eyes shining in the firelight. he's desperate, and you get the sense that he will not ask again.

you think of the life you had before you were taken - the beatings, the stealing, the lying you had to do in order to survive. was it really worth going back to? could you hope to build a new future, one warm with firelight?

your hand finds his. his fingers are strong, callused, but they're gentle. they could be yours, if you want it.

to your surprise, a blush colors your hunter's cheeks. in this moment of tenderness, you find your answer.

"i'll stay," you tell him, like it's a promise. like it's a vow.

[thegirlingold]

♡ Fragrance list

Here is my list of all the fragrances I have and want! I'm a gourmet, fruity, citrus, floral and sweet perfume lover and I like scents with warm, cozy, fun and flirty vibes. So if thats your thing, this list is perfect for you <3

1. Burberry Her

Top Notes: Blackberry, Red and Dark Berries

Middle Notes: Violet, Jasmine

Base Notes: Musk, Amber, Cedar wood

2. Zara Gourmand Addict

Top Notes: Pink Freesia, Juicy Plum, Creamy Musks

Middle Notes: Orris Butter, White Praline, Jasmine Petals

Base Notes: Vanilla Absolute, Cocoa Butter

3. Cotton On Blossom and Mandarin

4. Lush Sticky Dates

Caramel, Bensoin, Sandalwood

5. Mod Blush Ariana Grande

Top Notes: Raspberry, passionfruit, pink pepper, bergamot

Middle Notes: Rose, Pear, Magnolia

Base Notes: Musk, Sandalwood

6. Jo Malone Peony and Blush Suede

Top Notes: Red Apple

Middle Notes: Peony, Jasmine, Carnation, Rose

Base Notes: Suede

7. Sol De Janeiro Cheriosa 68

Top Notes: Dragonfruit, Litchi

Middle Notes: Jasmine, Sea notes, Hibiscus

Base Notes: Vanilla, Musk

8. Penhaligon's Luna

Top Notes: Lemon, Bergamont, Bitter orange

Middle Notes: Rose, Juniper berries, Jasmine

Base Notes: Musk, Amber

9. Penhaligon's Empressa

Top Notes: Blood orange, Peach, Pink pepper

Middle Notes: Rose, Blackberry, Geranium

Base Notes: Patchouli, Vanilla, Sandalwood

10. Victoria's Secret Vanilla Dusk

Vanilla, Honey, Fig

11. Victoria's Secret Bare Vanilla

Vanilla, Cachmere

12. Bath and Body Works In the Stars

Top Notes: Tangerine

Middle Notes: Sandalwood, Starflower

Base Notes: Oud, Amber, Musk

13. Bath and Body Works Satin Slippers

White rose, Jasmine, Musk

14. Bath and Body Works Pure Wonder

Jasmine, Amber, Rose

15. Kayali Vanilla | 28

Top Notes: Vanilla Orchids

Middle Notes: Tonka Absolute

Base Notes: Amber Woods

16. So Scandal! Jean Paul Gaultier

Raspberry, orange blossom, milk, tuberose

17. Eden Juicy Apple | 01 Eau De Parfum Kayali Fragrances

Red apple, berries, jasmine, vanilla

18. Scandal By Night Jean Paul Gaultier

Cherry, honey, tonka bean, vanilla

19. Cloud Ariana Grande

Whipped cream, coconut, praline, vanilla

I hope this helps!

xoxo,

The Girl In Gold

[kagecreep]

Punishment (VxMC)

(Killer Chat)

Description: More than anything humans want to be understood. V exposes you to his work. Plaster mind beside Stone mind. Warnings: Gore, corruption... the usual

Notes: more notes on Ao3 WC: 2.7k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It is a special anger.

A vitriol that punishes and pleases; pleasure in the infliction, thick vines of steel down and down again. It splatters––like mud, warmed by summer, in splashing boots in winding, younger evenings. Coating and sticky, that filthy, enveloping embrace.

You wrench it in and a cry is wrenched out of you in return. Equal scales. Aching and wanton. It sings in the street out back of the bar. You are singing in the street out back of the bar.

If rage is blinding, then the satisfaction of satiated rage is sheer ecstasy. Your heart rolls around in your body and brings it everywhere; blood rushing, veins rolling, singing, dancing entwined with nerves beneath your skin. Everything is singing. Your grin is dancing over your face, crooked and twisting, lips agape and teeth dripping with thick, red clots. He is already gone. The sins linger in his body. 

You cut in and try to remove them, try to salvage what is left from the putridity of his actions in life. 

Knife squelch and tendon rip. Remove genitalia, remove eyes. Remove hands. All used in detriment. Nothing righteous ever came from his hands.

You cut in and pull out his teeth, stretch the muscles and rip slowly at the tongue, cutting the muscle bit by bit, watching how the blood flows back into his throat and pools there till you can't see your own fingers working in his cold mouth.

You want to bite in. Jagged teeth rending flesh away from bone, animal teeth spitting fat and intestine––but you don't want him in your mouth. It's his desire to be in the wanting mouth of a beautiful specimen. You will give him nothing of the sort.

Besides, Valentin is still watching you. He does not approve of cannibalism. It is not so easily washed from the material body. Instead, you shove the tongue in the puffy, open wound where his genitalia once hung. A pleasing and useless tongue.

"That's enough," Valentin says, places a firm hand on your shoulder, and pulls you away.

You stumble off and land backwards, bloody hands scraping across the freezing, wet cement. Your body is shaking. Animal bones want to pounce. But the humanity lingers in Valentin, slowly seeping into you, as animal greed drips out and pools, and is absorbed by the flood.

You didn't understand before; you thought you did, thought you comprehended the drive and will of Valentin. It made sense and you admired his flowers––the logic that gave his actions meaning.

It's enlightenment. Freedom. He brought you here, brought you to the garden. He pulled away the blinding sun to see the wilted underside of humanity. Roots of Eden's tree reaching for nutrients; blood in the soil. A man crawling out of a bar, sick with alcohol and false morals like leprosy on his brain, clutching a woman by the neck. Slowly dimming the glow.

If your hands cause you to sin, cut it off and throw them away –– if your lungs cause you to live, cut it off and throw them away.

No one listens in the alley. No one wanders its bleeding walls. No eyes blink in the molding mortar between the bricks, so you leave the body to festering rot, and trudge out, and crawl into his car covered in blood. The sickness creeps in; the stickiness, peeling blood in the shape of your fingerprints. It flecks off and falls onto the murmuring floor of his car.

You never saw anyone getting raped before. Like a statistic in your philosophy, your respect for humanity trembles and shrinks in on itself.

"Why did you take me out there?" You ask quietly, knowing the answer.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, creaking leather against leather.

"I believe it is judicious for you to know what it is I do, so you have no delusions as to my nature... nor the nature of humanity," he says, staring pointedly at the road ahead.

It's not a full lie. 

"You're not telling me everything," you murmur––a whispering song. "For all your talk of duty... I can tell. it's pleasure that drives you more than anything. You won't even admit it."

Your fingers crawl over his, nails gently scraping over the back of his hand. Blood flakes off and falls into his lap. You shift in your seat, crawl up onto your knees, and lean over, shaking in the moving car. You say your prayer.

"You enjoy killing psychos. I think it's the only joy you get in life. I think death is your purpose for living," you hiss into his ear. "But you're still human. Desperately aching to be understood. Having me accept your runaway justice wasn't enough. You needed to inundate me in the pleasure of some sick fuck's blood."

You spit the last words. They land on his face. He flinches away, lips tightening, eyes piercing the road ahead.

"I've seen you work before. That loving passion you put into it, every blazing wound you wreak. I guess... it never registered before. You were right." You trail upwards, and the back of your fingers brush down the side of his face. "I needed to experience it myself to understand."

Rarely is Valentin ever lost for what to say; his elegance betrays the silence into knowledge. He doesn't want to admit to the truth of anything you've said, so it is better to say nothing at all.

You watch him for a moment more with dark eyes, lips parted in soft breaths, before collapsing back in your seat and sinking into the cushion. Your eyes flutter shut and you breathe deeply, relaxation like a heavy blanket coating you.

"I understand you, Valentin," you murmur, words slurred on your heavy tongue. "I understand."

You hold his hand. A lover reaching out over daises and wildgrass.

His intensity, boiling in the seat beside you, does not escape your notice in the passing yellow streetlamps. But you say nothing; you curl up in your seat, cheek pressed against the freezing car wall, and try to fall asleep in your skin of crusted blood.

~+~

Bodies are made to be consumed. Consumed and then consumed again. A tenfold consummation. God is crying out to you and you are not hearing it. God is on His knees travelling through the rough current of Valentin's arteries, begging you to come home. You have cut the tether of your mind––the frail, radio connection between creator and creation. God's pleas are pounding against your fingers.

"Does it feel good?" You whisper, breath across Valentin's face as you lay atop him in bed. "To be understood?"

He can barely answer. Barely strain a reply out from beneath your fingers. They rest against his throat, barely pushing and barely there, and yet a worthy vice for his mind all the same.

"I believe your assessment of human nature is... lacking," he says, words gritted behind gritted teeth.

Fingers slide down, frigid bone against burning, firey organs––larynx, esophagus, trachea. Soft and pliant like the raw meat harvested fresh from a wound.

"Tell me what it lacks, my dear," you murmur, entranced at the point where body meets body. Finger against bare chest.

"There is more to human desire than the will to be understood." His eyes search your absent expression, and tuck stray hairs behind your ear. His warm hand is cupping your freezing cheek. "There exists also the will to create... and the ability to love."

You practically jump at the chance to prove him wrong.

"Creation is but an exposition of the mind. Appreciators of art nothing but voyeurs to the artist. And the artist, that creator... desperately wants to be understood. Why else pry open your being to the cold eyes of the ignorant? Hoping to save them? That's pride," you hiss. "Do you feel pleasure when you cut yourself open and see your heat seep into the cold? Are you happy to be sharing your heat with the world?"

Your words are a garbled mess, stringing together like the fat that strings together your brain cells, little electrical pulses that lead nowhere. Thoughts crying out in muted desperation, choking on the afterimages of a man's blood on your hands. Clotted blood, freezing in the winter air, damming up your thoughts. You are drowning in it.

I AM YOUR FREEZING COLD.

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb, staring into your eyes.

"Do not lose yourself, my love," he murmurs.

A prayer.

"I am not lost if I am within you," you reply, thought sinking into decay, sinking into veins––beating aorta the cavernous atrium the seeking ventricles. 

You want to cry with desperation. What you want is not something you will ever receive. Again you imagine the heat of his body evaporating into the midnight; hot, steaming blood on the cold cement. Bitter gravel and sweet iron cells against your wanting tongue. The freezing cold and warmth.

"Lost in my lungs," he says. He is still searching your eyes.

YOU ARE MY PASSION FIRES.

"Lost everywhere within you," you say with a smile. "No, your proposition is not correct. What you've given me are results clouded by optimistic desire. But... they are rooted elsewhere. Creation is pride and still desire to be known. And love..."

He raises his brows expectantly, subtly. You barely notice. He is wanting your answer.

"Love is consuming," you whisper, in broken voices, breaking voices in your hands that clatter and tear down your bookcases and lamps and tapestries.

You are warming your freezing hands on his neck and he is sighing in relief. Succor for his fever. Relief for your joints aching with the cold.

"When you love bread, and fruit, you eat it," you say, knuckles just below his jaw. "You pick beautiful flowers and they die. You love your movies and television, your books and poetry... and it's called consuming content-–because you eat it, digest it, and spit it back out as refuse and filth, a mangled and misunderstood thing. You love someone... you eat them from the inside out. Consume their love and thoughts and bodies. Eat their hearts. Cut them out..."

Your body is shaking from the cold. Your hand against his throat is not enough. No longer can you hold yourself above him; your arms, aching from the cold, collapse and weaken, and his searing heat catches you from below. Skin against his skin. It is burning you and you love it, you sink into it, you tremble again and shake and wish you could shudder forever in his arms like a broken doll unable to wind up again. He brings the thin blanket over your shoulders. His arms encase you and the heat spreads. The blood clots are unfreezing, melting, and slowly thought leaks back into your head.

You are crying out to God and He is not hearing it because He is inside you within you pulsing within you and He is too busy keeping you alive and keeping you warm. Valentin has tied a knot between two frayed ends of a cord plugged into the wall. 

Falling Raining down like stardust the mercy of His love we ask Do you love me? And there is no answer no answer but knowing we are known

God is wrapping you up in His arms like a child swaddled by its mother. God is pressing His lips to your forehead and silently removing the last flecks of dried blood, and God is not telling you that you missed some spots while cleaning yourself up, and God is not telling you that the sight of you on your knees before death made him cry. Valentin will never tell you that the sight of you on your knees before your kill made him cry.

Valentin wraps you up in his arms and kisses you over and over. You continue to shiver against him––that aching cold transfers to his wounded heart as you slowly warm up––and deaf fingers roam up and down his waist, tracing like lace skeins of frost. They melt and drip into sweat as you drift lower down his stomach, then up to his chest––touch that melts off his body, rounds into pearls, and drops into God. He shivers with you. He presses into you, mumbling, wanting, and desiring. His mouth is ready to consume, ready to be consumed.

His lips are soft but they are not as warm as his hands. They press first into your neck, pulling in, skin between teeth as arteries roll around and veins pull like harp strings beneath the weight. Your eyes roll back into your head, lungs sucking in a sharp, frigid breath.

"I love you, my dear," he whispers, through tears and wounds, words burning your chest as his teeth crawl down, mouth still wanting and open.

You tug on what your numb fingers can grasp. Strong, rounded shoulders and thick braids. Rough claws over jawbone and clavicle.

"You feel it, don't you?" You say in a shaking voice. "Desire that is consuming that is greed."

He pulls away, shadowed eyes piercing you.

"And you love that you are wanted," Valentin says, fingers digging into your bare skin. "It does not cross your mind whether I desire you in gentle or violent ways. It is only that you are wanted at all that, to you, is of importance." His grip lessens, and a glimmer of dim, bunker light shines in his gaze. "That worries me, my love."

"It shouldn't," you say.

"And yet it does," he says. "Do you not have anything to say to quell my fretting heart?"

You eat the truth down, chewing around the bitter dregs and wondering what mottled things to spit out.

Instead you reach up, run your hand over the side of his skull, feel the shaved hair and the warmth of his face, and cradle it like it is the galaxy contained within the white calcium of human bone.

You are crying now. It is so cold.

"Do you understand me?" You ask in broken glass shards, clenched in your grasping palm. Trembling like a dog with paws frozen to the middle of a street.

You are just the same––you are desperate to be known, to be understood. You peel open your ribcage and hope desperately that Valentin feels the same desire to curl up in the ventricles of your beating, aching heart. 

But he does not. His love for you does not shatter the earth like yours does. Despite his monstrosities in life such sins do not reach his heart, he is pure and his love is pure and it is nothing but warmth and softness, and it breaks your fucking heart.

Beneath it all a wretched guilt. Blood stains your hands. You scrubbed for fifteen minutes till the raw scratched skin was as red as the blood of the man you killed, and you wonder, sobbing, if Valentin will ever forgive you for falling, if his mercy extends to the damned souls he hunts, if there is a reason or an excuse in his mind that pardons you from the avenging will of God. But deep down you know you don't care about God's mercy or His will or even His love. Valentin, shining halo Valentin, with crooked, blood-stained fur wings––Valentin and his green, Eden-filled eyes––he is all you care about.

You bawl and choke on your own cruel tears and keen and claw desperate in your hope that if you are pathetic enough he might take pity on you. It is being ripped from your vocal cords and you cannot say anything else.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

That aching, desirous prayer echoes back to you vacant of its origin and you hear it for what it is––a selfish, egoistical, grasping appetite that will never be satiated no matter how full you stuff your mouth with Valentin's love and sense.

You are a starving, rabid thing. Flesh pulled taut over bone. Shards poking through the skin. Your body is made to be consumed.

You think yourself a broken, sharp thing. Cutting Valentin's heart into pieces.

Instead, he has broken you. Valentin has refused to consume you.

[bunny-is-cute]

Lightbringer

(Working Title)

By @bunny-is-cute

TW: Death after childbirth, stillborn, grief, questioning God

Author’s Note: I don’t know if anyone with be interested in helping me continue this story but it will be a Adamsapple if it continues

The man clawed at the earth, his fingers raw and bleeding, though he felt neither the pain nor the cold rain slicing across his fair skin. The ache in his chest overshadowed everything, radiating out to every inch of his massive frame, leaving him hollow and trembling. Adam’s golden-yellow eyes, rimmed with dark, tired bags, were fixed on the ground as he worked.

Rain plastered his short, cedar-brown hair to his forehead, strands sticking messily against his skin. His chin, covered in the beginnings of a stubble-beard, quivered as he exhaled, a ragged breath that seemed to pull at the edges of his soul. Mud clung to his hands, his knees, and the tattered remains of his clothing, but he didn’t care. He kept digging, his tall, seven-foot form hunched over like a broken tree.

Behind him lay his companion, his wife, Eve, her lifeless body cradling the fragile, unmoving form of their child—their first and only child. Adam’s golden eyes darted toward them for the briefest moment, then snapped away as his breath hitched.

He couldn’t look at them for long. The pain was too much.

The rain fell harder, soaking into the soil and turning it into a sticky, clinging mire. Adam paused, leaning on his fists, his broad shoulders trembling as he tried to catch his breath. The edges of his fingernails were cracked and bleeding, his hands shaking with the effort of clawing through the wet earth.

He didn’t know how deep the grave had to be. Deep enough to bury his pain? Deep enough to erase the memory of her face?

Probably not.

His lips parted as a bitter laugh escaped him, low and broken. “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” He murmured the words into the cold, empty air, his voice hollow and laced with self-loathing.

He had said those words to God once. He had placed the blame on Eve. And what had it brought him?

‘Lilith left me. Eve is gone. I have no one.’

For all her mistakes, Adam supposed Eve had gotten the last laugh. She was at peace now. He was the one left behind.

Another wave of exhaustion pulled at him, and he lowered his head, his breath fogging in the cool rain. The weight of the world pressed down on his broad frame, making his limbs feel like lead. His eyes drifted up to the gray sky above, and his lips twisted into a grimace.

“Why?” he whispered, the question barely audible over the sound of the storm. “Why did You leave me? Why make me, if this was Your plan?”

The heavens remained silent, as they had ever since that fateful day in Eden.

Adam’s head dropped again, and he returned to digging, forcing himself to focus on the task. But as the wind howled and the rain lashed against him, a faint shift in the air made him pause.

Something was there.

He froze, every muscle in his body tensing. Slowly, he turned, his bloodied hands clenched into fists at his sides.

A figure stepped through the storm, framed by an ethereal glow that flickered faintly against the gloom. Adam’s eyes narrowed as the figure drew closer. He was slender, his pale, rosy-cheeked face deceptively soft, with blonde hair slicked back into a hairstyle that reminded Adam of a duck’s tail. Streaks of light coral ran through the thicker, pale blonde highlights, and a single rebellious tuft curled at the top of his head.

It wasn’t his hair or his smooth, youthful features that unsettled Adam. It was the eyes.

The figure’s eyes had turned light yellow, but his irises were a deep, blood-red, with slit pupils so narrow they were barely visible. And when his lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, the sharp glint of his teeth—a full mouth of razor-like fangs—made Adam’s stomach churn.

Samael Lucifer.

He was no longer the angel he had once considered “friend.”

The fallen angel came closer, feet crunching softly against the wet earth. He stopped a few paces away, his crimson irises fixing on Adam with an intensity that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

Adam surged to his feet, towering over Lucifer’s six-foot frame, his cedar-brown hair plastered to his rain-slicked face. His fists tightened as he glared down at the fallen angel, his breath coming in short, angry bursts.

“Why are you here?” Adam growled, his voice hoarse with rage and grief. “Have you come to gloat? To see the fruits of your destruction?”

Lucifer gave him a solemn expression, “Gloat?” he murmured “No.”

Adam took a step closer, the fury in his golden eyes burning bright. “Then why? Why now, after everything you’ve done?”

Lucifer’s expression shifted, his eyes going to where Eve and the baby lay still.

“I heard you call out,” Lucifer said simply, his voice softer now, though still carrying that unsettling edge.

Adam’s breath caught. His shoulders tensed as his brows furrowed in confusion. “I wasn’t calling for you,” he said, his voice low and sharp.

Lucifer chuckled softly, though the sound held no mirth. “No, you weren’t. But He isn’t answering, is He?”

The words hit Adam like a blow. He staggered back a step, his golden eyes widening before narrowing into a glare. “What would you know about it?”

Lucifer shrugged, his sharp black eyebrows raising slightly. “More than you think, dear Adam.”

The way he said Adam’s name—smooth, deliberate—made the man’s skin crawl. His fists clenched, but he didn’t lash out. He was too tired. Too drained.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Adam muttered, his voice breaking as he sank to his knees.

Lucifer regarded him for a long moment, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. Then, to Adam’s surprise, the fallen angel crouched down beside him.

“You grieve,” Lucifer said, his tone strangely gentle. “And then, you survive.”

Adam stared at him, his breath catching as the storm raged on around them.

Lucifer’s crimson eyes lingered on Adam for a moment before he moved. Rising gracefully to his feet, he extended a hand. Adam stared at it, reluctant, but exhaustion and grief weighed too heavily on his broad shoulders to resist. He allowed himself to take the offered hand, Lucifer’s grip firm yet cool against his bleeding palm.

“Sit,” Lucifer instructed, his voice soft but commanding.

Adam sank back onto his knees, his golden eyes never leaving the fallen angel as Lucifer turned his attention to the shallow grave.

Lucifer raised a pale hand, his fingers long and slender, sharp black nails glinting faintly in the storm’s dim light. He moved them delicately, as if plucking an unseen thread in the air. The ground shifted, responding to his will. Soil and rainwater churned, the earth yielding to his command.

Within moments, the grave deepened, the edges smoothing into place. The mud that had clung stubbornly to Adam’s hands moments before now moved effortlessly, forming a resting place for Eve and the child she had never gotten to know.

Adam watched in silence, his golden-yellow eyes wide, dark bags beneath them deepening as he processed what he was seeing. He had seen miracles before—once, long ago in Eden—but this magic was different. It was quieter, heavier, tinged with an unspoken sadness that mirrored his own.

When the grave was complete, Lucifer turned back to Adam, his crimson irises catching the faint light. “Do you want me to…?” He gestured toward Eve and the child, his voice trailing off.

Adam shook his head slowly. “No,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “I… I should do it.”

Lucifer stepped aside, giving Adam the space to gather Eve’s body. He worked carefully, tenderly lifting her into his arms, her lifeless form lighter than it had ever been in life. The child, so heartbreakingly small, was cradled in her arms. Adam carried them both to the grave, his tall frame trembling with every step.

He laid them down gently, arranging Eve’s arms around the child one last time. His hands lingered for a moment on her face, his fingers brushing against the features he had once cherished so deeply.

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

The rain continued to fall as he stepped back, his head bowed. Lucifer raised his hand again, the earth shifting to cover the grave. The soil moved gently, almost reverently, until Eve and the child were no longer visible.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then Adam spoke, his voice shaking as he asked, “What happens when you die?”

Lucifer froze. He tilted his head, studying Adam’s face. The man’s golden-yellow eyes were wide with uncertainty, his brows furrowed as if trying to piece together something incomprehensible.

Adam continued, his voice raw. “God said… our punishment for disobedience was a life of hard work… and death. I’ve learned what hard work is.” He looked down at his bloodied, dirt-caked hands. “But death… What is it? Where do they go? Where will I go?”

Lucifer exhaled softly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gazed at the freshly covered grave. “Death,” he began, his voice quieter now, “is a concept even I didn’t fully understand until I fell. Angels… we weren’t meant to die. We were meant to exist forever, as part of His design.”

He glanced at Adam, his expression unreadable. “But humans… you were made to live, and eventually to return to Him. To The Creator.”

Adam’s breath hitched. “Return to Him?”

Lucifer nodded, though there was a flicker of something dark in his gaze—bitterness, perhaps, or sorrow. “That’s the plan, as far as I understand it. Your soul returns to Him, where it rests. Peaceful. Whole.”

Adam frowned, his cedar-brown hair dripping rainwater into his face. “Then why… why do I feel like they’re gone? Like they’re nowhere?” His voice cracked, the raw grief bubbling up again.

Lucifer hesitated. For a moment, he looked almost uncertain, his forked tongue flicking out briefly. Then he sighed. “Because you’re not meant to understand it. Not yet. Death… it’s meant to be the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. But for those left behind—” His crimson eyes softened. “It feels like the end of everything.”

Adam’s massive frame sagged under the weight of those words. He dropped to his knees again, his golden eyes fixed on the grave. “It does feel like the end,” he whispered.

Lucifer crouched beside him, his movements fluid and graceful. “But it’s not,” he said softly, his sharp black eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Not for you, anyway. You’re still here, Adam. You still have a purpose, even if you can’t see it yet.”

Adam turned to him, his golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. “How do you know that?”

Lucifer’s smile was faint, and there was something deeply sad about it. “Because I’ve seen what happens when you lose your purpose. When you fall so far that you think you’ll never rise again.” He paused, his crimson gaze meeting Adam’s. “And I’m still here. So are you.”

Adam didn’t reply. He just stared at the fallen angel, his mind spinning with thoughts he couldn’t yet put into words. But for the first time, the crushing weight of his grief felt just a little lighter.

[richincolor]

New Releases - Week of August 27, 2024

We've found eight different new releases to shout about this week. Are any of them on your TBR? 

Bridge Across the Sky by Freeman Ng Atheneum Books for Young Readers

A raw and honest historical novel in verse about a Chinese teen who immigrates to the United States with his family and endures mistreatment at the Angel Island Immigration Station while trying to navigate his own course in a new world.

Tai Go and his family have crossed an ocean wider than a thousand rivers, joining countless other Chinese immigrants in search of a better life in the United States. Instead, they’re met with hostility and racism. Empowered by the Chinese Exclusion Act, the government detains the immigrants on Angel Island in the San Francisco Bay while evaluating their claims.

Held there indefinitely, Tai Go experiences the prison-like conditions, humiliating medical exams, and interrogations designed to trick detainees into failure. Yet amid the anger and sorrow, Tai Go also finds hope—in the poems carved into the walls of the barracks by others who have been detained there, in the actions of a group of fellow detainees who are ready to fight for their rights, in the friends he makes, and in a perceived enemy whose otherness he must come to terms with.

Unhappy at first with his father’s decision to come to the United States, Tai Go must overcome the racism he discovers in both others and himself and forge his own version of the American Dream.

The Sticky Note Manifesto of Aisha Agarwal by Ambika Vohra Quill Tree Books, Harper Collins

“How have you gotten out of your comfort zone?”

That’s the Stanford admissions prompt that valedictorian shoo-in Aisha Agarwal can’t answer. Her life’s been homework and junk food. So, when her crush, Brian, asks her to winter formal, Aisha thinks her fate is changing . . .

. . . until Brian stands her up.

As if on cue, a banged-up Volkswagen arrives outside the dance; the driver profusely apologizing for being late to pick her up. Does Aisha know him or what he’s talking about? No. Does the Stanford essay convince her to take him up on the ride? Absolutely.

To Aisha’s relief, seventeen-year-old Quentin Santos isn’t a kidnapper, but he is failing math. They strike a deal: if Aisha helps Quentin pass math, he’ll help push her out of her comfort zone, using a series of sticky note to-do’s—dares—that will not only give Aisha content for her essay, but will turn her into the confident person she’s always wanted to be.

From New Year’s Eve kisses to high school parties, Aisha’s sticky note manifesto is taking off. But when she falls for the wrong guy, hurts her best friend, and still can’t finish her essay, victory feels far from reach.

Is winning worth it if you end up losing yourself in the process?

Indiginerds edited by Alina Pete Iron Circus Comics

First Nations culture is living, vibrant, and evolving…

…and generations of Indigenous kids have grown up with pop culture creeping inexorably into our lives. From gaming to social media, pirate radio to garage bands, Star Trek to D&D, and missed connections at the pow wow, Indigenous culture is so much more than how it’s usually portrayed. These comics are here to celebrate those stories!

Featuring an all-Indigenous creative team, INDIGINERDS is an exhilarating anthology collecting 11 stories about Indigenous people balancing traditional ways of knowing with modern pop culture.

Bvlbancha Forever, by Ida Aronson and Tate Allen

Walk With The Earth Mother, by Maija Plamondon and Milo Applejohn

Roll Your Own Way, by Jordanna George

Digital Eden, by Raven John and Asia Wiseley

Amplification/Adaptation, by Em Matson and Nipinet Landsem

Welei (I Am Fine), by Bianca “binkz17” and Rhael McGregor

Saving Throws, by James Willier and Sam “Mushki” Medlock

Dorvan V, by Alina Pete

Uncured Horror, by Gillian Joseph and Wren Rios

Airwaves Pirates, by Autumn Star and PJ Underwood

Missed Pow Wow Connection, by Kameron White

Twin Flames by Olivia Abtahi Lee & Low Books

When djinn start to show up in twins Leila and Bianca’s small Virginia hometown, the only way they and their families will survive will be if the twins can get past their differences and start to act like sisters again.

Twins Bianca and Leila could not be more different from each other. Being both Argentinian and Iranian in a small town has always been hard, but with Leila shunning her heritage and Bianca embracing it, the two walk very different paths. They run in different circles of friends, and barely talk anymore. Leila’s a homebody who loves to craft and plans on marrying her high school sweetheart. Bianca’s more anti-establishment and plans to get out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible.

But on their eighteenth birthday, the neighbor’s barn is burned down–and it doesn’t seem to have been caused by anything normal like an electrical or fuel source. When Leila encounters a mysterious monster arising from the fire, suddenly she gains strange powers–and can no longer touch iron or even eat foods with high iron content.

What are these creatures and where are they coming from? What do they want with Leila–or other people in town, for that matter? Can the twins learn to rely on each other–and their cultures–to banish them? It’ll take a sisterly reconciliation for the girls to find out and to save their hometown in this New Visions Award-winning fantasy adventure.

Everything We Never Had by Randy Ribay Kokila

From the author of the National Book Award finalist Patron Saints of Nothing comes an emotionally charged, moving novel about four generations of Filipino American boys grappling with identity, masculinity, and their fraught father-son relationships.

Watsonville, 1930. Francisco Maghabol barely ekes out a living in the fields of California. As he spends what little money he earns at dance halls and faces increasing violence from white men in town, Francisco wonders if he should’ve never left the Philippines.

Stockton, 1965. Between school days full of prejudice from white students and teachers and night shifts working at his aunt’s restaurant, Emil refuses to follow in the footsteps of his labor organizer father, Francisco. He’s going to make it in this country no matter what or who he has to leave behind.

Denver, 1983. Chris is determined to prove that his overbearing father, Emil, can’t control him. However, when a missed assignment on “ancestral history” sends Chris off the football team and into the library, he discovers a desire to know more about Filipino history―even if his father dismisses his interest as unamerican and unimportant.

Philadelphia, 2020. Enzo struggles to keep his anxiety in check as a global pandemic breaks out and his abrasive grandfather moves in. While tensions are high between his dad and his lolo, Enzo’s daily walks with Lolo Emil have him wondering if maybe he can help bridge their decades-long rift.

Told in multiple perspectives, Everything We Never Had unfolds like a beautifully crafted nesting doll, where each Maghabol boy forges his own path amid heavy family and societal expectations, passing down his flaws, values, and virtues to the next generation, until it’s up to Enzo to see how he can braid all these strands and men together.

Our Shouts Echo by Jade Adia Disney-Hyperion

Survival Tip #1: The world is going to shit. Whatever you do, trust no one.

Sixteen-year old Niarah Holloway’s only goal in life is to get through it unnoticed. That, and to spend her first summer in LA building a doomsday bunker in her backyard. Because if the past few years have taught Niarah anything, it’s that the ocean levels are rising, minimum wage is a scam, and the people who are supposed to protect you will hurt you. Now the only thing that helps Niarah stay afloat amidst the constant waves of anxiety and dread that threaten to drag her under is her new mantra: Be prepared.

But Niarah wasn’t prepared for Mac Torres. Not for his disarmingly cute face, or for his surfer lifestyle, or for the way his smile resuscitates her heart. Mac is a bomb that blows Niarah’s world to pieces, but instead of disaster, he fills it with sunset bonfires, breakfast burritos, and new friends.

For years, Niarah’s life has revolved around ignoring the demons of her past, avoiding the problems of her present, and preparing for the catastrophes of the future. Now Mac—with his sunshine laugh and infectious optimism— is determined to show her another way to be. But in a world where the worst feels inevitable, can one summer be enough to light the way to a hopeful future? Can one summer be enough to fall in love?

With Love, Echo Park by Laura Taylor Namey Atheneum

Seventeen-year-old Clary is set to inherit her family’s florist shop, La Rosa Blanca—one of the last remnants of the Cuban business district that once thrived in Los Angeles’s Echo Park neighborhood. Clary knows Echo Park is where she’ll leave a legacy, and nothing is more important to her than keeping the area’s unique history alive.

Besides Clary’s florist shop, there’s only one other business left founded by Cuban immigrants fleeing Castro’s regime in the sixties and seventies. And Emilio, who’s supposed to take over Avalos Bicycle Works one day, is more flight risk than dependable successor. While others might find Emilio appealing, Clary can see him itching to leave now that he’s graduated, and she’ll never be charmed by a guy who doesn’t care if one more Echo Park business fades away.

But then Clary is caught off guard when an unexpected visitor delivers a shocking message from someone she thought she’d left behind. Meanwhile, Emilio realizes leaving home won’t be so easy—and Clary, who has always been next door, is who he confides in. As the summer days unfold, they find there’s something stronger than local history tying them together.

Libertad by Bessie Flores Zaldivar Dial Books

A queer YA coming-of-age set during the rigged Honduran presidential election, about a young poet discovering the courage it takes to speak her truth about the people and country she loves.

As the contentious 2017 presidential election looms and protests rage across every corner of the city, life in Tegucigalpa, Honduras churns louder and faster. For her part, high school senior Libertad (Libi) Morazán takes heart in writing political poetry for her anonymous Instagram account and a budding romance someone new. But things come to a head when Mami sees texts on her phone mentioning a kiss with a girl and Libi discovers her beloved older brother, Maynor, playing a major role in the protests. As Libertad faces the political and social corruption around her, stifling homophobia at home and school, and ramped up threats to her poetry online, she begins dreaming of a future in which she doesn’t have to hide who she is or worry about someone she loves losing their life just for speaking up. Then the ultimate tragedy strikes, and leaving her family and friends—plus the only home she’s ever known—might be her only option.

[ask-the-no-killing-game-au]

✨

A new art post should be out tonight. I'm not putting this one in the main DRDT tags, so if you'd like it to get more popular, please help me out by reblogging.

Here's the full list of every post, for reference.

Important posts

Pronouns and identities

Relationship diagram

Official designs #1 (old)

(POLL) Who do you want to see? #1 (old)

Official designs #2 (old)

Official Animation

(POLL) Who do you want to see? #2 (old)

Official designs #3

Other asks

Asks are open

Opinions on the building #1

J talks about video games

Whit discusses gender

Why is everyone here?

Living room map & favourite rooms

Teruko's least favourite

Favourite people, part 1

Nico's plush cat

Favourite things in free time

Levi is given a lollipop

Veronika's favourite movie

Who waters the plant?

Who do you miss most?

J and Nico

Favourite pancakes?

Teruko tries to play Jenga

TV schedule

Who regrets staying here?

Veronika's sticky notes

Nothing bad could happen..

...Or could it

Hu falls over

Arei investigates

Veronika's opinions

David is asleep

Arturo refuses help

Veronika's horror movies

Gender identity

Why do people have favourites?

Arturo finds Veronika

Xander discovers something he shouldn't

.. And so does Nico

Arturo looks too much like her

Nico is threatened

Nico's favourite place

Arei finds Xander

Getting called weak...

Where's Xander gone?

Teruko can't find Xander

Eden's watch

Nico is busy

Map & student locations (old)

Nico is cooking

The kitchen is closed

Nobody can get in

The dinner starts

Levi finds (some of) Veronika

She's a part of everyone

People find out who the dinner was

Teruko wants to know what happened

Nico is dead...

... Nevermind.

What do people do now?

How is everyone feeling?

An interesting video from a person long gone

Caring for the body

How does Xander feel?

Favourite people, part 2

Xander gets stabbed

Eden has a realisation

Someone is stuck with the dead body

Levi comforts her

Xander's true self (It's not my fault.)

"Arturo's" birthday

Xander has a plan

Xander and Arei

Secrets! Deep, dark secrets! (I hope someone recognises that)

Who is Min Jeung?

...Let's not talk about this one.

Veronika's horror movies II

Veronika discovers hair dye

[trappedinchemicalplantzone]

oc art dump !!

all these are characters are for my story Stars Collide

the main siblings! (Libby, Jayden, Finnick, and Jax)

two of the primary antagonists for the first half the the story (Luperca and Valdis)

Along with test designs for military uniforms for the kingdom of Eden

Yukki ! my little darling, she has ice magic and uses swords (her fighting style is similar to Weiss from RWBY in my head)

And my other darling, Dia! She's a nun who hunts down evil men and monsters,

doodles of Silica Dawn, my villainess

okay left to right, top to bottom, two doodles of Aideen, the prince of Eden, Luperca's old design on that sticky note, the one in purple is Verto, the other primary antagonist, and then Kumori and Libby together

ok ik this blog is mainly sonic but I'm in such huge oc brainrot, so expect more of these guys on here, I might end up making a side blog for them tho,,

[northlight14]

Spoilers for Project Edens Garden Chapter 1 Victim!!!! I mean it, don’t read this if you haven’t gotten up to that point in game yet!!!

So….i just got to the death last night….oh my god. Bruh I had a whole list dedicated to my predictions of when certain characters were gonna die. I was convinced Wolfgang wasn’t gonna survive but I didn’t think it would be this early!! What the hell?!?! My autistic ass is usually so good at predicting stuff when it comes to danganronpa because of pattern recognition. And because of that I was like “oh yeah Wolfgang is safe until at least the second last chapter” and then just ignored all the signs that he wasn’t in fact safe!!!😭😭 genuinely sending all my love and admiration to the writers because I haven’t been this thrown off by a game (or any piece of media) in so long. Been thinking non stop about it because all the signs were there. The fact that the first victim always has some mystery surrounding them and who has more mystery than Wolfgang? The fact so much attention has been on him. The fact that the title of the fucking chapter links to so many Bible quotes that can relate to him!! (I fucking pointed that out too but I was so sure of his plot armour I just shrugged it off like an idiot🤦😭) And then the fact that since Damon was the one who had his blackmail and specifically didn’t show him it and combine that with the sticky note he left for Tozu which I guarantee is gonna be used against him when I get to trial, and it’s the perfect set up to pin it on Damon!

I’m playing it with my partner tho so I’m not gonna get to the investigation and trial for a couple weeks. So in the meantime I guess I’m just gonna be sat here with my tinfoil hat trying to figure out who the real antagonist is since Wolfgang was the perfect fake out (like fr everything about his character was so well written. He was honestly terrifying in a way no other Dangan antagonist has been before. And the reactions to his death? Fuck I love the writing of this game so much😭😭)

[cokoweee]

okay im listening to east of eden by zella day rn and i am thinking about your turtles the apocalypse vibey ones

Oooo I see what you’re slapping down. I actually rlly like the song and now I probably have a name for the sticky note

[literaila]

₊✩‧₊˚ the origin (get to know me) ‧₊˚✩‧₊

₊✩‧ basics ₊˚✩‧

‧✩ i'm verity, 18, bi, leo, she/they pronouns

‧✩ currently doing: nothing

‧✩ huge introvert, small loser, very dry (dryer than the one in my basement), also very humorous (argue with a wall)

‧✩ likes: my dog foggy, cats, the color green, psychoanalyzing fictional characters, writing melodrama, one direction, hozier, going to costco, baking, cooking, anime edits, impressing people with my obvious talent, candles, coloring, wearing lotion, doing my nails

‧✩ dislikes: coleslaw, mean people, when people interrupt my quiet time, getting gas, bad movies (i watch them anyway though), when something sticky gets on the floor, and coleslaw

‧✩ random facts: type one diabetic, fantastic tonal memory, creative writing major (yeah i can feel you rolling your eyes), i have three brothers, i own three copies of twilight, i love ice cream cake

₊✩‧ favorites ₊˚✩‧

‧✩ thing: foggy (my dog again)

‧✩ movies: cars, tick tick boom, set it up, jjk 0, hacksaw ridge, barbie princess charm school, thor ragnarok, twilight

‧✩ shows: new girl, criminal minds, greys anatomy, how to get away with murder, master kitchen, the queens gambit, psych, daredevil, jessica jones, wandavision, good luck charlie, bluey, the night manager

‧✩ books: fangirl, scythe, twilight, percy jackson, the way i used to be, lessons in chemistry, the song of achilles, six of crows, my life next door, the cruel prince, shatter me

‧✩ anime: jjk, mha, aot, chainsaw man, cherry magic, a sign of affection, demon slayer, bungo stray dogs, death note, solo leveling

‧✩ songs: brutus, call your mom, butchered tongue, unknown, from eden, only angel, epic III, little big boy, my love is sick

‧✩ other: soup, blankets, having medical insurance, the interview where harry mocks niall saying "no i don't," my best friend i guess (bob), my grandma, matt murdock

[sc4rleteyez]

cigarette daydreams, dorms!

Aziracrow, religious only boys school au! (prev, From Eden)

The dorms at the school were small, but they were one person dorms, so no one complained. They were allowed to personalize them however they wanted as long as they didn’t have anything bad (within christian standards) and they kept it neat and clean. There were three (3) dorm buildings, each with three floors but no elevator, as they were really old and had probably never been renovated.

Crowley had a single Queen poster on the wall beside his bed, it was the cover for their album Queen II, as it was the most “not-bad-looking” one. He had little pots and jars crammed around; on the old desk that was provided by the school, the window still, the top of the drawers (also provided by the school), and the floor. The room was covered in a green that made Crowley feel like he could breathe. There was a bedside table with two small drawers, too. In the first one, he had a big, thick bible in which he had cut a hole in the pages so he could use it to hide stuff he didn’t want the monks or nuns to see. In the second drawer, he kept the only book he ever actually read, Botany for Gardeners: An Introduction and Guide By Brian Capon (It had just been published! It had been given to him as a birthday present from his favorite cousin), and sheet music. He kept his clothes in the old, but bigger than the bedside table, wooden drawers.

Aziraphale’s dorm certainly gave off 19th century writer vibes. He had no posters on the walls, but he did have some poetry he (very painfully) ripped from poetry books, and quotes he’d read in books and loved (including bible verses), so he wrote them on separate pieces of paper and stuck them on the wall. He had a very nice but old desk he’d thrifted (for only 23.99! [it had been a pain to get inside the dorm]), which had a couple drawers and space to keep books in on top. In the drawers, he kept an old foldable chess set, and on top of it, he kept an inkwell and a quill, and some paper, along with the books he had borrowed from the library and was currently reading. On his bedside table, he had a small lamp, and inside the drawer, his pocket bible, snacks, sticky notes and pens. He also kept his clothes inside the old wooden drawers.

[yaksha-garden]

08.     wallet.

Permanent resident card (obtained through ??? means - at some point during their exile Eden or someone affiliated with them started on the paperwork to get them a legal identity. The situation is very messy considering that paperwork got dropped for like 20 years before they came back. They have no idea if this permanent resident card is valid.)

Grocery money, and/or assorted cash for errands - sometimes (Eden understands "exchange money for goods and services" and that's about it for their financial literacy. Kubera's Prism has complex economic systems all over the place, it's just that much how they didn't bother to learn actual botany until recently, relying on the Keystone's power to assert their will, they also didn't bother to learn shit about the economy, or its potential impact on them or vice versa. this came back to bite them hard and come to think of it it's probably one of the topics they'd like to learn more about, but at the moment they're focusing on physical sciences. For now they let Vayu handle human world finances, he's more familiar with it and also not in a weird legal identity grey area)

A sticky note with a bunch of dates and times scrawled on it and also a very crude sketch of a random guy they saw, and doodles of flowers and vines

A couple of stray bus tickets

All these are human world items. I figure the wallet itself was a gift from one of Vayu's relatives, but a fairly cheap one, to the point that it feels a little passive aggressive to Eden, but oh well.

[goldentemplariumcrow]

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others🏹- For a talent they wish they had👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

@tireironmybeloved

"I'm not sure if it's considered weird or not, but I have this thing where I like to lightly pinch on my wrists and knuckles when I can't fidget with my digits."

"So... you know how some children create a whole language of their own and even write and talk in it? Think that, but instead of a child's journal, it's literally every other note, reminder and written piece I have around my place. Now, make it worse and understand that that's my modus operandi of writing, literally my first language, even more fluent than my Italian, because my brain is coded in it. I write and speak in Isu if I don't have my filters on."

"I have a healthy envy of my little brother's talents with clothes. He can make everything work, and if it doesn't work, he can dismantle, modify and put everything together again like it's no big deal at all. Sewing skills unmatched. I wish I had like one percent of that."

"Two words: Bloody Tree.

Let me paint the picture of the thing: flesh instead of a trunk, arms and hands instead of of branches, legs for roots, hair instead of leaves, eyes in place of flowers and fruits, sticky, oozy smell of a thousand putrefied bodies.

What happens when you cut the thing open? You find yourself face to face with its digestive track and blood. Lots of blood. Get cut or scratched by it? Congratulations, you'll turn into one and become part of its collective hive mind. Fell into it? You have exact nine and a half minutes to find your way out of it and pray that you haven't cut or scratched yourself during the process.

The thing is sentient, spreads fast and is capable of moving on its own accord. And I've had the very unpleasant experience of having to go in one to retrieve a Piece Of Eden. So, yes, I don't take well to even hearing about them. They're disgusting, dangerous, and I'd burn it with fire if it was an effective method of getting rid of it.

Why I can't tell anyone about my utter disgust? Because this thing is one of the obsessions of some of the scientists in Abstergo. Thus, I remain silent and wanting to kill every single one of the wackos who think that studying that thing is a good idea."