#Striped flint

[fhannehii]

My mineral collection ✨

I love all of them 😭

But I love agates 💖

especially Botswana agate and flower agate

[dieletztepanzerhexe]

one of the students showed us a (broken) axe that he found *o* it's striped flint but you can't really see it. wow, it's so sharp.... so perfect

[artsy-1diot]

ok so i wasn't planning on posting a wip before buying materials because this project is really dependent on me being able to find the right fabric but i'm really really happy with this mockup made of poster board I used to use to protect my desk while painting and sculpting so uhhhhhh

guess whoo :]

[lovelytsunoda]

Don’t Stand So Close to Me | Oscar Piastri

Summary: YN tries on a few of her old bikinis to pick something she can wear to a beach bonfire. Unfortunately for them, Oscar can’t control himself, and as the fashion show devolves, they might just get later and later

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, Oscar being a simp for his girlfriend (so nothing new) hey if ur new here i write smuts about men who like to shower their women with praise and love and affection and laugh a lot during sex.

"Os, babe, what do you think of this one?"

"Love, you've tried on three already-" Oscar's protest died in his throat as she stepped out of their shared bedroom. Her toes, which were delicately painted butter yellow, padded softly across the small beachfront cabin's tile floor. The sea breeze caused the gaudy curtains that separated the living room and bedroom to flutter in the wind against their glass doors, framing her figure and making her look positively ethereal as she came towards him.

"I thought this one would match my nails." She smiled shyly, brushing some hair behind her ear. "What do you think?"

The pale yellow fabric hugged each of her curves, the straps on her bikini bottoms hiking dangerously high on her hips while still allowing a comfortable amount of cover at the front and back. The push-up bra top pushed her breasts together just enough to toe the line between innocently beautiful and downright pornographic.

"That the United Nations could use pictures of the way you look right now to stop wars."

She laughed, hands delicately covering her midsection. "That good, huh?"

Oscar's warm hands slid up the back of her thighs as he leaned in for a soft kiss. He smelled like teakwood and Old Spice, his usually unrly hair curling around his ears as he smiled at her.

"This is the best one so far, no competition. But you do plan on wearing shorts over this, right? I don't fully trust Lando's friends, and I'm not thrilled with the idea of spending another night in the drunk tank for fighting."

She giggled, resting her hands on his biceps. "Oscar, the last night you spent in jail was because you were playing beach volleyball with Hattie and lobbed the ball right at the windshield of a cruiser."

"Yeah, and it was the most uncomfortable bed that I've ever tried to sleep on."

"There's no need to fight anybody over me, Oscar. I'm all yours, body , mind and soul. And I know you feel the same way about me."

"I love you." He hummed softly, leaning down to kiss her, wandering hands tugging at the sides of her swimsuit bottoms.

Her bare leg curled around his as the kiss deepened, his hands gripping her tighter before he bent at the knees, hands gripping her thighs as he lifted her into the air. She giggled his name, joy and warmth in her chest as he spun them both around once, her body over his shoulder in a fireman's hold as he headed towards the bed.

He placed her down reverently, nothing out pure adoration in his eyes as he began to kiss his way down her body, lips soft and gentle, hands smooth and delicate over her legs as he trailed his tongue down her collarbone, and then her breasts, and then her stomach.

“Osc…” she whined softly, bucking her hips up towards his face.

“I’ve got ya, pretty girl.” He hummed, looping his thumbs through the sides of her bikini, gently pulling the fabric away from her tanned thighs. “You just lay there and look pretty f’me.”

She gasped softly as he kissed her clit, the pads of his fingers brushing over her entrance before his mouth dipped lower, licking a wide stripe up the place where she needed him most.

“Oh, baby!” She whined, meeting Oscars eyes.

“My god, baby. You’re so fucking beautiful. Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever fucking seen.”

With a wicked grin and an evil flint in his eyes, he flicked his tongue inside of her, rapidly tongue-fucking the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hands fisted the white cotton sheets around her, a delicious, pleasure-filled moan escaping her throat as she ground her hips up against Oscar’s face.

that was the thing about Oscar Piastri. He always made her feel so loved, so wanted. Even when his dick was inside her and he was all but whimpering in her ear. She always felt precious and cared for, and came away from every scene feeling full and happy, chest warm in a way that it hadn’t been with her few past partners.

“Atta girl.” He hummed, gently kissing her thigh. “So good and perfect for me.”

“Feels so good.” She hummed.

“Taste even better.” Oscar laughed, gently pinching her sides in a way that made her throw her head back against the sheets in laughter.

“Let go for me, honey. Show me how good I make you feel. This is all for you, sweet girl.”

She came quietly, less like a wave of pleasure and more a deep hum of satisfaction, followed by a hearty sigh and soft giggles, her chest rising and falling, bra straps falling down her upper arms.

“I love you.” Oscar whispered, kissing her thighs. “To the moon and back.”

“You always did have a way with words, didn’t you love?”

“You love it.”

“You know I do. And I love you even more than I love your smart mouth.”

[ultravi0lence14]

Snow Bunny

dean winchester x angel!reader

895 | fluff

summary: you love the snow, and dean isn’t just getting flushed cheeks from the cold.

dean watched as you trotted through the snow like an overtly hyper bunny, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you twirled around in the blizzard.

you’d never been down to earth before, so when your first snow storm hit, dean couldn’t ignore the squeal that filtered through the bunker halls from your lips. you had run outdoors so quickly that the eldest winchester had to remind you about putting on layers.

ever since the weather had dropped, you’d been outside everyday. a striped scarf tightly wrapped around your neck as sam’s old carhartt jacket adorned your upper half. dean didn’t like the sight of you in his younger brother’s clothes, but it was all they had, and dean would rather little flints of jealousy than you freezing to death.

dean heard your giggles of excitement from where he stood by the bunker entrance, watching you adjust the crème earmuffs on your head. the strangest thing wasn’t dean’s massive boots on your feet so you wouldn’t freeze, it was the fact that you didn’t even want to play in the snow, just admire it.

attempting to get you to at least throw a snowball, dean stopped trying after the copious amounts of questions about snow angels and why they were named after you. so dean just watched, a genuine smile on his lips for the first time in a while.

he admired the snow that decorated your hair, making you look like a renowned painting. the way your denim skirt and white tights clung to your legs had his mouth watering, remembering all the things you had let him do to you last night.

the thoughts running around dean’s mind was halted by the sweet sound of your voice calling his name. he immediately looked over to you, watching as you excitedly waved him over to where you stood.

his strides were quick, a harrowing feeling in his gut that needed your body close to his. when he reached the place you stood, dean’s arms brushed out in front of his body; wrapping one arm around your waist so he could pull you to his chest, the other delicately brushing the side of your face with the back of his hand.

“what is it, my love?” dean breathed out, the softest his voice has possibly ever sounded. but he realized it did that a lot around you. soften. the thrones usually wrapped around his rough and hard voice pruned and delicately trimmed just for you.

a dazzling smile broke out across your face, prompting dean to almost buckle at the knees. “dance with me, dean.”

your request sent his eyebrow shooting up in mock surprise, but he didn’t mutter a single complaint as he gently took his hand off your face and rested it on the middle of your back. he held you tightly, the only sound being the crunching of snow beneath your feet as dean swayed both of your bodies side to side. your face was close to his, a breath away, and dean couldn’t help but admire all the features you could only see up close.

the mesmerizing allure of your eyes, drawing him in with the kaleidoscope swirls that adorned your irises. the light freckles that dusted your cheeks and swept over the delicate slopes of your nose like stars. he even noticed your fluttering eyelashes, flakes of snow stubbornly getting caught in them above your eyelids and making you look like a goddess in the snow.

dean found the hand plastered on your back moving from it’s place, delicately bringing it to your face before he softly brushed the fallen snow from your lashes. a giggle burst from your lips, and dean’s heart ached in a way only true love could achieve.

the pads of his fingers moved from your eyelids down to the slope of your nose, brushing the point in a sad attempt to rid it of the redness brought by the harsh air. his nimble fingers than moved to your lips, brushing your cupid’s bow with his pointer finger before swiping your bottom lip with his thumb.

he was enthralled by you. the way you looked up at him through your lashes and pouted your lips as his fingers ran over them sending his brain into a frenzy. dean had never felt like God had created someone specifically for him, but he was silently thanking the man upstairs for the creation of his precious angel.

in a silent plea of love, dean brushed his lips across the expanse of your forehead, his mouth moving with words that sent another flurry of snow in your stomach.

“i love you, angel.” he murmured, moving his head to rest on top of yours. “i thank heaven everyday that you came down to me.”

a solemn and peaceful look danced across your face, hands grappling at the fabric around dean’s waist as your hands rested there. you couldn’t think of any possible words that could express your love for dean winchester, so you just settled on resting your head against his chest, lips pressing a kiss above his heart as a way to declare your love for him as well.

for a little while longer, the two of you stood in the snow, swaying back and forth in each other’s embrace like two loving displays in a snow globe.

tags: @a1ecmcdowell @cosmicanakin @titsout4jackles @haunteres @ariasong11

[witherby]

i want to hear more mouse headcanons

-🧜‍♂️

Yeah okay

Can drink a whole water bottle in less than four seconds (this horrifies everyone that witnesses it)

Failed their driving test several times. They're exceptionally bad at parallel parking but can do everything else just fine.

Prefers silver jewelry to gold

Still bites Bruce just to see him jump and complain

Can turn poorly if out in the sun for too long due to the nature of their powers

Modified the designs for their family's vigilante costumes because they thought they looked a little boring. Jason's leather jacket is now 3/4 length sleeves, dark brown instead of tan, and cropped. Dick's blue stripes go down his arms and also curve around the V of his hips. Damian's cloak is longer, thinner, and the edges of his domino mask mimic the wings of the bat family motif. Tim's bow staff has flint on the ends to create dramatic sparks now and the ridiculous smooth cowl gets traded out for a half-mask.

Routinely hangs out with Alfred when he needs to go shopping for the manor. They loooooove going to stores so they follow him everywhere, even if he refuses to let them drive or pay.

Didn't know how to knock Jason out of a rage once so they just put him in the pocket dimension with a little flashlight and some books. When they got him back out 45 minutes later he was completely fine again.

Startled Tim once when he came home from patrol. He was still high-strung from a close fight and broke their hand when they tried to hug him from behind. They knock on every door before entering a room now.

Sought advice from Hal the most when they were in high school. He had the most normal and applicable responses to civilian issues, like fitting in and bullying and homework.

Begged and begged and begged and begged and BEGGED for Hal to take them into space just once to go on a sector patrol with him. Then when he finally acquiesced and brought them along, they got motion sick and threw up from how rapidly they accelerated out of the atmosphere. Hal took them back home.

Dick and Tim pulled away from them for a while after they refused to become the next Robin because neither boy knew how to be a big brother to a civilian. This led Mouse to consider if everyone in the family would eventually pull away, and if they should just run away from home to make things easier.

Accidentally called Bruce "mom" once, which brought Hal to genuine tears because he's mom, he's the one with the World's Okayest Mom mug, he's the one that loves to go to PTA meetings and attend your extracurriculars!

Hates sewing, stitching, crocheting, any kind of knot-tying activity. They can never get the motions right.

LOVES Monopoly.

No one will play monopoly with them anymore because they keep winning.

Conner cried after agreeing to play monopoly with them once. He won't even look at the box anymore.

Someone please play monopoly with Mouse, they're foaming at the fucking mouth to squash someone into bankruptcy —

Can't be left alone in a hardware store and we won't talk about why

After successfully interning for Deathstroke, several other villains tried to offer them employment

Etc.

[ravelqueen]

The reason i love the ending of Black Sails (and why i hate like 80% of the discourse around it incidentally) is that no one is right! No one is wrong! They all make the most logical decisions based on who they are and John most of all.

The way I saw John apologists bending over backwards trying to frame it as an OOC decision because John wouldn't do that he loves Flint! at the same time John haters where feeling vindicated bc see he was a dick who only cares about himself and both sides making me claw at my face because the love was the point.

John would have not betrayed Flint if he didn't love him (and Madi)! Because then he wouldn't have cared if they died. But he does! He does so much in a way that is probably fully new to him and scary and it makes him act impulsively in a way he never did before (because as much as his actions often seem lackadaisical, he's a calculating mofo).

So he loves them.

He also, from the very first moments we meet him, has the biggest survival instinct of anyone. He doesn't care about principle or honour or cause he cares about survival.

He's managed to work for this cause and he's applied himself and i think at the moment of the story the Betrayal happens he's even really on board, but a tiger cannot change his stripes and so John Silver cannot change that his fundamental motivator is survival.

And because he loves Flint he wants him to survive more than he wants the cause to win only there he comes into conflict with the fact that Flint's main motivator is the Cause. He and Madi are creatures of principle of "The Cause Is The Cause Because It Is Worth Dying For".

So the confrontation in the forest is exactly this: Flint following his main motivator of the Cause before anything, because that is what he lives for and John just needing him to live, because you can't care about anything when you're dead.

And so it's tragic and heart wrenching because if John hadn't learned to love so well, so deeply, so earnestly throughout the story he would have let Flint go and continue to fight, but he did and he does so and he couldn't.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Undercurrents - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Dark dynamics, old resentments and shifting allegiances begin to cohere...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: mentions of child prostitution and unhealthy dynamics between mentor and student.

After, Sevika dragged her clothes back on. Her trousers were threadbare at the knees. Her vest was patched thrice-over. Her jacket was a cast-off of cracked leather and faded stripes. But with her baton holstered to her hip and her knife strapped to her calf, she was no less than a warrior-queen: aglow with anticipation at the blood-red sunset, and the battle-cry that'd call their city to arms. Transform it into something it had never been.

Something shining.

She grinned. The gleam cut him, deep.

"Ready to roll, Sil?"

He kissed her. Long, lingering, not a little possessive. He tasted sex, smoke, spirits, and underneath: a sweetness that was all her own. He wanted her again. He'd always want her, in one way or another: carnally, calculatedly, constantly. His flesh would cry out, even after it'd been pared down to the marrow.

Even after he'd been scarred past recognition, or resurrected into an altogether different shape, or rendered a ghost in his own story.

"It's time," he said.

She slipped from the backroom first, leaving the door open a crack, its glow beckoning. He lingered by the threshold, listening, not without fondness, as her solid footsteps faded. Smoked a quick one, relishing the smolder of tobacco at his throat. Then he extinguished his cigarillo, unfolded to his feet, and re-entered the fray.

In the corridor, he wasn't alone.

Nao, the young runner, was loitering in the hallway with a coy tilt to her head. A pitcher—midway to making its rounds upstairs between refills—was cradled in her arms.

Spotting Silco, she offered him a cool sluicing of water poured into a steel cup.

Silco accepted gratefully. Nao smiled, that hard, ingratiating smile he'd always deplored in scrappers. She'd been a teenager then, pretty in that soft unformed way that often invited roughing up from the wrong quarters.

Vander had, more often than not, wiped the floors with punters who'd gotten too handsy with the girl. Silco, typically, oversaw the aftermath: sending the malefactors packing with a smoldering cigarette stubbed out into their foreheads.

The two-punch combination was both a warning and a ritual. To discourage further transgression—and instill terror at its memory.

Lately, though, Silco had begun seeing more than fear in Nao's eyes. There was flint. Hunger, verging on bottomless, that spoke of some deep well within. He'd caught the girl, on more than one occasion, eyeing him intently as he passed.

The attention made his hackles rise, and he knew why.

She was a bit like him, Nao. Opportunistic, capable of great feats of cleverness. Already, she sensed that if tonight went as planned, Silco and Vander would take their place at the apex of Zaun's power structure. And Nao, budding gamester that she was, meant to capitalize on future gains. She couldn't ply her favors for coin just yet. Instead, she prostrated herself in smaller ways: topping up cups, offering cigarettes, dropping choice secrets.

She wanted Silco to see her. Recognize her worth. And, perhaps, reward it.

Ambition, Silco thinks in retrospect.

Is any monster more insidious?

"I iced it," Nao said in Va-Nox, as he tipped the glass back. "I knew you'd be thirsty."

"Because you were listening through the door." Silco made the accusation mildly in the same tongue. But his tone brooked no argument. He was fond of the girl, but she was just that: a girl. Too green, too rash. Too likely to find herself in the wrong pair of hands. "Don't do that again, Nao. It won't end well for you."

Her cheeks, darkly flushed, belied her nonchalant shrug. "I was curious, is all. Wanted to see what you two had going on."

"That's grown-up business. No affair of yours."

"How would you know?" The smile sat strangely on her features; it didn't suit. She was angling for bravado, but underneath, a rawboned woundedness bled through. "I've seen plenty. Endured plenty, too. My affairs would make yours blush."

"I don't doubt it."

"No?"

"But, doubt or no, you're a child." It was a flat summation of fact. "Your only affair ought to be your schooling. Are you still taking those classes? Math and reading?"

"A waste of time."

"On the contrary. Unless you'd like to be running these streets forever."

That earned him another look: sly, oddly calculating. "Who's to say I don't plan on it? Running these streets, I mean."

"Don't joke. The Lanes aren't a playground."

"No, they're a wolf-den." She sidled close, intimate in the narrow space. "And the only way out of a wolf-den is by kissing the one with the biggest teeth."

"You give Vander an earful of that, and he'll knock yours out."

"Not Vander." Her fingertip alighted on Silco's jugular notch. "You."

"Me?"

"I keep my ear to more than doors. I hear things. I know things." She tipped her face up: all smooth unblemished skin that, yet, stirred nothing but pity in Silco's gut. Her youth was precious, and she was ready to squander it for a penny's worth of promise. At her age, he'd done the same for less. "When Zaun is free, there will be a split. Right down the middle. One side: Vander's. The other side: yours. Which one, d'you think, will prove the winner's side?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Do you take me for a fool?" She tiptoed closer, pitcher resting on one shapely hip. The effect was spoiled by her gangling bones: too much child left to offset her burgeoning maturity. "Or are you the one who's fooling himself? There are whispers of what you did, to kickstart this fight. The Enforcers, dead in alleys, strung up in the rafters, floating in the river. They say you're not afraid to get your hands dirty. That you'll sacrifice anything to get what you want. That Vander leads the charge, but doesn't play the long game. Not the way you do."

"I'd put no stock in rumors," Silco warned. "They make fools of men and meat of little girls."

"I'm not a little girl." Her recalcitrant hand, approximating seduction through mimicry, veered south. "I can prove it."

He caught her wrist before it wandered off-course. Nao stilled.

She knew she was taking liberties where none were permitted. Yet she stood her ground. Defiant; hopeful. He saw, in her bold gaze, someone whose value system had been upended, and utterly shattered: like a porcelain vase smashed on the cobblestones.

He recognized the feeling. That broken-in emptiness. He'd lived it: a boy from the orphanages and mines, a lifetime's share of degradation buried in his young bones.

They deserved better, these children. Each and every one of them. Otherwise, the future mirrored in Nao's eyes—that warped amalgamation of ambition and avarice—would be Zaun's sole inheritance.

"I believe you," Silco told her, not unkindly. "You're growing up. Getting ideas about yourself. Nothing wrong with that. Same way there's nothing wrong with wanting more. But these games—they're not for you, Nao. Not yet. And if you're not careful, they'll lead you straight to an early grave."

Nao's lower-lip quivered; young pride, smote by rejection. But her spine held steady.

"Or lead me straight to you," she purred. "Isn't that the hand Sevika played?"

Anger cut cold through Silco's bones. His grip tightened fractionally; Nao flinched.

"Sevika," he said, "is a grown woman. You're a chit of a girl with ambitions beyond her scope. Learn your limits, before you break your neck stepping outside of them."

"But—"

He dropped her hand, done with her and every bit of this sordid business.

“Get back upstairs," he ordered. "If I catch you propositioning me, or any man again, I'll tell Vander. How d'you think he'll take to a scrap such as you peddling herself under his roof? Mark me, he'll thrash your backside raw. And, right after, I'll tell Sevika, and watch as she rips you a new one."

The threat, paired with the glint of permafrosted steel, did the trick.

Tears sprang to Nao’s eyes. She jerked away as if scalded.

"You're cruel!" she cried. "Heartless! I hate you!"

She fled back upstairs. In her hurry, she knocked over the pitcher: the steel clattering, water splashing everywhere. Bad luck, in the Fissures. A portent of disaster.

The echo, blending with Nao's receding footsteps, would linger: in the here-and-now, and in Silco's memory, for decades to come.

Irony, the bitch, was an inveterate houseguest.

On the stairwell, Silco scooped up the fallen pitcher. Rounding the landing, he encountered a presence blocking his path.

Vander.

The Hound's silhouette loomed darkly. A towering bulk encased in metal and leather. The gauntlets, hanging from his belt, caught the red lamplight, and turned to brimming cups of blood.

He must've spotted Nao fleeing upstairs. Spotted Silco, still radiating the postcoital languor from Sevika, on her heels. Whatever conclusions Vander drew in the interval stayed sequestered beneath his shadowed eye-sockets.

But, for a moment, he looked every inch the behemoth. Hardened. Brutal. Uncompromising.

A monster of mythological proportions.

"Trouble?" Vander rumbled quietly.

"Just a spill." Silco hefted the pitcher, tipping it upside down. The drips pattered in his footsteps. "Mind the puddle in the corridor."

"Tears? Or blood?"

Vander seemed mellow enough. His eyes told a different story.

When, Silco wondered, had it come to this? How and where had they fallen into this tarpit of mutual suspicion? Vander should be his staunchest ally; the most stalwart of his defenders. When had he become the man who'd imagine Silco would corner little chits in shadowy corridors, and coerce them into shameful acts?

Yet he could read between the lines.

Vander had always been primed for Silco's corruption. Always seeking evidence of the irredeemable. The boy with the outsized ambitions of outsized vengeance, flaunting his mockery at The Sprout to the miners' cheers. The young man with the barbed teeth and seething eyes, stalking Vander and Lika through the dancefloor of the Blue Lantern, as loneliness hung off him like miasma. The two-faced punisher prowling the tunnels at night, his blade slicing across Enforcers' throats, the cold scales of his ire encircling the heart of a city until it burst.

To Vander, Silco had become a subterranean spook, haunting every nook and crevice of portent.

Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

Until the monster had its fill.

And, it struck Silco then: a revelation far too late. Someday, a reckoning would come. Between himself and the monster inside Vander: the one that held apart, teeth bared, and meted out judgment on the transgressor who'd wandered too far beyond the pack. The beastly instinct that demanded honor as its due; obedience as recompense.

Someday, sooner or later, they'd both come to blows. Only one would survive. And it would be either him, or everything they'd built.

Tonight wasn't that night.

"Neither," Silco said, flatly. "Little brat fancies herself the lady of the manor. I set her straight."

"Did you?"

Silco ignored the pinch between his shoulderblades: a sharpness, reminiscent of a knife, sinking deep.

"Caught her skulking in the corridors," he elaborated, "while Sevika and I were occupied. Thought she'd pull a similar act, and I'd be enticed." He scoffed, shoulders rolling back. "As if anyone, least of all a half-pint still wet-behind-the-ears, has a snowball's chance in hell of warming my sheets while Sevika walks and breathes. Not to mention: she'd tear me limb from limb. Nail my cock above the door like a hunting trophy."

Vander's silence weighed. Then a tiny smirk cracked his stony demeanor.

"That," he conceded, "is good incentive for fidelity."

"Have a word with Nao, will you? She'll get herself hurt, at this rate."

"I will." The smirk dimmed, tempered by seriousness. "Look. Sorry, all right? Just, saw her hurrying away. Crying. Thought—"

"I know." Silco exhaled through his teeth. "It's my own damn fault. I keep things from you because I don't want us at odds. And because I do, you start jumping at shadows. Next you're suspecting me of every debauchery under the sun. You ask questions; I get defensive. And round and round we go."

"Not forever." Vander closed the space between them. The anger receded, replaced by quiet regret. "Look, Blut. I get it, yeah? Folks know you get shit done. That's why they come to you with their grievances. Why they ask things of you that they won't from me. But I've said it before. Ain't going to stop saying it till it sticks. These wildcards you keep close—they're bad news. Sevika's got more sense than most, but the rest're trouble. Reckless trouble. Small wonder whelps like Nao are followin' in their footsteps."

Wryly, Silco said, "There is a certain moral flexibility in our line of work."

"That 'moral flexibility' makes you a prime target." A big hand reached out, settling on Silco's nape. Like an ironclad collar. Or a stranglehold disguised as a caress. "Gives you a reputation you don't need. I don't want the Lanes rememberin' you as the chancer who made his own bed."

"No?" Silco drawled, half-jibe, half-challenge. "How do you want me remembered?"

Vander didn't let go. His palm rested in the jut of Silco's vertebra, where a pulse ticked.

Beneath the skin: a love burning restless.

"As the best man I know," Vander said simply. "Smartest, bravest, most loyal. A man who'd walk through fire, if it meant giving us a future without chains. Who'd do anything for those he calls family."

His thumb smoothed Silco's jugular. His gray eyes crinkled, almost in pain.

"A champion of Zaun."

Emotion seared the corners of Silco's eyes. Rarely did he cherish the handspan of inches that put Vander at an advantage. Yet he savored this vantagepoint: the width of Vander's shoulders against the doorway, and the sheer physicality of him attuned to Silco's shadow.

Right then, there was no world, not anymore, where Silco had any right to feel small.

"Always," Silco said hoarsely. "No matter what comes."

They stood there, rooted in place. Upstairs, the revelry raged on. A woman's laugh—husky-edged—rolled through the gloom.

"She's waiting for me," Silco asked quietly.

"Nao?"

"Sevika."

Vander nodded, and unslung his hand off Silco's shoulder. A concession, grudgingly bestowed. It made Silco realize, with no small sense of wonderment, that Vander hadn't fully let go of him. That, in his own way, he envied Silco this small bedrock of physical intimacy.

Sevika, a constant presence: guarding his flank, stoking his fire, warding off foes.

Silco had been that for Vander, once. Through thick and thin, against all odds. But that'd changed, somewhere along the line. Changed in ways boys could hash out with bareknuckled brawls or confessions slurred through liquor-fumes.

Not grown men. Not leaders-in-arms.

Them, they kept their grievances hidden. Tucked like blades beneath their sleeves.

"Can't believe," Vander gruffed, "that in all the years I've known you, I've never imagine asking. But... d'you love her?"

Irritation, fleeting, winged through Silco. Vander would be the kind of sap to throw the word around so easily. As though he owned its exclusive license.

Still, Silco answered. What else could he do?

"I think," he said, with a plainspoken pragmatism that, yet, hid a bedrock of rawness, "if she ever stopped looking at me with that fire in her eyes, I'd die."

"An' that's enough?"

"Should there be more?"

"You tell me."

Silco didn't prevaricate. There was no room left: not tonight.

Instead, swiveling, he stood to face the flecked hallway mirror, smoothing his shirt-collar and buttoning up his cuffs. His hair was slipping loose from its tie; deep waves spilling over his forehead.

He thought of Sevika's hand fisted there, her teeth sunk into his throat, those strong sweet thighs cinching down on him like destiny...

Silco smiled. The light cut half his face into a patchwork of shadows. For one fleeting instant, he saw something there—something other. A vision of himself years down the track, irrevocably altered, irremediably destroyed.

And, beneath that, something that could never be erased.

"No," he said softly. "It's not enough. But the rest, we'll seize. Build for ourselves. Make it whatever we need it to be."

"Happily ever after?"

"Choice." Silco turned, and met Vander squarely, chin to chest. "And whatever choice I make will be mine to answer to."

"An' mine."

"Already crowned yourself king, eh?"

"Please. Throne's just another name for a chopping block." Vander shook his head. "Only kingdom I want's this."

"This?"

"The Drop tonight. Where everyone has a full plate, an' a warm hearth, an' hope." His smile spread; tender despite the bitterness spreading its stains between them. "What more d'we need?"

The right answer—the only answer—was nothing.

Nothing, except the freedom to keep it forever.

In the shadows, they embraced. The way men who've loved each other their whole lives would, at the crossroads of Fate. Not knowing if their paths were diverging, or colliding, but understanding that no matter what came, they'd walk out changed to the marrow.

They had no inkling of how far the change would span. That they'd die and live again: reborn in shapes less than whole. That the cost of tomorrow would be the past itself.

Riven in two; never to be remade.

This, Silco knows now, was the last night they'd hold each other not as enemies, but as brothers-in-arms.

For when dawn broke, everything would fall apart.

[cristaq]

Soap truly is non-stop. He is so Hamilton coded.

He trains and he studies and he fights, with no notion of breaks or personal time. One stripe makes him a private, three make him a sergeant, but only the loss of his lover makes him a captain.

Price is worried sick, because he can see so much of himself in Soap’s wit. Flames like him burn bright and fast, but our bodies are simply not built to last. Ambition is just the flint, the spark, but is there enough gas in the tank? Will he make it to your thirties, despite his rank?

So yeah, MacTavish, why do you fight like you're running out of time? Train day and night like you’re running out time? Everyday you fight like you’re running out of time.

[katsura369]

NEW STORY SNEAK PEEK:

Kunoichi amongst Reapers

The world came to her in fragments, like shards of a broken mirror reflecting a distorted reality. Her vision swam, blurred at the edges as if she were peering through a fogged window. The kind of awakening that follows a restless sleep—a sleep that offers no dreams, no nightmares, only the heavy promise of a day that would attempt to grind her spirits to dust. She blinked, her eyelids scraping like dry parchment, and took in her surroundings.

The air was damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of stone and earth. The light was dim, sourceless, as though it seeped from the walls themselves. She was underground, or so it seemed. The walls carved in rock. Her body felt leaden, weighed down by invisible chains. She glanced down and saw the restraints—thick, leather straps that bound her up to her arms, holding them tightly behind her back. Yet, it wasn't the leather that held her immobile; it was as if gravity itself had doubled, pressing down on her.

To a kunoichi, Sakura Haruno knew this was far from an ideal situation, an ordinary person would've been induced to panic, but her instinct was to take in her surroundings, collect every image and observation, and make a calculated decision before her nerves and emotions caught up to her and netted around her shinobi instincts, trapping them.

And then she saw him.

“Well look who’s finally awake,”

A man sat a few feet away, his posture relaxed, almost languid as if he were waiting for a tea kettle to boil rather than guarding a captive. His face was shadowed by the brim of a striped bucket hat, but his eyes—gray and sharp as flint—caught the faint light. His hair was a mess of pale gold, strands falling carelessly across his forehead, and a faint stubble dusted his jaw. In one hand, he held a cane, its tip resting lightly against the ground. In the other, a fan, which he flicked open with a practiced snap, hiding the lower half of his face.

“I was starting to think you’d never wake up after that. Glad to see you weren’t done in,”

Her eyes narrowed, as she tugged at the restraints, but her body refused to obey, as though her muscles had forgotten their purpose. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice hoarse but steady.

The man tilted his head, the brim of his hat casting his eyes into deeper shadow. “That’s what I want to ask you,” he replied, tapping the tip of his cane against the ground.

“Sakura Haruno,” she said without hesitation, “Now, tell me where I am.”

He chuckled, a low, mirthless sound that echoed faintly in the cavernous space. "Sakura Haruno," he repeated as if testing the weight of her name. "Tell me, do you remember what happened to you?"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory. A mission—yes, there had been a mission. And then… flashes of chaos. Bodies were strewn across the ground like discarded dolls. A creature, monstrous and otherworldly, its mask is a grotesque fusion of bone and shadow. And pain—searing, blinding pain as something tore through her chest. Her eyes instinctively flew to her torso, searching for the wound, but there was nothing. No blood, no scar, not even a tear in her clothing….which had been changed. She was no longer wearing her usual red vest her entire outfit seemed to have been displaced.

That sent a shiver of discomfort through her, as she noticed the black fabric covering her body, a black kimono. Clasping neatly to her body in perfect size, but that was the least of her concerns.

“I’m alive?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

The man’s fan snapped shut, and he leaned forward, his gray eyes glinting like shards of ice. “Oh no,” he said, his tone almost playful. “You’re not alive.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” She was here right now, she could feel her breaths, her chest rising with each intake, the pain in her shoulders from being bound as she was.

He shrugged as if discussing the weather. "I suppose it's more accurate to say that you, Sakura Haruno, are neither dead nor alive. You're somewhere in between. A liminal space, if you will."

This may have been nothing more than a disturbing joke, but it set her off. She tugged at the restraints again, but they held fast, “Explain. Now.”

The man snapped his fingers, and the restraints fell away, disintegrating into wisps of smoke. Sakura surged to her feet, her body moving on instinct, falling into a defensive stance.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice rising. “What’s going on?”

The man rose smoothly to his feet, his cane tapping lightly against the stone floor. He reached behind him and produced a sheathed sword, which he tossed at her feet. The blade landed with a metallic clang that echoed through the chamber. “Do you really want to know?”

Sakura stared at the sword, a sinking feeling settling in her gut. Whatever this was, it was bad. Worse than bad. She could feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seemed to pulse and writhe around her.

"Think back," the man said, his voice cutting through her thoughts like a knife. "Way back. What brought you to this moment? And don't hold back.

Read The Rest of The Chapters here:

[anonmousegosqueak]

Hey, did you know @sirbonesly is literally the best person ever? They're so supportive, letting me goof around instead of writing. I literally love them so much, I wish I could write more for them 😔

Anyways!

Did y'all also know I made Spore creatures for each of the 141 (+a few friends)?

There's exactly 0 reason for any design, it's literally just vibes.

Anyways! Wanna see?

We got our daddy, Price:

He's so ugly, I love him so much. I made his dumb facial hair and idk, he's just a guy??

Emo loser Ghost:

I took him and I added spooky, what else do you want? He's big and sharp and emo and I love him.

Foap:

Ugly. I gave him spikes for his Mohawk, I gave him white stripes on blue for THE FLAG OF SCOTLAND, that's about it...

Gazzzz:

Pretty. I gave him flowers because he's so fancy, omg I love him~

Bugbugbugbugbug:

OH GOD WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE THAT????

Bug is not harmless, he is strong >:)

Who tf is this:

Red looks similar to Gaz and has a spit thing (gasoline) and a rock (flint and steel) for fire, on the go!

Okay that's all. I could write this better but there's seriously no reason behind these creatures. I was bored, I felt nostalgic, I made my current blorbos into nostalgia nightmare fuel.

Gimme enough likes and I might give 'em the outfits >:3

[en8y]

[IMAGE ID: two rectangular flags with seven horizontal stripes each. each flag has a gem corresponding to their term names on the left. the first flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: dark grey, black, nearly-black grey, light grey, medium grey, black, and dark grey. the second flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: cool grey, nearly-black blue, dark grey, light grey, medium grey, nearly-black blue, and cool grey. END ID.]

obsidian: an individual who presents their identity through the color black.

flint: an individual who presents their identity through the color grey.

part of @mantra-repeated's gem presentation system!

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @presentationflag-archive

[cryptidclaw]

Fogtalon!

Design Notes:

pretty much just a redraw of my last design for her, only change is that she has two blind eyes caused by different things!

Character Bio:

Fogtalon

(White-eye/One-eye)

Lesbian; Molly; she/her

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 12 cycles, 3 moons; ~65 Hyrs

Age as of 1st arc's end: 14 cycles, 1 moon; ~72 Hyrs

Title meaning: -talon = a cat who is very skilled in battle; they fight ferociously with their claws

Warrior -> Guard Charge -> Elder of Thunder Order

Mother: Harepounce

Father: Stagleap

Siblings: Specklesnap

Mate: Leopardfoot

Kits (donor: Sparrowpelt): Mousebite; Birdflight

Grandkits:  Sandstorm; Flint; Poppy

Other notable kin: Squirrelflight (grandkit); Leafpool (grandkit); Foxleap (grandkit); Icecloud (grandkit)

Character Summary:

As a kit Fogtalon contracted a horrible eye infection in one eye which left it permanently blind and cloudy. this didnt stop her from becoming one of the best warriors of the Order in her time. She even raised to the rank of Guard Charge before she retired.

Fogtalon's other eye was lost in battle but she was already close to retirement at the time so she chose to just fully retire. "Look i know I COULD still be a better warrior than most of you even if I cant see shit, but im fuckin old and tired so im retiring." - Fogtalon probably

Fogtalon had her first kit, Mousebite, with her good friend Sparrowpelt. They aren't mates, they just both wanted kits!

Fog later became mates with Leopardfoot after Star Pineheart left the Order. Fog decided to have a second litter after this with Sparrow as the sire again, this time however Leopard raised the resulting kit (Birdflight) alongside them!

Fog has a similar personality to Mousebite, they are both tough snarky ladies <3

Fog and Leopard retired to the elders den together and are two of the elders during TPB!

...

[Image ID: a digital drawing of Fogtalon an AU version of One-eye/White-eye from warrior cats. She is sitting with her left side showing and she is smiling with an amused expression on her face. She is a short furred light gray-blue ticked tabby molly with one missing eye and one cloudy white and yellow eye. She is mostly a light gray blue with darker gray blue stripes on her legs, tail and face. She has white on her muzzle, paws, chest and tail tip. She has tears in her ears, claw mark scars over her right eye which is an empty socket, and she has a few scars on the rest of her body. Her inner ears, nose and scars are all light pink./End ID]

[softmangoes]

control - eden the hunter x defiant!pc

18+ only | request fill for 🕸 anon

summary: you've been spending a lot of time at the new university. when you get back home to the cabin, you surprise eden with a gift.

includes: sub!eden, sex pollen, pegging, mentions of past sexual abuse, blood, older pc

"that shortcut isn't safe at this time of the year," the hunter said as he rubbed the healing salve onto your fingertips. you winced, the cut that adorned your hand burning as the ointment seeped into it. the ledge you would usually scale to get to the cabin had been slick with tufts of moss, causing you to lose your grip and slip. as you fell, you grabbed onto a stray vine to steady yourself, pain flaring from your palm as its thorns sliced into your skin.

"i figured," you said. a pair of stormy eyes flicked to you, unamused.

"you were careless." eden took a length of gauze and wrapped it around your hand. although he was gentle, the pressure around the cut on your palm still made you hiss. "what would have happened if something out there had smelled the blood on you?"

your eyes fell onto the rifle resting atop the dining table. the hunter had been cleaning it when you stumbled in, all bloody and sweaty and exhausted.

"then you would have taken care of it."

eden scoffed, securing the dressing with a practiced ease. "i've spoiled you, haven't i?"

"have you?" although you were more than capable of protecting yourself, the hunter was no stranger to threatening those who would harm you while you traversed through the forest. 

when you looked at him, his eyes were chips of flint. “say that again.” 

you inhaled, trying to calm yourself.

the hearth made his skin glow warmly, the firelight dancing on his features. his hair had grown longer, his beard more unruly. this time, due to the storms, you had been gone for more than a week. a flash flood could have swept you away as you crossed the river, lightning could have sliced through a tree as you passed below its boughs. a frightened animal could have confronted you as it made its escape. how could he not worry? how could he not want to make sure that you were okay?

but you were no fragile thing. years of hard labor had woven corded muscle into your limbs and months of training had made you more than lethal. you could take care of yourself. he had made sure of it.

"i'm alright," you said, trying your best to assure him. you came back and you were alive. that was more than good enough. "okay?"

after a moment, the hunter's eyes softened. "i missed you," he breathed, taking your other wrist in his hand. he pressed his lips to the tip of each bandaged finger, kissing each one gently. despite the gauze, his mouth was warm, the puff of his breath tickling the underside of your wrist.

once he released you, you brought your uninjured hand to cup his face. stubble scratched at your palm as you traced the old scars that ran across his jaw. one of them, still silvery in the firelight, you had carved into his face years ago. you could still remember the taste of copper in your mouth when he kissed you, the blood hot as it wet your lips. 

he made a sound at your touch, one quiet and full of need, and you found yourself filled with desire. here he was, your hunter, kneeling before you as you sat on the couch. eden had never been one to go into detail about how much he wanted you, but you could tell from his expression that the past week had been difficult for him. his eyes betrayed his usual stoicism: this time, he had been afraid you weren’t going to come back. 

how cute. hunger coiled in you tight, and you slipped your thumb between his parted lips.

a gasp. then warmth. a tongue swiped across the pad of your finger, hot and wet. his eyes flicked open, those twin storms brewing with confusion and desire, before he pulled away abruptly, leaving a string of saliva connecting you to him.

"what," eden started, not knowing how to process what had just happened. a stripe of red flared across his cheeks.

but you only smiled as you licked the pad of your thumb, the hunger coiling tighter and tighter. you were a snake wrapping around its prey, the coolness of your scales sliding along the warmth of its skin. your hunter was always so beautiful, but there was something about that moment of softness, that vulnerability, that made you want to see more of it.

"you really did miss me," you said, your eyes never leaving his as your lips closed over your finger to taste him. "didn't you?"

__

later that night, eden stood in front of the bathroom sink, sweat slicking his skin. outside, the wind howled as rain streamed down the window. he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about your finger in his mouth and the look in your eyes as you watched him lick at it.

it had been a brief moment, nothing more than a few fleeting seconds, but he could still remember the taste of you.

eden inhaled. at that moment, you were fast asleep in bed, curled up in a nest of blankets to keep you from straining your hand.

at first, he had wanted a companion: someone to warm his bed, cook his meals, do as they were told. what he didn’t expect was you questioning his rules, pushing against his boundaries. one time, you took a knife to his jaw, raking the blade across his skin like a trail of fire. he slapped the knife from your grip and pinned you to the wall, growling that he wasn’t someone who could be threatened like that.

a few years ago, he would have taken you right then and there, injury be damned. 

now that you were taking classes, getting back to the cabin on time was more difficult for you. there were courses for you to take, projects to finish, and papers to write. when you had applied for the university, he had been bitter about your decision for days. what did you need from the town that you couldn’t get here? why did you want more reasons to be away? 

in retaliation, eden would wake you on the mornings he knew you’d have class by pulling your underwear to the side and slipping inside you. the hunter’s size was formidable, so it never took you very long to gasp and open your eyes to the clock you kept by your bedside. 

“h-hey,” you started, your thighs trembling despite your annoyance. before you could continue, he’d slide in deeper, making you claw at the sheets with a soft whine. 

“you’ll be late by the time we’re finished,” he murmured, licking a line up your neck as you clenched down on his cock. after all these years, the hunter knew many ways to keep you within his grasp. “and you have everything you need here.” 

the clock ticked, its hands inching closer and closer to the start of your class with each moment that passed. 

“stay.” he circled your clit with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust. “do you really have to leave?” 

before he found you, there was only the quiet of the cabin to keep him company. the rustle of the leaves scratching against the windows and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth could not compare to the softness of your skin or the sound of your laugh filling the air. despite the fact that you were the one who had spent time in chains, eden could not help but feel confined by his loneliness whenever you were away. 

but you didn’t have to leave this time. he could make you feel good. he could remind you that you were meant to be here. he could make you stay. 

“eden.” with a grunt, you snapped your hips into his, taking all of him in. the sudden motion made him gasp as he spilled into you, filling you with his warmth as you came with him. 

a few moments passed before you sat up and started slipping on your clothes. by the set of your shoulders, he could tell that you were upset at him for delaying you once again. the walk through the forest would take a considerable amount of time and you still had to catch a bus to the university. 

when he called your name, you didn’t answer. minutes later, your steps faded. a chill rushed into the cabin and the front door closed, leaving him with only the silence for company.

all of that had happened a little more than a week ago. now, his knuckles were pale as he gripped the rim of the bathroom sink. 

after so long, you were finally back. if you had stayed away a day longer, he would have walked to the university to wander the campus in search of you. despite the years you had spent with each other, a part of him was sure that someday you would leave the forest and never come back.

eden shook his head. he thought of your thumb against his tongue, the wet heat of it probing his teeth. it felt assuring that even after everything, you still wanted him. 

the hunter slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, sliding them along the warmth of his inner lip. his other hand found his cock, aching against his trousers. eden panted, desire curling in his core as he tried his best not to moan aloud.

still, a low groan escaped his lips. he was close. so fucking close. and as he came, he thought of the hunger in your eyes and how in that moment, he had wanted to feed it.

__

a box of ammunition. rope. a new whetstone. gauze.

the next morning, eden set each item down onto the dining table methodically, silently appraising each item as he slipped it out of your duffel bag.

after a few hours of rest and the cuts and scrapes from your journey back aside, you felt much better than you did the previous evening. you sipped some lemon balm tea, watching your hunter sort through the items. 

the university had taken a lot from the time you would usually spend together, but you still tried your best to make sure that eden was taken care of. over the years, the town had gotten busier after the campus opened, welcoming new students from the surrounding areas who would occasionally strap on a backpack to trek through the forest. often, they’d run the supply store out of the usual items you’d purchase. this wasn’t an ideal situation for someone as secluded as eden, so you did what you could to make sure he had what he needed. 

a pack of mason jar lids. gun oil. vegetable seeds. 

"looks like the store was stocked well this week," he remarked, setting down the packs of seeds with a quiet rattle. you imagined the sprouts they’d become, bright green tendrils pushing forth from the earth. “we’ll plant these once the frost ends.”  

although attending college was rather expensive, your botany courses had enhanced your time spent at the cabin. after a few months, you had made a natural irrigation system for the vegetable plots, created a compost pile, and even had a small seed archive categorized by their best growing season. around the cabin itself were sketchbooks filled with illustrations of the different herbs, mushrooms, and berries that could be found within the forest. 

years ago, you couldn't imagine that you would stop catching fights in the streets. now, your life was devoted to the changing of the seasons, to bountiful harvests, and handfuls of seeds.

antibiotics. cheesecloth. sewing needles. a—

"this is from that temple boy's shop." eden held up a large velvet bag, which was plain save for a pink heart embroidered onto the deep purple cloth.

whenever you needed cash, you would offer to help sydney run his mother’s adult store. it was an easy enough job and both sydney and sirris treated you well. occasionally, they’d send you off with something new to try to express their gratitude for your assistance. 

“you’ve been eyeing this one for a while,” sirris said, pulling the box from the shelf. you blushed, embarrassed that you had made your interest so obvious. its length was enticing, the construction of the curves alluring. “take it home. i’m sure the customers would appreciate a review.”

when eden pulled the item out of the bag, his eyes snapped to yours.

"what," he said flatly, examining the package's text that claimed the dildo was realistic, sure to please, a fan favorite. "am i not enough for you?"

you laughed. eden had enjoyed the array of lacy outfits from the shop, binding you in silk rope, the samples of lube that were stored in his nightstand. what was one more new thing?  

"relax," you said, taking the bag and upending it. a leather harness, sleek with silver rivets, thudded onto the table. "it's for you."

in all honesty, you couldn’t be more excited. eden was an insatiable lover, fierce and enthusiastic. while the sex was exciting, there was a part of you that wanted to unravel him, to savor him. you would do it slowly, carefully, so that once he was properly plied with your gentleness, you would sink your teeth into his tender flesh and make his eyes glaze in ecstasy. 

the hunter inhaled, stiffening as he pushed himself from the table with a wooden creak. he shrugged on his hunting coat.

"i should go," he said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "there's a herd i've been following."

"hey." you dropped the bag, concern lacing your voice. the last time you had seen him tense like that was when you had asked what life had been like for him before. "are you alright?"

when he glanced at you, you swore you saw fear flash in his eyes. "we'll talk later."

before you could say anything else, he was out the door. 

__

there had been a time in his life in which he had been stripped of his sense of control: the caretaker of the orphanage, with her sweet smile that never quite reached her eyes, would take him by the hand and tell him that if he couldn’t pay her fee, then he’d just have to make it up to her another way. 

“you could do that, can’t you?” she’d say, lacing her fingers sweetly. the scent of her perfume was always so syrupy, like the rot that followed after the rain. 

that other way involved eden getting dragged to the fighting pit in the middle of the night, his nose bloody from punching the thug who threw him out of his own bed. 

years later, eden would learn that he had never been meant to fulfill the caretaker’s payments. he was the perfect choice to be her champion. out of everyone at the orphanage, eden was the biggest and the strongest. as far as she could tell, there was no one more ideal to be bruised and battered for cash.

but what was special about him had nothing to do with his strength or size: he was smart. in that reeking pit, which was nothing more than an abandoned pool surrounded by a raucous mix of the town's underground and elite, he would circle his opponents waiting for them to make the first move. if they charged at him, he would dodge. if they struck at him, he would catch their wrist and twist their bodies to meet the hard, mildewed tile below. losing meant getting hauled screaming into the unknown to horrors that made the pit look like child's play. winning was the only option he had, so it was what he did.  

but the thing about winning was that he had never been the winner. not truly.

eden was beautiful, all muscles glistening with blood and sweat, his gray eyes hollow as he surveyed the crowd that cheered in adoration for him. on that first night, after the final round, the last thing he remembered was getting wiped down with an icy towel as he was met with praise for his achievement. at some point, someone clapped his shoulder and gave him a drink, ice clinking against the glass. it had tasted sweet, went down all nice and cold.

and then nothing.  

he woke up to darkness. a strip of cloth around his eyes and rope around his wrists and ankles. he was naked, still bruised and aching but so, so warm. something had been in the drink. something that made him want to be touched. to be fucked and defiled. 

eden was so alluring, a beast in his element. all teeth but deprived of any bite. he was never meant to be the winner, but their prize all along.

there had been voices around him, amused by how he struggled ineffectually against his binds. he was so strong, wasn't he? but so weak, so pliable for them. hands traced the curve of his muscles and the cut of his jaw, mouths so hot and full of want pressed against his skin, cooing their congratulations as they stroked and teased him. against his will, his legs shook and moans spilled from his mouth. he was helpless. defenseless. and despite how much his mind screamed, his body only craved for more.

the forest came back to him, damp and smelling of earth and cedar. eden sighed, his breath fogging in the muggy autumn air. that night was long ago, but never had been far off. he had ran from the orphanage shortly after that, his pockets stuffed with the cash earned from the pit, a knife, a handful of seeds, and his best winter coat wrapped around him. as his shoes pounded the pavement, the sidewalk turned into loose ground and then later into fallen leaves.

once he was tired of running, eden took solace in the eaves of the pines, ate berries, washed himself in the lake to scrub away the memories. in the years following that, he made a home for himself. as he reveled in the safety of routine, he found a sense of control that steadied him whenever he felt his skin crawl with their touch. 

control was the one thing that had protected him throughout all these years. control had kept him alive, helped him start the fires that would warm his cold hands, helped him build a cabin to sleep in. as long as he could determine the boundaries he had when it came to interacting with the world around him, he would keep himself safe. 

the security of his routine lasted until the day he tracked a deer near the lake and found you. in all honesty, he didn’t know what possessed him. it had been a while since he had last seen another person, let alone conversed with one. on that warm summer day, you had offered him an apple slice, cool and crisp and sweet. with a smile, you told him that you had never seen eyes like his. 

for as long as he could remember, eden had never been good with words, but he could take you back to the cabin, no matter how much you kicked and screamed. 

despite his many attempts to tame you, you refused to give in. at one point, you even managed to run away. the hunter had tracked you for hours until you pounced on him, knocking him off-balance. once he was on the ground, you pressed a knife to his neck so hard that a line of blood bloomed on the blade. 

“i want us to start over.” although your voice was ragged with exhaustion, there was a fire in your eyes. sweat dropped from your cheek. “can we do that?” 

he could have rolled over and wrestled the knife from you. pinned your wrists just so he could prove who was really in control. 

but in that moment, as he stared at you haloed in the light of the clearing, all he could do was inhale. you were so strong, so beautiful, and he had been bested. 

“alright,” he said, a bead of blood running down his neck. “we’ll start over.” 

now, he carefully made his way through the brush, the damp earth muffling his movements. there was a boar nearby, kicking up at the patches of mushrooms and new sprouts brought up by the rain. 

the strap-on had been…a surprise. 

eden knew that he had left the cabin in a hurry, but he hadn't known what to say to you. how could he tell you that the thought of submission was one he met with both terror and intrigue? that he had nightmares about being strapped to that chair again, rendered unable to do anything else but squirm? how could he tell you that despite all of that, he still thought about the taste of your fingers in his mouth? 

control was his armor, but it was also his leash. a part of him was thrilled to know that despite what happened the last time you had seen each other, you still wanted to be with him. you still wanted him. 

the boar trudged into the clearing, grunting as it nudged at a sapling. eden crouched lower into the bush, careful not to break any branches. when he took a step forward to get a better vantage point of the animal, something hissed below him. a sweetness filled the air, syrupy and heavy like cherries boiled in sugar. 

when eden looked down, he saw that he had stepped on a patch of yellow puffballs, their disturbed bulbs spraying clouds of purple spores into the air. 

shit. he coughed, pressing his sleeve to his face and staggering away from the powdery cloud. amidst the chaos, he heard the boar whine and retreat further into the brush. eden’s eyes watered and he began to feel his skin warm. lost in his introspection, he had wandered too far into the forest, where the plants and the animals grew strange and twisted. 

his heartbeat roared in his ears. the cabin wasn’t too far off. if he was lucky, he would be able to treat himself before the effects set in. disoriented, he slipped off his shotgun and made his way back. 

__ 

marigold. echinacea. willow bark. the amber bottles clinked against each other softly as you organized the medicine shelf, making sure that the tinctures and extracts had been topped off with alcohol and the salves were still fresh and free of mold. there wasn’t much to do during autumn except prepare for the winter.

during the time you had spent away, eden had been especially productive: there were dozens of canned vegetables from the last garden’s harvest, bundles of herbs and strings of garlic bulbs hanging from the ceiling like withered bouquets, and strips of venison curing in the small root cellar. the man never had a penchant for sitting still and whenever you were away, he couldn’t help but keep his hands busy. 

you sighed at the thought of him, your shoulders sagging in disappointment. perhaps coming back with the strap-on had been too much for him. sure, you didn’t leave the cabin on the best of terms the last time, but you thought the gift would have been a nice gesture to assure him. if he ended up wanting to have nothing to do with it, then at least you would have something you could use to give him a show.

as you palmed the last bottle, something slammed into the front door. quickly, you slipped the tincture into your pocket and pulled the hunting knife strapped to your belt. although the cabin was nestled deep in the forest, there were times in which a panicked animal would crash into the structure as they fled from a predator. whatever it was, you weren’t going to take any chances. 

once you got to the door, eden crashed through it, his breath ragged from exertion. goosebumps prickled your skin at the rush of cold air from the forest. at the sight of him, the knife clattered to the ground. the hunter’s eyes were twin voids, his pupils straining against thin irises. 

“hey, what’s—” before you could finish, he lunged at you. 

the hunter was strong, but you were faster. quickly, you sidestepped away, making sure to kick the knife across the room. 

“i thought we were past this,” you said, referring to the months you had spent at his mercy. “you’re not still mad about me being late, are you?” 

there was no response. when eden swung at you again, you caught a whiff of something sickly sweet. something familiar. 

“shit,” you cursed, uncorking the bottle in your pocket to douse your sweater sleeve with the tincture. when he lunged for you, you slammed the wet fabric in his face. his hands clawed at your shirt, nails raking against your skin as he struggled. after a moment, his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor. 

__ 

eden woke up in a dream. instead of sunlight streaming through the forest canopy, he saw the ceiling of the cabin hazed in a light purple. the air was warm, tinged with the scent of drying herbs and pine. he could have sworn he was just in the middle of a hunt, raising his rifle to train it on a boar.

his body hummed. the hunter could feel the scratch of the blanket against his bare skin, the hot slick of sweat between his thighs, and the pull of the rope tighten around his wrists and ankles.

fear spiked through him. the memories of being strapped to the chair after winning at the fighting pits came rushing. this couldn’t be happening again. not after this long. after all this time, he thought he was safe, that he was okay, that— 

“you’re awake,” you said as you walked through the door. the bed dipped as you sat down beside him. steam curled from a mug in your hand. “the valerian did a pretty good job of knocking you out, huh?” 

“why am i tied up?” his words came out slurred, like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of syrup. eden sank his teeth into his mouth, trying to focus through the haze. 

your nails tapped against the mug in contemplation. “to keep you from me,” you said. “if i hadn’t acted quickly, i would have had to buy new clothes.” 

after a moment, you set the mug down and leaned over to look into his eyes. 

“i thought wiping you down would help, but your pupils are still dilated,” you observed. “the spores must’ve got you good.” 

he remembered the time you had first come across a flush of the strange fungi. they had fruited in the mushroom barrel, a cluster of yellow spheres among the fieldcaps and boletes. on that day, he dropped the firewood that he was hauling back to the cabin, worried about the way you were swaying. when he tried to ask if you were alright, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face to yours. 

"you could have had me," he said, swallowing. in that moment, you had been so pliable for him. after months of dealing with your stubbornness, it had been refreshing to see you so earnest for his touch. "it would have been...easy." 

a shadow fell over your face. “easy,” you repeated, pushing his hair from his eyes. eden shuddered, brief and sharp, at the sudden feeling of relief your touch provided him. "what fun would that have been?" 

knowing that you hadn’t chosen to take advantage of him in that state not only made his heart warm, but his body yearn even more for you. this moment was nothing like what happened in his past. 

“show me,” eden said, the words spilling out of him before he could realize what he was saying. the hunter had never been one to beg, but his skin felt like it was on fire and he needed you to touch him. he needed more relief. you were the balm to his suffering and the only person who could take care of him. “have your fun.” 

after a moment, he realized that he had pulled the ropes taut by trying to get closer to you. in that moment, he was intimately aware of your presence: the scent of arousal and soap on your skin, the softness of your breathing, and your fingers resting along his jaw. he wanted nothing more than to close the distance. 

“you know what i want.” your fingers lifted his face and there, yet again, was that hunger in your eyes. “are you sure about this?” 

eden inhaled, and found himself nodding. he thought of the nights he spent alone, the years that had stretched between you two, the taste of you in his mouth. anyone else would have taken advantage of him, but you were the only person he would ever grant his submission. 

“it’s you,” he said. "i'll do anything for you."

your hand slid down his neck to the center of his chest before you pressed him back to the bed, the sensation of your touch cool against his feverish skin. he bit back a whine, trying to keep himself from begging for more. 

from the nightstand, you produced a small bottle of lube. your hand began to drift from his chest, slipping under the sheet, drawing a path of pleasure that made him groan. 

“the spores dilate your blood vessels,” you murmured, drawing away the blanket to expose his naked body. “they make you sensitive to touch and encourage the release of oxytocin once stimulated.” 

“did you, ah, learn that from your classes?” 

you placed yourself between his legs. “i’ve seen a few experiments.” 

hearing that sent a pang of jealousy through him. he imagined you dosing yourself with a tincture of active spores, blushing as someone else’s hands roamed your body. “you didn’t…join them, did you?” 

“what?” you scoffed, pouring some of the lube onto your fingers. “i’m not like that.” 

“i took notes,” you continued. the hunter jumped when he felt a long, slim finger dip between his cheeks, wet and warm with lube. “we live in the forest, so i wanted to know how something like that could affect you.” 

“how considerate,” he said, breath heavy as your fingertip began to circle his hole. he hadn’t often touched himself there for pleasure, but the feeling wasn’t unwelcome. “any progress on that?” 

“i think it’s promising.” you smiled, and slipped a finger inside. slowly, you slid the digit in and out, easing him into the sensation. it wasn’t until you pushed another finger inside and rubbed against something that made his vision go white that he gasped, half-straining against the ropes that bound him. 

“fuck,” he grunted as you began to quicken the pace, coaxing moans from him that echoed throughout the cabin. he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grind into your hand or into the mattress. 

eden thought he was going to go insane. he’d never thought you would ever have him like this, that you would take him this way, that you would want him in this state. he glanced at you and saw the blush that reddened your cheeks as you watched him writhe.

a feeling cracked inside of him. the need to let go, to give in, to fall into the depths of your desire. 

“so,” he panted, skin on fire. he swore that he was going to melt. “are you going to fuck me or what?” 

you held the back of his thigh with your other hand and pushed yourself down to your knuckles, earning a whine that shut him right up. 

“someone’s a little pushy today,” you said, sliding your fingers out of him. the lack of pressure made him shudder, making him bite back a whimper at the emptiness. “if i untie you, will you behave for me?” 

eden nodded. it took a moment for you to slip off your clothes, the pale glow of the moonlight exposing your pert breasts and the series of scars that adorned your torso. once you were bare, he felt the rope loosen from his ankles. when you climbed over him to unfasten his wrists, he took your nipple in his mouth, drawing circles around the tender bud with his tongue. 

already, he could feel his cock getting slick from your cunt. if he angled his hips right, then he could just— 

you pushed him away, his mouth leaving a line of saliva that connected you to him. he felt the sharp pull of your fingers tangled in his hair cut through the haziness of his lust. “i told you to behave,” you warned him. “will you be good for me?” 

eden licked his lips. it took him some effort to not grab you by the hips and take you right then and there. “i’ll be good for you.”

the rope around his wrists loosened and he felt your thumbs rub at the indents left on his wrists before you stood up from the bed to take the harness from the nightstand and slip it on. 

eden watched you, half dressed in shadow, adjusting the straps so they could rest on your hips. over the years, your body had grown more muscular from working around the cabin—so lithe and strong. the hunter couldn’t keep his eyes off you or the harness wrapped around you. the phallic device was just as advertised: sizable and textured with lines reminiscent of veins. 

obediently, he lied back on the mattress and prepared himself for what was to come, his cock stiffening in anticipation. after a moment, he heard you pop the cap off the lube and your fingers slick the strap-on. 

“what made you want to do this?” he said as you settled yourself between his thighs. 

a look of adoration fell on your face. “so i could see you like this.” gently, you touched his hip with your bandaged hand. “it’ll be easier if you face away from me.” 

"no." he took your wrist, the grip tight. memories of being restrained threatened to surface. he thought of the hands, the mouths, the marks they branded onto his skin. "i want to see you," he said, swallowing. "i want to know that it's you." 

“watch me, then.” you said once he released you, guiding the strap-on inside him as he held up his thighs. “i want you to see me fill you up.” 

you fucked into him, slow and hot, the stretch and burn of the toy earning a groan from him. 

"are you alright?" you paused. all of this was so new to the both of you and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. 

the hunter clenched his teeth. he needed more. he needed all of you. “shut up and fuck me already,” he growled. 

soon enough, you buried yourself to the hilt, the sudden fullness causing him to claw at the sheets. 

“some patience would do you good,” you said, rolling your hips to loosen him up even more. between the strokes and the press of the harness against his ass, all eden could do was keen. 

“even more of you would be better.” 

“god, you’re such a slut,” you laughed, bending over to press your body against his. at the contact, his skin became alight with pleasure. “does that make you feel good?” you asked, gentle. 

“y-yeah,” he answered, voice shaky. his head swirled. the hunter had no words for how euphoric he felt having you fuck him all slow and deep, how intoxicating it was to know that you could unravel him like this. 

you licked at his lips before taking them between your teeth. eden’s hands raked across your back, low moans pitching out of his throat. 

“you sound so nice when you do that,” you said between breaths, his shadow brushing against your skin as you kissed him. “what if i fucked you harder?” 

“don’t keep me waiting.” he bit your lip, drawing blood. “you think i can’t take it?”  

“i’m going to make you take it,” you purred, hips snapping forward as you quickened your thrusts, your new momentum encouraged by the pleasure you were wringing out of your hunter. underneath you, the bed groaned. his whines were trapped between your mouths. 

eden’s breaths came out in short puffs. with each thrust, he felt his own orgasm rising and his gut tightening. 

all of this was so good. he felt so full, so relieved within your embrace.

“you trust me, don't you?" your thrusts slowed. his eyes opened to find your skin shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat and your body flush with exertion. in that moment, your face had shifted to something more serious. “you trust me, don’t you? tell me you do.” 

your voice was soft, tender. all he could see was the expression you had made all those years ago when you had asked him if you two could start over. 

“yes,” he breathed, tangling his fingers in your hair. “i–i trust you.” 

after a moment, you pulled back to pour more lube onto your hand before taking his cock and wrapping your fingers around the length of it. the hunter gasped, your name spilling from his mouth as you fucked him. 

“i’ll always come back to you,” you murmured, thrusting into him so deep that he began to see stars. “i wouldn’t leave you.” 

you shoved two fingers into his mouth. he sucked on them, mindless, tasting honey and tea as the gauze on your palm brushed his face. there was the sweetness of your fingers, the scent of blood on your hand. 

with little warning, eden came clenching on the fake cock inside him as his own cock throbbed and pulsed in your grip. he cried out, legs shaking, letting loose a string of profanities as he made a mess all over his stomach and chest. 

you eased your thrusts, gently pulling away from him. you took a deep inhale before loosening the straps on the harness and to slip it off and set it aside. 

“c’mere.” eden grabbed you by the hip, pulling you closer. “sit on my face.” 

you obliged, climbing over him to place his face between your thighs. his breath was warm against your core, his gray eyes hazy as they beheld you. 

“it’d be a shame if i had all the fun,” he said before tonguing at your wetness, pulling soft moans from you. the straps had made you particularly sensitive from rubbing against you, so it was all too easy to make your core tighten. 

“eden,” you huffed, hips rocking against his face as you held the headboard to steady yourself. “fuck, oh my god, oh my god—” 

heat spread throughout your abdomen as your pleasure crested, your legs trembling as he sucked on your clit. although you were coming, eden continued to lap at your tender folds until you could barely handle it. 

once your thighs stopped shaking, you pushed yourself off eden and lay down next to him, your bodies a mess of hot, sweaty limbs. 

when he caught your eye, you smiled. his eyes were no longer dilated. whatever effects the spores had on him had passed, but his tenderness had remained.

“so,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. this was your hunter, as strange and beautiful as the forest you had grown to love.

“you like the gift? sirris said i have to come back with a review.” 

eden chuckled quietly, pulling you closer to him. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle and soft. he looked at you as if you were precious, as if you were something he wanted to keep.

"being with you is already a gift.” 

[afrognamedfizzarolli]

Helluva Boss observations and easter eggs you may not have noticed!: Pilot

The pilot is both a great place and weird place to start, as it is our introduction to the cast and world, but also no longer considered canon. Many of the events and details we learn/see are later confirmed in the series itself, but there were quite a few changes.

I want to start off with some design changes!

With Millie, she used to have white roots visible, this actually kept up for a few of the early episodes. As we know now it seems imps have two noticeable instances of sexual dimorphism: females have black horns with thin white stripes and naturally black hair, and males have evenly sized black and white stripes on their horns and naturally black hair. We see many trans or otherly gender queer imps that dye their hair with visible roots. I assume Millie's design was changed when that was established to be a gender difference in imps.

Her heart tattoo is also much smaller, and switches sides (an animation error almost certainly) When the pilot first came out I actually thought she had a heart on both shoulders.

Some stuff with Stolas!

We see his hand outlined with a red glow at one point, presumably representing his magic. While in the series his magic is represented by blue. This is most likely due to the change of his character as he was originally planned to be a villain.

Not a design change, but I find it funny that Stolas' name in Blitzø's phone is "Creepy Mouth (aka one night stand bird dick)". Surprisingly all being spelled correctly.

Stolas' Grimore! I actually only noticed this on this last watch. It was a darker blue(purple? red? It changes in different scenes) and instead of the moon design it has a different insignia of his that we still see throughout the series in various places (notably on his bed) it also has no design on the back.

Little details!

I didn't realize before either that the woman who Moxxie is trying to shoot before Eddie gets in the way, is Eddie's mom. I'm sure this is something many others picked up on immediately though.

Speaking of which, the human news anchor shown at the end bares a striking resemblance to a character of Brandons: a news anchor named Flint Dicker.

A poster of "THE AMAZING IMP SIBLINGS" is on the wall of the conference room. Showing Blitzø, Barbie Wire, and another character labeled "Tilla". This was changed in the series to just being Blitzø and Barbie, Tilla's design being slightly altered and then used for their mom.

Hazbin easter eggs! Oh boy is there a lot of them.

In the commercial sequence we see in the room of one of the targets a framed drawing of Sir Pentious

In the background of when Blitzø is interviewing a previous client, there is a billboard for 666 News ft. A photo of Katie Killjoy, I especially love this one as Brandon ended up voicing her!

In Blitzø's office he had a vision board labeled "BOSS GOALS" with 5 drawings, in the center is Blitzø labeled "ME!" Top left we have Katie again, top right is a duck with a top hat and two $'s, this assumably referencing Lucifer, bottom left is Rosie, an arrow pointing to her hat labeled so eloquently "HAT" and lastly in the bottom right there is a more detailed drawing that looks to be Carmilla Carmine labeled "Moxxie drew not as good" this tracking later as in 1.05 "The Harvest Moon Festival" Moxxie talks about Carmine angelic weaponry, showing a great interest in her business.

Next is a dumpster in an alley with various graffiti. Notably, a face that looks to be Nifty, "ALWAYS CHASING RAINBOWS" and "HAPPY HOTEL". There is also a sinister face labeled "DEVIL". Im not sure if this is a specific refrence to anything though.

Lastly, one that I'm sure almost everyone noticed but feel the need to include, is we can see Loona watching Charlie's performance of "Inside of Every Demon is a Rainbow"

Funny observations:

When the crew teleports into the church, we see maany people with some pretty detailed designs, I do not know if or what they may be referencing, but I have a strong suspicion it is something, my guess is that they are caricatures of some people who worked on the pilot. One person in specifically is wearing a jacket with a patch reading "WHEN YOU SEE IT" with a 👌

Signs! In the hospital we see a sign saying "WE SAVE LIVES" in faded text it reads between we and save "try to" and after lives another line is visible starting with "but" I cannot make out the rest.

Others show that they are in ward 13, the next room over labeled as 667, implying the room that Eddie was in is 666

A note is taped to the side of the fridge of the break room reading "LOONA DONT EAT MY LUNCH -MOXXIE"

Another thing I only noticed recently is when Blitzø sneaks out at the Goetia palace, he is naked except for his jacket, with the grimore serving as some creative censorship. (+Stella's beta design. I personally love her current design, but this one wasn't bad)

When Blitzø makes the comment about making Moxxie the employee of the month he holds up a small plaque as an example, a larger version of this same plaque, is visible on a wall in the commercial sequence.

While in their hazmat suits(idk if that's what these actually are), you can see the shape of Moxxie's bowtie under it

... and just Blitzø holding some targets panties, cause why not

There are a handful of other details, but I'm going to hold onto those as later on we see call backs to them. Also, I've spent a lot more on this than Id planned already, I have at least 3 hours on this one alone.

Please bare with me, I promise these will get more interesting the further we go in the series!

[sonofdorn-vii]

Krist stood silently, staring into the whirling snow. His power armour hummed a reassuring note as the wind howled around him. The temperature had dropped, and ice covered his scarlet pauldrons. The ethereal portents read by the chapter’s librarius had pinpointed the space and time he would appear. Checking his weapons, the gold-chased bolt pistol and the white-and-red striped chainsword, he waited.

His squad had arrayed themselves around him, each’s scarlet and gold armour stood out starkly against the harsh white of the winter night, each man knew this was the time the nightmare must end. He was coming again, the one feared by all children and their parents alike on this eastern fringe of the five hundred worlds. Krampus. The very name made Krist’s venom glands swell with anger. Every year, Krampus would appear in the black of night. Bringing with him unnatural cold and a feeling of deepest dread. Freezing the fortunate in their beds, taking the less fortunate with him. The great horned beast would stalk the wintertide, stealing the planet’s future, taking their children and vanishing into the night.

Krist Kringle and his squad, The Sons of Saint Nicholas, had hunted the beast for decades; learning over time what might hurt the creature, so that one night they might rid the galaxy of it’s menace. Scarlet and gold weakened it, the oil of the holly and the mistletoe, coaldust-filled hollowpoints. But all of these things were mere tools.

It was the Good Will of all men that forced it back. Glad tidings; comfort and joy kept it at bay, just as fear drew it close.

The temperature dropped noticeably again.

“It’s time, brothers.” Said Krist, flexing his armoured fingers around the grips of his weapons. His breath formed clouds of white around him, then was whipped away by the wind.

The snowstorm increased in its ferocity, the snow flying horizontally at the squad, as a patch of pure blackness appeared before them. A void so deep, so filled with despair, that light itself couldn’t escape. A profound silence accompanied it, the noise of the wind ebbing away to nothing as he appeared.

Twice as tall as a fully armoured astartes, his lower half was that of an enormous goat-like creature, with black fur matted with blood and filth. His grotesquely oversized genitals swayed heavily between his legs, showing a disgusting imitation of male arousal. His upper body was huge and covered in slab-like muscle, rippling beneath the course black hair. His head sprouted curved horns from the brow, plated in dirty brass and strung with cursed silver trinkets. His too-wide mouth grinned, showing needle-like teeth and an obscenely forked black tongue. His eyes blazed with glee as he stepped forward on cloven hooves, dragging a huge blade behind him in the snow. The blade was black, made of flint or obsidian, chipped and filthy.

Krampus had come.

Krist raised his head and looked at the hideous creature. Raising his weapons, he leapt forward…