#Wardrobe | Fur and Fangs

[nhmkhnh]

ours.

pairings: top!hybrid!caitvi x bot!fem!reader

preface: two hybrids. one sweet, unsuspecting soul. and a storm of desire neither can escape.

author's note: OMG I WAS JUST CHILLING AND THIS IDEA POPPED UP?

wrn: lowercase, explicit content (minors &men dni) list: amab!caitvi ;; german shepherd hybrid!vi ;; black panther hybrid!caitlyn ;; possessive!caitvi ;; virgin reader ;; panties stealing ;; dirty talk.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

it started with rain.

cold, biting, relentless—the kind that slicked your skin and filled your shoes and made the alley reek of wet cardboard and rot. and there they were, curled together in a tattered box: one sleek and black as a thundercloud, the other shaggy and trembling, golden fur soaked to the bone. hybrid pups. abandoned.

caitlyn had growled when you approached—low and warning—but you’d crouched anyway, gentle hands out, whispering comfort. vi had whimpered. shivered. nudged her face into your palm. that was all it took.

you took them home.

you gave them blankets, food, warm milk. let them sleep at the foot of your bed. they curled together every night, caitlyn always between you and vi like a silent sentinel. you swore caitlyn never slept—she just watched you, eyes glowing in the dark.

then came the morning.

you woke to a mess of limbs and breath and bare skin and heat—two women in your room, not pups. tall, inhumanly beautiful, naked except for the thin fur along their arms, their tails, their ears. vi grinning wide, canine teeth flashing. caitlyn still, quiet, crouched like a shadow at your side of the bed. you screamed.

they didn’t leave.

not that day. not the one after. somehow, they stayed. vi was a disaster—chewing wires, knocking over plants, chasing anything that moved. caitlyn barely spoke, but watched you like she was memorizing your breath patterns. together, they destroyed your wardrobe.

or rather… a specific part of it.

your underwear.

they stole it. bit into it. tore through delicate lace and soft cotton and left nothing untouched. you found pieces in vi’s room, stashed like trophies. caitlyn never denied it—just held your gaze while licking her fangs, like she had a right to it. like she was daring you to stop her.

it was humiliating. infuriating.

and it kept happening.

you started locking drawers. they started figuring out locks. you switched brands. they tore through those too. every month, a new trip to buy replacements, while your heart pounded and your body flushed and you told yourself it wasn’t on purpose. that they didn’t mean to make you feel like this—cornered, wanted, shaken down to your bones.

and then came the weekend.

it was quiet. for once. rain again, soft this time, tapping the window while you cleaned. you wore a big old t-shirt and a pair of simple cotton panties, barely decent. you were alone. or… so you thought.

you turned—and froze.

vi was behind you. caitlyn at your side. blocking the hallway. blocking escape. you opened your mouth to speak, to scold, but the words died as vi leaned in, her breath hot at your neck.

“pretty girl still can't catch my drift after all that shit?” her voice was feral. dripping with heat. lust.

her hands landed on your hips, heavy and sure. caitlyn’s nails grazed the hem of your shirt, sharp and slow. you whimpered, stepping back—only to feel vi’s body press up behind you, trapping you against the kitchen counter. her cock, thick and hot, strained against your lower back.

“i-i’m not— i didn’t mean—” you stammered.

caitlyn’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of your panties, claws scraping lightly against soft skin. her purr was low and dangerous.

“then why do you smell like this, little virgin?” she murmured. “you want this. you’ve always wanted this.”

“i’m not— i-i’m not ready—”

“you’re ready,” vi growled, grinding her hips slow against you. “been ready. you just needed us to make the first move.”

you sobbed a little—half from shock, half from the way your legs were already trembling.

they knew. they could smell it. your arousal. your heat. your ache to be touched. and they wanted you. now. here.

vi bent you forward against the counter, hand sliding beneath your belly to lift your hips up, caitlyn still kneeling in front of you, tongue tasting the skin just above your waistband.

“first time?” vi murmured, dragging her cockhead along the seam of your soaked panties.

you nodded, shaking.

“good.” her voice dropped to a growl. “then we get to ruin you together.”

what came next was a blur of heat and whimpering surrender.

vi slid inside first—slow, careful, but unrelenting. she was huge. too big. your body clenched tight, trying to resist, but her hands held your hips firm and steady, whispering praises as she fed inch after inch into you.

“so tight, sweetheart. fuck—gonna stretch you open real good.”

you gasped, nails digging into the counter, tears slipping free as she bottomed out. caitlyn kissed them away. her hand stroked your hair, her lips brushing your temple.

“let her have you,” she purred. “she’s gentle. she’s so good for you. then it’ll be my turn.”

vi didn’t move at first—just held you full, trembling around her. you were panting, squirming, overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled for the first time. she kissed your spine.

then she started moving.

slow. deep. maddening. each thrust pulled a choked noise from your throat, your body jolting with every roll of her hips. your legs were shaking. you were soaked, heat-slick and dripping down your thighs.

caitlyn licked it. moaned into it. her hand slipped between your legs and rubbed gentle circles into your clit, her claws barely grazing the sensitive bud.

“look at you,” she whispered. “so fucked out already. and we’ve barely started.”

vi was panting now, pace quickening, cock pulsing thick inside you.

“gonna knot you,” she groaned. “gonna fill you up so good, baby—gonna make you ours.”

the word ours broke something in you.

you came hard. shaking. crying out. clenching around vi’s cock so tightly she cursed, bucked forward—and locked inside you with a deep, helpless growl. her knot swelled, locking you together. you gasped at the sudden stretch, body fluttering from the intensity.

she stayed there, panting, grinding shallowly with you pinned between her and the counter, her weight draped over your back.

“mine,” she whispered. “fuck—mine.”

then caitlyn stood.

“now it’s my turn,” she said, voice cool. hunger in her eyes.

vi carefully lifted you up with her still knotted inside, cradled you back into caitlyn’s arms. the panther hybrid kissed you slow—possessive, tongue stroking deep—and lined herself up beneath you, thick length brushing your still-throbbing entrance as vi held you open from behind.

“we’ll go slow,” caitlyn murmured, voice velvet. “we’ll make it good.”

she pushed in.

your body, already tender and trembling, screamed with sensation. her cock was thinner than vi’s but long, sliding in with slow, patient pressure as vi rocked her hips behind you, still knotted. you were sandwiched. stretched. fucked full.

and you couldn’t stop moaning.

your eyes rolled. your legs kicked uselessly. caitlyn kissed you again, muffling your cries, her hands on your breasts now, squeezing gently as she fucked up into you.

you came again.

and again.

they didn’t stop.

it was hours before the haze broke—before your body stopped spasming, before your throat stopped making desperate sounds. you didn’t remember collapsing. just… warmth. arms. breath.

you woke between them, cocooned in blankets, vi curled at your back, caitlyn curled at your front. their bodies pressed to yours, bare and hot and gentle. you couldn’t move. didn’t want to.

vi’s nose was in your hair, mumbling sleepy praise.

“so good, pretty girl. so sweet. all mine.”

caitlyn licked your cheek.

“ours,” she corrected, voice like silk.

you whimpered, flushed and half-dazed, and they both rumbled soft possessive sounds in reply. vi’s hand stroked your thigh. caitlyn purred against your chest.

and that’s how it stayed.

you. between them. claimed.

owned.

theirs.

[noctiva]

im branching out of my box. view this as a premonition of what’s to come.

-

Eyeless Jack - General Headcanons

CW: mentions of cannibalism, blood and gore, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of mating cycles, mentions of self-hatred and body dysmorphia

-

I can not believe I haven’t talked about Jackie poo on this blog yet…. my fellow canadian <3

Visual/Appearance

We’ll get the obvious out of the way, grey skin duh. Cool toned, looking almost blueish in the sunlight. No eyes, constantly leaking a tar-like substance that drips down his cheeks and neck.

Has fangs and claws, both of which, incredibly sharp. He doesn’t ever need a scalpel, his claws are sharp enough to slice open skin like butter. Paired with razor sharp teeth, that can sink into muscle like it’s a rare steak - strong enough to crack bones if he really wants to.

Well groomed, dark brown hair. I’ll talk about this more in a second, but Jack remembers what it was like to be human, and so his appearance is a soft spot for him. Keeping the one thing that still looks human about him well-maintained is very important to him. He usually gets one of the other proxies to cut it.

Pointy ears, that articulate like a cat’s would. Perk up when he’s happy or excited, flatten when he’s pissed or frightened (though, he’s very rarely frightened).

He has a tail!!! Every time someone draws jack without a tail an angel loses their wings. I kid! But for real though, he’s got a tail. Looks like a rat tail with a big tuft of fluffy black fur at the end. Very soft, but also sensitive - so don’t touch it unless you’re close to him.

Tall and big!! Literal monster of a man! I’m talking like, 6’7 without his boots on. He was scrawnier as a human, but the whole ‘getting turned into a demon’ thing was like a cheat code for getting jacked. Big broad shoulders, calves for days, thighs that could split a watermelon in half. (🤤🤤)

I think he’s got a roman nose and an upper bite. His fangs poke out even when his mouth is closed.

Veryyyy clear skin. Like almost in an uncanny way. Kinda looks like a porcelain doll with how unblemished it is.

Wardrobe

Wears almost exclusively dark clothing. The shit that leaks out of his eyes stains everything, including his shirts, and so it got annoying. Nowadays he basically only wears black to try and counteract this issue. (Unless he’s wearing his lab coat!)

Big ol’ hoodies and even baggier jeans (also black). Think… Tech wear meets lazy stoner. Baggy, but in an intentional way. Loves those pants that have a shit ton of straps on them for no reason. He’d totally wear Tripp NYC if he could get his paws on it.

Combat boots at almost all times. He tucks his jeans into them.

Big side bag guy. Has a crossbody bag and a hip bag on him whenever he goes out to hunt. Guess what he keeps in them :)

He’s almost always wearing his mask, unless you’re like really close to him. As I said before, he remembers being a human. He remembers what he used to look like. So, knowing what he looks like now is always jarring, no matter how many years pass. He thinks he must look terrifying, so he’s not too keen to be subjecting his appearance to everyone else.

Again, actually pretty particular about his appearance! So unlike a lot of the other proxies, he hates it when his clothes rip and tear. Will be washing the blood out of them the moment he comes home from a hunt.

Usually prefers to eat shirtless because of this, as a way to try and avoid all that mess.

Personality

Stoic, and analytical.

It’s pretty hard to tell what he’s feeling most of the time, because his mask hides his expressions and his tone doesn’t give much sway.

Very closed off, extremely hesitant to let anyone close. Even the other proxies. He’ll play the role as their doctor, but that’s as far as he’ll really go in terms of relationships with them.

It’s because of two things, and both of them stem from Jack’s distaste towards what he’s become.

1. He doesn’t trust himself. He knows that who are friends, and who are food, but he doesn’t trust that his feral demon brain won’t blur that line from time to time. He likes to keep interactions minimal, to decrease the chance of that ever happening. He’d literally never forgive himself. 2. He doesn’t think he deserves it. He’s a cannibalistic, bloodthirsty demon, and he’s aware of that fact. He doesn’t think a creature such as him needs, nor deserves normal human relationships - because he isn’t human anymore, after all.

An actual sweetie if you do manage to wriggle under his skin.

Soft spoken and so incredibly kind, like some sort of angel trapped in a demon’s body.

He’s a big giver. Extremely selfless. Will willingly put himself in danger to save a friend. It’s not like he’s going to die, and he’s well aware of how to patch himself up if it’s really bad.

In relationships, gets flustered very easily. He was like this when he was human, and it carries over.

Honest to a fault. Will say whatever he’s feeling, whenever he feels it. If it hurts whoever he’s talking to he’ll be incredibly apologetic, but that wont stop him from doing the same thing in the future.

Big listener! Not a huge chatterbug himself, but he’ll sit and listen for as long as you want to talk to him. And, he’ll retain it all. He’s got a great memory.

He does not remember how to speak english. He can understand it, but for some reason his tongue just can’t figure out how to form those words anymore. I personally headcanon that he’s fluent in french, because canada, but I could see him speaking russian too.

Growls when he’s mad and chuffs when he’s happy. Like a tiger <3

General

Has an INSANE sense of smell and hearing. He can smell people from a literal mile away. And if you’re a woman, he can smell it when you’re ovulating <3 His ears can pick up sounds that no one else even thinks about, like the sound of your blood rushing through your veins.

Because of that, he hates it when people smoke. It’s already such a strong smell for people with normal noses, but for him? It’s literally headache inducing. He genuinely can’t stand it. Light up a smoke around him and he’ll be a mile away in a matter of seconds.

Alcohol and drugs don’t affect him. Demon things! Sober for life!

He’s blind! Like completely. In my brain he echolocates like a bat would, and his heightened hearing makes it easy to know who’s approaching him just by the difference in the way their feet hit the ground. His nose will sniff you out before that though.

Obviously, very well versed in the medical field. But he weaponized that knowledge against himself when he was first transformed. Performing experiments on himself. Cutting into his stomach just to time how long it took until the wound closed up completely. Removing his own organs just to see if he could still survive without them.

The results of those experiments were… Not good for his mental health.

Because they made it all too clear, that he was not in fact human any more.

Jack went a little crazy with it for a while. Doing the absolute worst to himself all in hopes that maybe he’d prove himself wrong. Cutting an arm off, leg off, cutting his own damn tongue out - all just to heal every single injury.

He does not have very high self worth. He views himself as a nasty, abomination of nature - because that’s what his experiments proved that he was. Not human, just some sick amalgamation that looked almost like one.

He can’t see himself (because… blind) but what he’s felt under his fingertips tells him all that he needs to know. So, as I said before, he hates taking off his mask. He could only imagine the horrors he’d be subjecting people to if he did.

He knows what he looked like as a human, and so knowing that his body has changed - but not knowing how much exactly, makes his stomach churn on a daily basis. He’ll run his tongue over his sharpened teeth and feel nauseous. Scratch his claws down his arm and nearly be sick right then and there. Feels trapped in a body he knows he wasn’t fit for.

Does not liked to be watched when he eats!! He’s already pretty pissy about this whole ‘being a demon’ thing, so to watch him during his most demonic activities? Yeah he’ll probably cry himself to sleep after.

He always smells like copper and sulfur, no matter what he does.

…He goes through mating cycles. Another thing that he absolutely despises about his new body. And you’ll know when it’s happening, because he will lock himself in his room and not leave until it’s over. (unless you’re his partner 😗)

Gets real feral when he’s on the hunt. Like, the human part of him completely switches off. He is brutal and messy. Doesn’t even retain his medical knowledge when he’s like this. Will tear through an entire abdomen just to get some kidneys even though he could’ve totally just sliced an incision in their lower back.

It’s like, common knowledge not to go anywhere near jack when he’s like this. He will not recognize you. He will tear you to shreds just like any other victim.

Oh, and he’s a very picky eater. Kidneys only! Everything else is yuck to him.

On a lighter note, he likes to knit :)

His claws are long enough that he doesn’t even need knitting needles.

Also a big fan of big brain games. Play chess or scrabble with him if you want him to fall in love.

Does not hunt animals! People only! Big animal guy. It’s like… You know how you feel way worse about a dog dying in a movie than a human? That’s Jack with eating.

Luckily, he only has to eat once a week, so that plenty time for another stupid human to wander into his territory.

I’m gonna headcanon that he purrs! Sue me!

Does not like perfume or cologne because of his sensitive nose. Too strong. Besides, your natural scent is 10x better.

—————————————————————————☆

ok! EJ has finally made an appearance on my blog!

he’s my side piece <3

[beastlybardou]

How do you want to species transition?

A lot of ways, some of which I am sure to accidentally forget about right now and then be mad I forgot later.

Body Changes:

- Continue to build muscle bulk and functional strength

- Continue to build long-distance endurance

- Get tattoos resembling stylized wolverine chest markings

I like these ones a lot

- Continue to encourage maximum body and facial hair growth

- Grow out nails and file into claws

- Tattoo pawpads

- Short, messy haircut like fur

- If at all possible, get tapetum lucidum implants

Accessories:

- Subtle daily wear custom fangs for both sets of canines

- Wardrobe mostly in dark browns and blacks, prioritizing rugged, practical, outdoors items. I really like genuine leather jackets for this

Lifestyle/behaviors:

- Continue to eat an animalistic, whole foods diet with lots of wild game, berries, whole grains and greens

- Hunt and fish for most of my own meat

- Add more local foraged plants to my diet

- Get back into sparring

- Practice climbing (bouldering, trees, structures, etc)

- Get back to being able to walk barefoot outside

- Live up north in historic wolverine range some day

- Integrate animalistic body language into my communication (already done, but I'll still put it here)

- Learn throat singing to do better deep growls and throaty animal noises

- Do scent training to strengthen sense of smell

[yiiyiiwrites]

❄️ Winter court reader headcanon ❄️

Summary: hailing from the winter court, you’re drawn to one of the acotar men (multiple headcanons, just a brief set for each one)

🔥 Eris

Eris teasing your cute little dark blue embroidered coat lined with fur and two white pom-poms (thinks you are cute which angers you more)

“I think you need cool down autumn Prince.” Used to be said in a way to cool his anger. “Is that a threat?” But you use it for when he’s flustered

Hated each other to begin with, you thought he was too hot headed and he thought you were too detached and cold

“Do I need to warm you up my dear.” When you’re feeling cold

Using your snow manipulation to make snowballs and play fetch with Eris hounds

Gives you a fox for company when he’s not there

Sad that you don’t need your winter coat, but Eris gets a thinner coat for you made exactly like the one from your court

Walks through the forest are your favourite moments, the colourful leaves falling like snowflakes. Watching the hounds leap out of piles of leaves and nudge you closer into Eris’s arms

🦇 Azriel

Tiny snowflakes following around his shadows. Always a part of each other together

You have a pet snow fox that likes to nap on your faux fur hats, which always gets Azriel when he open the wardrobe. Fangs out as it jumps at him, but it’s become a game

Soothing his burns when they itch, the coolness of your hands in his taking his mind of it

He likes going to the winter court with you, which is a lot during the summer when you miss the snow

You got him a fur lined hat and the boys have teased him ever since, but he still wears it

Turning his shadows to ice before they can scurry back to him. Gives you a head start before anything can get back to him

Telling him about the dragons in the winter court mountains, he’s still not sure if you’re being serious or not. His shadows have definitely tried to seek them out whenever he’s in the winter court

He gets you a polar bear teddy after you tell him how much you miss seeing them in your home court

🦊 Lucien

You accidentally killed a garden in the spring court with frost after an argument with him

Charmed his way into your heart, you froze his hand when he first held yours and he hasn’t let you forget about it

“Do I make you melt?” 🫠

Lucien spending most of his time with you in the winter court when he’s not working away

His touch is sometimes too hot “do you burn for me?” You’re used to the cold so it takes a while to get used to it

Going to the human land with Lucien during summer and vowing never to go there again. You wouldn’t listen to him that you didn’t need to wear as many layers

When you’re stressed you turn ice cold, Lucien hugs you tightly to calm you down and warm you up

🦇 Cassian

Cassian’s first meeting with you was him asking about how to construct the best snowball for best impact.

Debates on the best snow Illyrian mountains vs winter court

The story he tells everyone about you finally falling for him. “Heart frozen, can you believe it.”

You are a valuable member of the winter courts army. Which means you get called back to train new recruits and keep up with latest news (cassian likes meeting you at night in your military bunk, makes him feel younger sneaking around)

Knows when he’s pissed you off as the whole house is cold, maybe even some ice trailing down the hallway

Would put a snowflake in a locket so you always have a part of home with you 🥲

The sword you keep beside you is made of ice and each time he’s tried to pick it up, it shatters. You tease him for being too strong, but don’t tell him it’s because your skin runs a lot colder than his

[sugarzandsweetz]

Wardrobe Malfunction (Miguel O’Hara x (y/n))

Lyla decides to mess with Miguel as he is talking to one of his colleague that he has some feelings for.

*inspired by a comic I saw on TikTok)

*Y/n is gender neutral

_____________________________________________

Miguel may not posses spidey-sense as many of the spider people in Alchemex, but he does know when there are eyes on him.

“Why are you staring at me?” Miguel asked, not sounding bothered but a bit curious. The spider glances away from his many computer screen to the other spider in the room. He feels a bit warm in his cheeks as Miguel notices how they are eyeing his form.

“What kind of material is your suit made out of?” asked (y/n), the spider from Earth 0923. Their designation: the Wolf Spider.

Their pupils seem to narrow into slits as (y/n) studies Miguel’s form.

Due to being bitten by a radioactive wolf spider, (y/n) has developed the many attributes of one. Insane eyesight, good hunting skills, and amazing agility. They have become one of Miguel’s top spider people as (y/n) has proven to be loyal and quick at executing a mission.

But some people are wondering if there is another reason why Miguel always has (y/n) around.

Miguel looks down at his suit for a second before looking back at (y/n)

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, my suit is made out of a cotton blend mixed with some elastic component so that it’s comfortable and breathable.” (Y/n) said, pulling on one of their sleeves. The material snaps back onto their skin when (y/n) lets go. “The spiders here wear spandex, armor, robot suits, or fur—in that werewolf’s case.”

(Y/n) leans in to study Miguel’s body.

“Yet, I can’t see what your suit is made of.” (Y/n) said, pouting.

For some reason, Miguel feels a tad proud to tell them. “My suit is made of special nanotechnology.” he boasted, demonstrating by causing the sleeve of his right arm to disappear and reappear. “It’s like a hologram almost.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty! Like you know how to design it!” snipped Lyla as the AI flickers into thin air. “Do you know how hard it was to design nano tech that can’t be traced or hacked into?”

Miguel glares at Lyla for ruining the moment. “Are you serious right now? You designed the suit while I did the calculations!” he hissed, flashing his fangs at Lyla. “You nearly made me look like some multicolored clown!”

“Yes, and now you look like some scary crusader!”

“Tu poco—“

Before Miguel can finish his curse in Spanish, (y/n) speaks up.

“Does this mean it’s like some holo screen?” (Y/n) asked, suddenly revealing that they are right in front of Miguel.

Miguel takes a step back, startled by (y/n)’s close proximity. The Hispanic male is stuck staring into their eyes as they view him curiously.

“Uh, I guess if you put it like that.” Miguel said.

“Hmm.” (Y/n) said, making a funny face.

Seeing (y/n) make such a face gives Miguel the strong urge to grab their cheeks and squeeze them. (Y/n) always makes the most interesting faces. It’s what of the reasons Miguel likes them.

“Aren’t you worried it’ll fizz out? Like a broken computer cutting out suddenly?” (Y/n) asked curiously.

That question catches Miguel off guard.

“I don’t see that happening. Besides, how could something like that happen?” he asked, almost insulted at the idea.

This is 2099 technology. He’s perfected crossing into other dimensions without going through spontaneous disruption of his molecules. If he can’t handle putting together a high-tech suit, how can Miguel call himself a scientist.

“Oh, maybe like this!” Lyla spoke up before there is a clicking noise.

At first, Miguel doesn’t notice anything off. Not until he sees (y/n)‘a face turn a bright red.

“Spider-Man underwear?” (Y/n) said with a squeak.

“WHAA?!”

Miguel looks down and squawks when he realizes his suit has disappeared and he is now in his underwear.

“LYLA!” Miguel roared, realizing what Lyla has done. The AI is laughing her ass off as she watches Miguel hide behind a chair.

“I’m going to go!” (Y/n) said quickly as they spin around and hurried out of the room.

“Dammit Lyla! Why did you do that?!” Miguel yelled as his suit returns.

“What? I thought showing off your body will help you get bonus points with (y/n)!” Lyla said.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? NO ME AYUDES!”

[fangthroat]

Assign accessory types to some of your kins 🫵

Accessory type being stuff like rings, hats, collars etc.

sorry it took me a while to answer this one! i had to think bout it a lot lol. some of my accessories might overlap a little..

wolf - ears and tail, i wear fangs n i like to have sharp nails. metal/silver jewelry n accessories. i have a torn up black baseball cap w a wolf biting through a chain on it, the back says 'believe in change'. i wear that one a lot when im feeling wolf-y. i have a thick chain bracelet with two wolf head biting down on an O ring that i wear a lot.

saluki - platform boots to make me tall. a worn down torn up shirt i have w a heart on it that says lover. collar and fangs, black nails. i wear a spiked septum with a dog bone on it. clothes/jackets with fur on them.

vampire/demon - fangs, a necklace i own with a faux pomegranate seed on it. jewelry, pomegrante lip gloss n vampire/demon themed scents ive collected. sheer clothing items. leopard seal - fangs, fishnet, swimwear (texture makes me feel very seal idk why), having my hair slicked back, claws smilodon fatalis / king cheetah / melanistic bengal tiger - fangs, platform boots, ive had my makeup done to look like a tiger before by my husband for some gender affirming fun! claws, wearing jewelry made out of bones and vertebrae! i always feel species/gender affirmed when i wear red, white, black, silver, and gold. so most of my wardrobe consists of those color ^^ i hope you liked some of those !!! ^^ i wanted to take pics but things are a lil hectic with getting ready to move.

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 10. Stable

Featuring: Weird West AU by @scrollsfromarebornrealm Characters: Zellita(Y'ze Tia), Claudien Expansion: Endwalker (Context) Rating: T Summary: Zellita and Claudien make their feelings clear. Notes: N/A

A whimper sounded out over the rustling of feathers, kwehs, and pecking of gryshal greens. Zellita found himself pinned against a bale of hay, shirt tattered and Claudien’s fangs in his neck. The hunger seemed to be rising in Claudien day by day and with his family in town and the increasing interest in Stonewood he had found it difficult to hunt and Zellita was all too eager to compensate.

“Enough,” Zellita breathed out, hand raking up the back of Claudien’s hair to weakly tug on him to part.

Claudien pulled away reluctantly, licking carefully about the punctures on his lover’s neck before dragging his tongue to his collar so as to not waste a single drop. Zellita shook then collapsed into Claudien’s arms, unable to stand well. “You cannot keep offering yourself to me. I’m going to go too far,” Claudien said softly, lowering Y’zel into the hay under them before getting into his satchel and pulling out an orange. He tore into the peel with his fangs then lifted his love gingerly before bringing it to his lips to make him take a bite.

Zellita whimpered then took a nibble of the orange before taking generous bites. “I will be fine as long as you maintain control and are ready to take care of me after,” he said, closing his eyes to lightly lick Claudien’s fingers clean of the orange’s juices.

“What if I cannot maintain control? What if I-,” Claudien started only to be silenced as Zellita’s finger pressed against his lips.

“Silence,” he said, casting a brief cantrip over the other. “No more of this angst. You are so wound up about this every time that you’ve not once taken it too far. Your family will depart and the town will settle and you’ll be able to find other sources to feed from safely. For now, take it as my dedication to you.”

Claudien furrowed his brow, feeling the magick bind his voice. In frustration, he dropped the orange then took the other by the jaw and gave him a rough impassioned kiss, sweet fruit juice mixing with the metallic remnants of Zellita’s blood. Pulling back, he pressed his forehead to the other’s. “I love you,” he admitted softly, jolting slightly as his voice returned.

Zellita flushed deeply then leaned into Claudien, rubbing his face against the man’s chest as he touched the bite on his neck. “I love you too…,” he said before leaning away to rest his back against the stable wall, trying to bunch his torn shirt over his exposed chest. “I cannot go out like this. Perhaps a little more restraint could be used. At least as far as my wardrobe is concerned.”

“Right…Sorry…,” Claudien apologized, wincing as he tugged off his shirt to hand over. Stepping back, he pulled off his boots then lowered his trousers and boxers, giving them to Zellita as well before letting out a painful grunt as his bones began to crack while blond fur erupted all over his body. He fell forward onto his paws, back arching as his tail erected behind him and then swished dust about the barn. Looking at Zellita, he gave him a low bark then sat to wait for the other to redress himself so that he could lead him back to the library.

[sa1twaters]

.¸¸.•`  [   OLIVIA  COOKE   ,   CIS  WOMAN   ,   SHE/HER   ]   the  almighty  has  blessed  us  once  more,   it   seems   TARAH  LAICESTRE  has  come   to   ilthoria.   the   LADY  OF  HOUSE  LAICESTRE,   brings  with  them  such  glorious  fortune  and  they  are  known  for  being  DEVOTED  but  also  PRAGMATIC.  joy  will  spark  when  the  THIRTY  TWO  year  old  comes  to  court.  what  songs  would  be  sung  in  their  name  ?  [  BLOOD  BITCH  +  THE  COCTEAU  TWINS   ]  for  in  the  decades  to  come  they  will  sing  of  :  carrion  under  a  heavy  snowfall,  no  one  witnesses  you  in  death  until  spring's  great  melt;  a  grin  that  is  more  an  animalistic  bearing  of  teeth  than  a  sign  of  joy;  "last  year,  i  abstained.  this  year,  i  devour”.  may  enerin  bless  your  soul,  welcome  to  ilthoria  child.

⋆ BASIC INFORMATION .

full name:  tarah phia laicestre.  pronunciation:  tah - rah.  official title:  lady of the black keep.    moniker(s):  the frostmother.   age:   thirty - two.    date of birth:  the first day of winter. gender & pronouns:  cis woman, she/her.     allegiance:  house laicestre and geimreadh. spoken languages:  the common tongue, the holy tongue. religion:  blessed by and devoted to itris, the banshee.

⋆ PHYSICAL TRAITS .

eyes:  dark brown, nearly black.   hair:  dark, dark auburn, always worn loose —  here & here. dominant hand:  right.    height:  five foot five.   build:   willowy, looks taller than she truly is and weaker than she truly is. notable features:  dark features that contrast with her pale skin. she suffers simultaneously from an eternal near deathly pallor, lips tinged blue. she is missing a large chunk of one of her front teeth, and has a silvery scar that runs over her lips to her chin starting below her left nostril. both were obtained on the same day in the recent past — here & here. abilities:  sereen, blessed by itris —  control of ice statutes, frostbite inducement and manipulation of the cold. wardrobe:  here.

⋆ PERSONALITY TRAITS .

positive:  pious, cunning, exacting, devoted.   negative:  pragmatic, ruthless, demanding, duplicitous.  moral alignment:  chaotic neutral.  favoured weapon:  two bastard swords, dubbed pale fang and thaw.   likes:   the ominousness of the woods, training hounds and wolves, horsemanship, the feeling of fur on bare skin, bitter teas, the thick and lingering smell of lilacs, scalding hot baths, retribution, well cooked fish, needlepoint and embroidery.   dislikes:  the heat, people who speak if only to hear the sound of their own voice, mirrors, defensive fighting styles, greasy meats, unoiled blades. inspirations:  the white witch (the lion, the witch and the wardrobe), skade (the last kingdom), shauna shipman (yellowjackets), freydis eriksdotter (vikings: valhalla), arya stark (asoiaf).

⋆ FAMILY TIES .

father:  former ruling lord hatanar of the black keep.   mother:  former ruling lady melriel of the black keep.  siblings:  lord ambrose laicestre, lord azriel laicestre (good brother), lord aldric laicestre, lady achara laicestre (good sister). birth order:  fourth born.   extended family:  house starling of starfax (good family). status:   betrothed (see wc on the main!).    children:  none. pets:  two she - wolves, named fola and deora. it was fola who gave tarah her scars when she was twenty and two. rather than have the wolf's life, tarah chose to train her alongside the black keep's houndmaster. deora came to her as a pup years later, and tarah has scarcely been seen without the two wolves trailing in her shadow since.

⋆ BACK STORY .

when she was just a babe, an icy, wailing hand weighed heavy upon her shoulder. none would know it, though, until the coming of tarah's twelfth year. she had taken to military teachings as well as any young lord who hailed from geimreadh. a childhood ruthlessness that had seen her both praised and penalized sat like a heavy, black stone in her stomach —  one that she could not excise, no matter how tirelessly her mother and caretakers worked to do so. emotion, for tarah, had always been scarce. there was but one that she knew inside and out, having laid intertwined in furs in her childhood bed at night with it sitting on her chest, weighing her immobile. fear. an angry animal could use sense as its balm. a fearful one had no such privilege. she spent hours practicing at the sword and dagger and bow as a child because she feared what lay outside of the torch smoke - blackened walls of the keep. at first, she feared the creatures of her fragment's ruthless mountains. the wolves, the bears, the leopards. as she aged into adolescence, she feared the banshee, feared enerin, and feared what would happen should she not be capable of the revenge that itris willed. still, she took up the wanderer's torch with ease. fear, it seemed, was not so different from hatred, or a desire for retribution. so resigned to that hatred, that retribution, that fear  — tarah has risen to become one of the greatest shield maidens and military strategists that geimreadh has ever borne witness to. mastery at her diety - bestowed gifts has come to her slower. still, her manipulation of the cold that she was born unto to has earned her the moniker the frostmother. it is rare to see tarah at the black keep in her adulthood. she will oft disappear into geimreadh's mountains for days or weeks at a time, trailed by her two she - wolves. she remains as ruthless and cold as she was in her childhood, boasting few long - term connections with the people that she grew up with. she is as much a stranger to her people as she is the rest of ilthoria. a mystery, a wives' tale, a shadow across your window at night.

⋆ EXTRA FACTS .

she has kept no mirrors in her chambers at the black keep since she was attacked by fola ten years ago. it is less the result of insecurity in how she looks, and more a feeling that she no longer recognizes herself.

she struggles with using her sereen abilities for defensive purposes. offensively? no problem. in terms of her physical combat abilities, she's rather the same. although she can proficiently parry and deflect blows, she would much rather fight on the offensive, and do so viciously.

she's very withdrawn and definitely hard to pull a friendly conversation out of. she's always been this way — any friends that she had as a child were due to the other person's efforts, not her own.

she keeps a modest estate in the mountains in geimreadh — the locals believe she's just living amongst the snow and ice out there when she disappears from the keep, but that's not the case.

definitely morally grey, operating mostly in the pursuit of her own wishes and unattached to any person in a significant way (for now wink wink). despite being a sereen, she's still managed to become a bit of a pariah amongst the nobles. she does what she wants when she wants to, regardless of repercussions.

⋆ WANTED CONNECTIONS .

fundamentally incompatible (inspired by shauna and lottie from yellowjackets) y/m is more spiritual in nature than tarah can handle. their very existence rubs her the wrong way, and each time they open their mouth she tenses up like an irritated house cat. tarah is not afraid to voice her opinion on their outlook (it's negative! and baseless! shocker!), and yet y/m is patient with her to a fault, which irks her even more — open to all (1/1) taken by akira kagetora

lifesaver y/m was in the mountains of geimreadh when something negative befell them (animal attack, illness, frostbite, just generally lost, etc.) tarah acted their reluctant saviour, bringing them to her manor and helping them regain their strength until they could leave. since then, she's barely looked them in the eye, as is her way — open to all (1/1) taken by pelleas fairvale

betrothed (on the main) this is undoubtedly a political match. tarah and y/m are betrothed for the sake of their fragments, but everything other than that is open to interpretation! this connection can end in multiple ways (a broken betrothal, a political marriage, a genuine marriage, etc.) all is up for plotting and brainstorming, but would most definitely start off on a negative/awkward note and will go from there :") — open to muses from all fragments except ardora (0/1)

childhood nemeses master of putting out odd and off putting vibes, tarah didn't have many friends growing up. instead, she had multiple children that she considered the bane of her existence. whether or not her grudges were reciprocated is up to you! however, the bitterness had definitely spanned into their adulthood, which can either continue or be remedied at some point —  open to all geimreadh natives (0/3)

unrequited love despite being withdrawn, tarah is not immune to a teenage crush. for nearly all of her teenaged years and into her early twenties, she harboured feelings for y/m. despite any distance or other partners y/m may have had, her love remained the same. it's unlikely that she ever made any advances or first moves, so y/m most likely has no idea this is the case. in her thirties, she's accepted that it's likely not going to happen and is embarrassed that she spent so much time thinking of y/m (and likely avoids them like the plague as a result). how this progresses is dependent on where y/m is in their love life, but i'm open to brainstorming or any potential pathways! — open to all aged 30+ (0/1)

mentee since reaching adulthood, tarah has become one of geimreadh's most famed shield maidens. she leads and trains a small battalion of women and femme presenting people using the gifts that she has been bestowed by itris. y/m, however, is her favourite protege, and acts as a half squire half mentee to her on the day to day. though she's definitely a proponent of tough love, tarah geniunely sees potential in y/m and hopes to give them the tools to succeed on the battlefield — open to f/m/nb muses from any fragment (0/1)

misc: fellow soldiers she's fought alongside, past flings, former friends, current friends, military strategists she works with, etc.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Idea: Actor AU commentary, but it’s for Monstrous Youths, where they talk about different aspects of the show like plots, character stuff, and of course, costumes and makeup! (Marc talking about how much he loves his moth wings, him and Reshma talk about maneuvering the extra limbs, Mylene, Mireille, and Lacey talk about how you simulate someone having vines, tar or flames for hair, the Buff Squad™️ talking about the fur on their arms is hot as hell and gets rank as fuck😅)

Chloé: *Rises from her sarcophagus* WHO DARES TO AWAKEN THE QUEEN- Ugh! Ew! There’s sand on my tongue!

Cast: *Laughing*

Director: *Laughs* Cut!

—

[Commentary]

Juleka: *Adjusting her fangs* I think what I like best about playing a vampire is that my wardrobe is the same as what I usually wear. That, and they don’t need to cake my face with a ton of makeup to give me that “undead” look.

Luka: I, on the other hand, require tons of makeup to truly make myself look like the living dead.

Juleka: And because you wanna feel pretty.

Luka: Jules… I am pretty.

—

[Commentary]

Marc: Reshma and I love being insect monsters.

Reshma: He’s an insect, I’m an arachnid. But, he’s right. It’s fun controlling the extra limbs, but also challenging.

Marc: For the longest time, we’ve been slapping the other cast members.

Reshma: I swear, we did not mean to do that!

—

[Commentary]

Kim: See, in order to play the role of the fearsome werewolf of DuPont School For Monstrous Youths, I spent the longest time observing the masters…

Max: And by that, he means he spent hours at a dog shelter playing with the puppies.

Kim: It’s called getting into character!

—

Adrien: Why don’t you just ask your dad?

Nino: Whenever I do, he always goes, “GRRRR! GRANDPA BAD!” *Coughs* God, that fucked my throat.

Adrien: *Burries his face in his hands and laughs* Drink some water, man!

Ismael: Ugh! I wanna go home!

Lila: The boy wants to go home! Enough with the bloopers! End the madness!

—

[Commentary]

Lila: Nath, Marc, and I cannot tell you how long it took us to master having wings. Mine are made of real feathers, and they’re pretty thick, so I had to work on my balance quite a bit.

Marc: Then, there are the harnesses that make it look we’re flying. Nathaniel screamed the first time.

Nathaniel: Because that harness broke and I was falling!

Lila: No, that was just… Flying downwards.

Nathaniel: Well, screw you.

—

[Commentary]

Simon: *Getting his makeup done* The crew did excellent work on my eye. It blinks whenever I do, and I can see through it. The only thing is that it gets kinda sweaty under there, and it gets all in my eyes, so my fake eye is just blinking non-stop.

—

[Commentary]

Alya: *Putting on a green bodysuit* My outfit’s a little… Complex. See, there’s this combination of the suit I’m wearing and transparent clothing to make it look like I’m a ghost with translucent skin

Mireille: The same is with me, only my clothes are not transparent.

—

Ondine: *Emerges from the pool, gasping for air*

Lacey: Ondine! What happened?

Ondine: I couldn’t breathe under there!

Rose: Why didn’t you just use the breathing tube?

Ondine: I couldn’t find the tube!

Staff member: My bad!

—

[Commentary]

Ondine: Things don’t always go according to plan on set. Some tails may come off, wings may not flap accordingly, and people trip on vines. What’s important is that we stay levelheaded, share a few laughs, and things go smoothly in the end.

Rose: And then we laugh at the bloopers.

Ondine: That, too.

—

[Commentary]

Lacey: Okay, okay! So, my fire hair?! It’s actual fire! There’s this non-burning fire that doesn’t even hurt, and it’s awesome!

Jean: Also terrifying.

Lacey: But also AWESOME!

Alix: Yeah, and speaking of hair… Those are real trained snakes. Because pops didn’t raise some coward who goes with the CGI option!

*The camera pans to Nathaniel*

Nathaniel: Hi. Yeah, uh… That actually is CGI. Alix tried the snake option for a minute, screamed, and then fainted. She just wants to sound badass.

—

[Commentary]

Zoé: I’d say the most difficult part about our characters are the bandages and vines.

Myléne: I’m always tripping on them during the days my characters forgets to trim them, and Chloé and Zoé often get tangled in their bandages.

Chloé: They’re like a fucking straitjacket!

—

Kagami: You will do well to listen, Félix. Stay away from my school. Stay away from Adrien. And stay away from me. *One of her horns falls off* … My horn fell off, didn’t it?

Félix: *Snickering* Yep. Wanna try that again?

Kagami: No, I want to wallow in shame. *Leaves*

Félix: Kagami! Come back! You were good! I was really intimidated!

*Meanwhile*

Cosette: Kagami, come on! It happens to all of us. You’re not the first one, really. Remember when I charged at Lucien and both of my horns just slipped off?

Aurore: Or when one of mine fell into the pool?

Kagami: I know, it’s just embarrassing. Right after I have the monologue of a lifetime.

Cosette: Yeah, that does kinda suck.

Aurore: Cosette!

Coaette: What? It’s true.

—

[Commentary]

Félix: Working with Lucien as the antagonists is great, just wonderful.

Lucien: Yes, I can’t get enough of playing the villain. There’s just something about it that draws me toward the role.

Félix: Same! And, you know, if there just so happens to be a villain musical number, then you can bet I’m going to give it my all. Hint. Hint.

Lucien: The writers looked at your notes; they said they’d think about it.

—

[Commentary]

Marinette: Having these buttons put on my eyes gave me flashbacks to when I watched Coraline!

Alya: She screamed.

Marinette: I did!

—

[Commentary]

Denise: That fur… Is hot as fuck! I- no joke! My arms are soaked when I take those off!

Ivan: They have to be washed constantly, and no one wants that job.

Denise: Sometimes the others make jokes about burning them, and we are beginning to consider it, ‘cause those things are getting rank.

—

Jean: Hey, guys- Ghouls! I meant ghouls! Fuck!

Cast: *Laughing*

Jean: Fuck all these fucking monster words! I need coffee! *Dramatically tosses one end of his scarf over his shoulder and leaves*

Ismael: Say what you want. He was destined to be The Phantom.

—

[Commentary]

Sabrina: The groaning my character does is actually just me saying real sentences from the back of my throat. When I say, “Hello, my name is Sabrina,” people have to listen closely to hear it. I was originally going to groan, but then I thought, ‘Nah! Lemme have some fun with this!’

—

Rose: Real quick, I can’t find my femur.

Kim: What?

Rose: It was supposed to come off for one scene, and now I can’t find it.

Ismael: *Points to her thigh* Found it. Case solved!

Adrien: You’re a little shit, you know that?

Ismael: *Smirks* All a part of my charm.

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 22 - Good Host, Good Guest

So.... after that last part I realized this story is going to be longer than intended, but I still have a plan so we're all good. Also, here's benny living out our intrusive thoughts. Touch the puppy

Masterlist - Part 21

Content: vampire whumpee, fae whumpers, intimate whumper, brain washing, charming, hidden injury

............................................

Benny walked down the hall, limping a little as he went. He dearly loved his wife, but she could always be a bit rough when she was excited, and the wounds he received from her didn’t heal quickly. Maybe he should talk to her about it? Just ask her to be a little more gentle with him? A headache made Benny stumble, leaning on the wall till it passed. 

What was he thinking about? It probably didn’t matter. All that mattered was talking to Ephraim. He had been relieved to hear his sire had made it back in one piece yesterday and Benny was determined to get in Ephraim’s good books today. 

Benny skirted around a group of fae that had gathered in the hall in front of the guest room and passed through the door quietly. 

“Lucky,” one fae said, annoyed as he did so. “I want to look at the new pets.”

That meant Ephraim told everyone to stay out of the room. As fae they had to obey so as to not break the rules of hospitality, but Benny was under no such contract. 

He closed the door softly and looked around. There were remnants of dinner on the table, ragged clothing strewn about on the floor, and the door to the bedroom was cracked open. 

Benny pushed it open to see his sire asleep, one arm over a werewolf. 

“I’ll be,” Benny breathed, using a phrase from his days as a human, dropping his posh fae accent in awe. He had never even imagined a werewolf this adorable. The little guy was snuggled into Ephraim, the softest golden hair falling into his face, soft golden tail curled over his stomach. Living in the fae courts had taught Benny the worth of pets, and while Benny had at first been something special because of his good looks, charismatic nature, and double fangs, this wolf was something else entirely. 

“Ephraim is going to have a hard time keeping you,” Benny breathed, brushing a hand over the tail to see if it was as soft as it looked. 

It was. 

Ephraim’s hand on his throat was decidedly not. 

Benny scratched at Ephraim’s hand as the vampire pinned him to the wall, fangs bared as the werewolf woke, wide eyed and even more adorable than before. 

Ephraim seemed to register Benny and loosened his hold on Benny’s throat so he could speak. “What do you want?” Ephraim growled, and Benny’s heart broke at the accusatory tone in his sire’s voice. 

“Just here to wake you,” he said, his voice only slightly raspy as his new accent filtered back in. “I don’t remember you being so jumpy, old man.”

“And I remember you having manners,” Ephraim snarled. “Do not touch him.”

Benny nodded. “Understood.”

Ephraim released Benny, turning to check on the pup who was curled under the blankets, one wide golden eye peering out fearfully. 

Benny took the moment to adjust his clothing as Ephraim murmured to the child. 

The werewolf pup extricated himself slowly from the blankets, revealing himself to be dressed in overly large garments from the wardrobe. Benny made a mental note to find something suitable for the pup. He deserved clothing that did his hair and fur justice. 

“Benjamin, this is G-”

“Hyrum.”

Benny caught the look of surprise on Ephraim’s face. Hyrum stared at Benny with distrust and some small amount of fear. 

“Hyrum,” Ephraim echoed. “Hyrum, this is Benny.”

Benny bowed, making sure to use his most charming smile on Hyrum. “It is very good to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Hyrum.”

“Hyrum,” Benjamin echoed in return. “Now, we should find you both suitable outfits for breakfast. My wife is calling together the high members of the court to discuss what happened yesterday and to outline that you are both guests here, so-”

“No,” Ephraim replied, moving to put some of the fallen blankets back on the bed. “We’re going home.”

Benny frowned. His head hurt. “Home? But this is home.”

Ephraim shot Benny a truly dirty look and Benny recoiled. “O-Okay. But you really should come to breakfast first, Ephraim. The Monarch expects it.”

Ephraim didn’t heed the weight of Benny’s words as he continued to tidy up and gather some things from around the room. 

“Ephraim.”

“We are not going,” Ephraim said, refusing to look at Benny. 

Benny felt something in his stomach he hadn’t felt in a long time. Fear. 

You’ve felt fear. You just can’t remember. Last night-

A sudden spike of pain in his head left him without the developing thought. 

“Ephraim, you don’t understand. The Monarch expects it. You commanded the fae to stay out of the room, yes?”

Ephraim hesitated, sensing the power in Benny’s words this time. He turned and nodded silently. 

“It is a part of the pact that keeps you safe. The fae are good Hosts, so they honor your wishes,” Benny explained. “But to keep the pact intact and to remain protected as a guest, you must be a good Guest in return. Which means you get dressed and meet with the Monarch and eat breakfast with the court. It is customary for guests to stay for at least three days as well. There are other customs, but I can explain them after breakfast.”

“And after the three days?” Ephraim asked, eyes narrowing. 

“You can go ‘home’ if you still want to,” Benny replied with a little shrug. “Or find a place in the court.”

“And if we break the pact?” Ephraim asked warily. 

Benny pouted a little. Why did Ephraim mistrust him? Was he still mad about not getting a message from Benny? Who held a grudge past a few hours? He supposed the fae didn’t, but he couldn’t remember what was customary for humans and vampires and the like. “Well, you will be in their power, obviously. You will be a pet to one of the fae in the court.”

Ephraim’s already pale face paled farther, looking down at Hyrum, who grabbed onto his arm, staring at Benny with just as much fear. 

“But that’s okay,” Benny reassured them. “If you make it through the three days then you can just become a part of the court. That is nice, isn’t it?”

“Going home is better,” Hyrum replied. 

Home this, home that. They were really set, huh. Benny couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so set on something. 

“Okay, fine,” he said, trying not to sound too dismissive. “Come with me, then. We’ll see if there’s anything in my wardrobe that would work for you two.”

Ephraim still watched Benny suspiciously, but put an arm around Hyrum and nodded. 

They followed Benny out, the fae crowding around them with interest. 

“Are these the guests?”

“Oh they’re just darling!”

“Is that a pup? Look at his hair!”

“And his fur. Oh sweet child. If only he weren’t so scratched up. Come here, puppy, don’t you want someone to make you feel better?”

Ephraim bared his fangs at the speaker, but that only got more tittering. “Oh how precious!”

“He only has one fang! How unique! He reminds me of dear Benny here when he was new.”

“Oh, yes. I‘m glad he has a longer leash now. He’s always such a pleasure to see.”

“Benny, show us your teeth, come on dear.”

Benny smiled at the fae, double sets of fangs showing making some of the fae almost swoon.

Ephraim was careful to keep Hyrum close as the fae crowded in. When he spotted a sneaky hand trying to stroke Hyrum’s fur Ephraim snarled again. “Don’t touch him.”

The fae withdrew her hand, pouting and Benjamin quickly said, “I’m sorry, Keena. He’s just overwhelmed. Would you let us through?”

The fae all complained but backed up to let them through. Benny smiled and thanked them all before ushering Ephraim and Hyrum down the hall. 

“They don’t mean any harm.”

“I don’t care,” Ephraim replied, feeling Hyrum trembling against his side. This was all too much after the day they had before. 

Conversation quickly died after that as Benny opened a door for them, letting them into his bedroom. His wardrobe was strange and confusing and Ephraim didn’t like any of it, but he picked something he hated the least, and refused to wear the cape. 

“Come on,” Benny whined. “You should wear it! The fae love seeing us in capes.”

“Us?” Ephraim asked sharply. “Vampires? As far as I’ve seen, they tend to prefer us dead.”

That quieted Benny, and he didn’t say anything as he offered outfits for Hyrum to choose from. Hyrum chose one in the same muted colors Ephraim went for rather than the blacks or the bright colors Benny offered. Benny was somewhat disappointed, but didn’t say anything for fear of incurring Ephraim’s ire again as he led them out to the banquet hall. 

They were seated near to the head of the table, just in time for the Queen to arrive. She walked smoothly over the mirrored floors, antlered head held high. She smiled at Benny and came to stand at the head of the table. 

Benny practically melted when he saw his wife, smiling back. There was a twinge in his injured leg when he saw her, but he deliberately ignored it. 

Silence fell over the table as the Queen stood there. She looked over them all and nodded. “It is well,” she announced. “It is time to eat and welcome our new guests. May I have your names please?”

“You cannot have our names,” Ephraim replied, coolly but politely. “You are allowed to call us Ephraim and Hyrum.”

The Queen nodded. “These are our good Guests, just as we are good Hosts.”

Sharp eyes turned at that, hungry and almost feral. Ephraim had a bad feeling a challenge had been laid down. 

“Now, it is time to eat!”

Part 23

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps

[singing-melliot-headcanons]

Demon AU. Humans can’t distinguish angels and demons from regular people. They just look the same, only odd part being the fact they don’t seem to age to any regular person.

Angels have six wings, halos are usually worn as accessories and are used as tools for their jobs, and they have eye markings somewhere on their bodies. In low light they can look kinda freaky, blood being gold, scars having a gentle white glow, eyes seeming to stare into your soul. In normal lighting they’re just kinda funky, dark they look like they’re ready to steal your soul. They all look pretty similar, giving off a bit of a sterile and clean look, trying to seem overly “divine”.

Demon horns are unique to each, they never stop growing and are treated like hair, being styled different ways and having great effort out into maintain it. Asides from horns, demons kind just go buck wild with how they look. Their traits are determined by the work they do, the kind of person they were in life, and just general vibes. Plus, when you stab them their blood is like staring into the void, drowning out any light that touches it.

So, as to how the main Adamandi crew look

-Portia dyes some of her feathers pink and wears her halo as a ring, it’s easy to access and not too gaudy, just plain and simple. She changes her clothes as time goes on, and finds enjoyment learning new styles of the era. Her eye markings are along her arms.

-Ambrose is the exact opposite, he keeps great care of his wings, wears his halo as an actual crown, and his eye markings are along his spine. His clothing stays pretty much in the jock category of each era, mostly sticking to some variation of t shirt and jeans, spicing it up with a jacket on occasion. Dude just somehow looks homophobic in every time period lol

-Quincy is different, only having one set of wings from having given up their role as an angel, now just kind of chilling on earth with Vincent. Their two other sets slowly fell off over time due to them giving up their power, their glow is lesser than other angels, and they’ve got their eye markings on the palms of their hands. Quincy’s halo is a ring on a necklace, but they don’t really use it anymore. Quincy has worn some variation of a sweater over a button down with a bow tie since the 1930s and hasn’t changed it much lol

-Vincent has horns that look kind of like a mountain goat’s, he used to have long twisting ones, but started shaving them down so they wouldn’t poke into Quincy when cuddling. Their main traits are very weasel, having claws, a weasel tail, patches of fur, and fangs. The fur turns white in the winter, and they gain streaks of white in their hair, because Vincent is weasel coded. Generally just a critter. He wears a lot of long jackets, button downs, unholy abominations of pattern combinations, greens and browns, and he likes to change up his wardrobe ever decade or so.

-Beatrix, just look up a Jacob’s sheep for the horn reference. They’ve got a mix of lion and owl traits, having claws, a long tail with fluff at the end, bits of feathers sprinkled in the fur, and having funky yellow eyes that are kind of creepy to look at for too long. Beatrix kind of just wears whatever can be found in the men’s section of a thrift store, so just perpetually looks a little out of style.

Beatrix is supposed to give off “I could totally kill you” vibes, but be completely quiet while doing it because that’s how cat paws work, while Vincent had the weasel thing of looking like he couldn’t kill anything, then just absolutely tearing it to shreds.

Feel free to make edits to these, these are just concepts.

thank you anon i will bring great fortune to your bloodline

[quietwingsinthesky]

Wishing u much good food and killing michael buble with ur teeth 🫡

May I request arranged marriage for the ask game 👀👀

hello lee :3 i shall provide. this is, quite unashamedly, inspired by your thoughts on king!lucifer (with some of my own spin on things, lol) I really hope you like it.

Sam isn’t given the dignity of a proper marriage. The agreement is in writing before he’s ever even seen his new husband’s face, and after that, he’s carted up north like a prize of war. His retinue of king’s men from the south dwindles the more miles they travel. He’s sure some of that is planned, a man or two to travel so far and then hand him off to northern soldiers, a few more who agreed to go further and turn back, but more than a few times, Sam is sure they’re just deserters, terrified of what will happen to them outside the safety of the south. The wind blows frigid over the growing hills, and the north speaks a different, hostile tongue. Sam hates every single one of the soldiers who leaves, not for abandoning him, because they were never here for his protection, but for escaping when he can’t.

It’s easy to tell the difference simply by how they’re dressed, and by the time Sam is left with only northern soldiers, he sticks out like a flower in the snow on one of these barren fields. The men around him dress in thick furs, garb so heavy that it obscures their entire figure and the weapons beneath their cloaks but never slows them down. Sam is left with his thinner summer wardrobe and the absent gift of a blanket at night to keep him from freezing to death.

The king of Hel will be crueler, Sam tells himself, and he will have to survive that. He wishes he spoke their language. The one benefit of being a hostage in the south was that he understood how he was being humiliated. Though, as he shivers in the carriage he’s locked up in, his muscles aching from the cramped space, he probably wouldn’t need that many tries to guess.

They’re only stopped once. A very bold messenger catches up to them on horseback and demands Sam’s hasty return. Not out of mercy, Sam learns as he keeps close to the door of the carriage and eavesdrops, but necessity. Sam exhales in relief as the messenger grits out that Dean Winchester, the first son of their late father, has gone missing before he could marry the True King.

Sam huffs a laugh at how little weight that title carries now that they’re within Hel’s lands. The messenger must feel it, too.

The soldiers tell him, in no uncertain turns, to turn around and go back to his king empty-handed, or else go back with no hands at all. The deal, they say, was done, and the king of Hel does not renege on deals.

Sam is taken further north with only the hope that his brother is alive and safe and free to keep him warm.

The king doesn’t meet Sam at the gates or in the hall or even in his own bedroom, after Sam is ungracefully herded in there. Not by the soldiers who brought him. Very few of them even entered the walls of the castle and even fewer accompanied him into the keep. No, Sam’s guard from then on was minuscule, only a pair of women. He might have taken them for maids if not for the flashes of steel he caught as they walked beside him and the dangerous looks in their eyes. (Neither of them feel safe, but he keeps his eyes on the red-haired one more than the dark-haired one. When she smiles, Sam keeps expecting to see a wolf’s fangs beneath her lips.)

It’s the dark-haired one who tells him what to do. She isn’t very subtle. “Wait on your back for the king to come fuck you. When he’s not busy with anything more important.” The red-haired one laughs, bright and cruel like fire, and she shuts the door behind Sam once he’s inside. He waits, holding his breath, to hear their footsteps. They shuffle briefly, but they don’t move away from the door.

Sam does not wait for him on the bed. Surely a king has to keep some kind of weapon in his own chambers. Sam searches every nook and cranny, lowering his standards from a real weapon to anything remotely sharp enough to do damage. If Dean escaped, then Sam at least has to try.

The solid stone walls don’t do as much to keep the cold out as he would like. Sam’s fingers are tingling with numbness when he finally closes them around the only appropriate thing he can find: a letter-opener, sharpened crisply. It isn’t as fancy as he’s expecting. It seems more fitted for use than for decoration, no encrusted jewels or intricate flourishes on the blade. Nothing but a snake engraved into the handle. Sam keeps it tucked close.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun is below the horizon by the time he hears a new pair of footsteps outside. A new voice, speaking too soft for Sam to understand, even if he knew his language. The door drags open.

Sam lays his eyes on his husband for the first time.

For a few seconds, in a delusion born from how freezing cold Sam is and how scared he feels, he thinks the king might be some sort of monster. The face of a bear stares him down. Sam’s frozen under its dead glare until he realizes its only another layer of clothing. Sam looks down as the king divests himself of his bear’s hood. He rubs his jaw, a few days of stubble to match the dark circles under his eyes.

Sam tightens his grip on his letter-opener, feeling naked in comparison to the king.

The first thing the man says is, “Why aren’t you asleep?” The woman who spoke to Sam earlier had a thicker accent than him, as did the soldiers. Sam can still hear it clearly, but his pronunciation is much clearer than theirs. Sam doesn’t answer, and the king’s eyes drift up and down his body. Even more confused, he asks, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I am,” Sam says, though he doesn’t feel it. “Your highness,” he forces himself to add. The king takes a single step towards him before stopping, eyeing Sam as he tenses up. The king says something in his own language, but Sam can recognize the sound of a curse in any. Sam watches the king remove his cloak. The king of Hel is broad-shouldered, thick-bellied, and without his cloak, he doesn’t look any smaller.

“How about a trade?” he says. “Wear this. It’s as warm as it looks”—Sam shivers.—“and in return, you hand over that blade you’re hiding.”

Sam feels his heart stop. His breath catches. The king tilts his head, but there’s no anger in his eyes. There’s… He looks sad, as though he understands why Sam needs the letter-opener to feel safe.

“Please, Sam,” he says, and Sam can’t be comfortable with how easily the king says Sam’s name when Sam doesn’t even know his. He offers the cloak, and he waits.

Sam shivers again, worse than before. It’s been a fight to not crawl under the blankets in that comfortable looking bed, but the cloak is an impossible temptation to resist. He can’t be thinking straight with how cold he is. He reaches for it. It’s heavier than he’s expecting. The king sees him struggling to take it with one hand and moves, bringing the cloak around Sam’s shoulders. There’s body heat cradled beneath the pelt, and it sinks into Sam’s skin.

The king is standing there, without armor, within reach of Sam’s small blade. He adjusts the cloak silently around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam doesn’t strike.

The king touches Sam’s wrist. He gently takes the letter-opener out of Sam’s hand. The way his palms, more callused than most lords Sam’s ever known, cradle his hand lingers in Sam’s mind long after the king has finally let go. The king turns the letter-opener over, running his thumb along the snake like he’s reminiscing about something. He shuts his eyes, grimaces, and lays the letter-opener back on the small table Sam had found it. There’s nothing stopping Sam from snatching it up again when the king turns his back.

He eyes it, but his gaze soon goes back to the king as he kneels beside the dark fireplace. He sweeps the ashes aside, getting his clothes dirty. He hauls another log into the hearth. He starts the fire himself, holding his hand above the flames as they grow and threaten to lick his skin before he stands. The room seems less like a jail cell when it’s more lit up.

The king gestures at the fire and tells Sam, “Wait here,” as if Sam could leave if he wanted to. He leaves Sam wrapped in his cloak and warming his extremities by the fire, arguing back and forth with himself about picking the letter-opener back up.

When the king returns, he brings food with him, steaming fresh. He hands a bowl of stew to Sam. Sam’s mouth immediately starts watering. He hasn’t had anything close to a good meal in nearly a month, granted only the same rations as the soldiers who were leading him here. There’s fresh meat in the broth before him bobbing between vegetables. Sam spears a chopped potato on the end of a fork and hurries to swallow it.

“I’m not going to take it away from you,” the king says, as though he can read Sam’s thoughts.

“Why are you feeding me?” Sam asks between spoonfuls, not completely trusting that this food isn’t a luxury he’ll lose if he says the wrong thing. The king joins him by the fire. Sam noticed the way he kneeled earlier, stiffly, and he wonders if that’s exhaustion alone making him move slower or the twinges of an old injury. He sits and relaxes.

“You’re hungry,” he answers, “you’re cold,”—He glances down at Sam’s stomach.—“and you’re skinny. I’m killing three birds with a single stone.”

“Skinny?” Sam scoffs. It’s not how he’d describe himself.

“You have muscle,” the king says, an amused tone entering his voice. “Muscle’s good, makes you warm, but fat will keep you that way.”

“And I thought you were a man, not a bear,” Sam says. It’s… strange to hear the king chuckle, to know that he’s the reason why. Sam puts another spoonful in his mouth and chews some tender meat. It’s delicious. He’d thought food up here would be tough and flavorless, but it’s rich and savory instead.

“I learn from what I hunt,” the king says. “Sam-“ He pauses. Sam is busy drinking the broth, and he’s caught off-guard when the king says, “You don’t know my name.” It’s like some sort of revelation to him, and Sam just frowns. He wasn’t special. No one knew the name of the king of Hel. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sam. I made certain… choices during the beginning of my reign. I created an image I still have to uphold, even though it has long outlived its usefulness.” The king sighs. “My name is Lucifer.”

He says it like it’s supposed to mean anything to Sam. It doesn’t. He watches Sam’s expression, and his brow furrows.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“It was Michael’s seal on our marriage, and if he’s still alive, I thought-” Whatever it is troubles him so badly that he falls silent, leaving Sam to have to fill in the gaps himself.

“You know him?” For Sam knows him well. He’s not half as kind (if Lucifer is kind, if this is not all an act) as the king of Hel.

“As children,” Lucifer says, his voice soft, “but I doubt he’d know me now.”

“You were born in the south,” Sam deduces, and Lucifer nods.

“That letter-opener has already tasted blood, Sam,” he says. He doesn’t carry a hint of Sam’s home in him anymore, if he had once. He looks exactly like what a king of the frozen fields should.

“Do I have to use it?” Sam grips the spoon hard between his fingers. His voice goes flat. “Are you going to force me-”

“No,” Lucifer cuts through his words with sharp finality. “No.”

“If you don’t consummate-” Lucifer leans back on one hand, exhaling in frustration.

“And what will they look for? You can sleep in tomorrow to pretend you’re recovering, no one is outside the door listening for your screams, and if they want blood-” Lucifer stands. Sam watches him take up the letter-opener himself and spread flat one of the furs on top of the others on the bed. He cuts his own hand and smears it down the fur. He removes it from the bed afterwards, laying it across the windowsill where Sam can see Lucifer’s blood drying on it. “There. It’s done. You are mine.” He turns to look at Sam, and his voice softens out of the frustration he’d been holding onto. “And I am yours.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say. Lucifer’s shoulders sag as he yawns.

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Sam, “and you’re safe to join me whenever you want. The bed is large, and I won’t touch you.”

More than anything, Sam wants to ask why Lucifer agreed to this at all if he doesn’t even want Sam. It’s not as though Sam can give him heirs, or, it seems, like Lucifer even wants to make them.

He averts his gaze as Lucifer undresses further. (Or tries to. His eyes keep flicking back to catch Lucifer rolling his shoulders beneath his thick white underclothes or pushing his shirt up to scratch his nails through the thick trail of hair beneath his belly button.) He focuses on finishing his meal, and when he’s done, his stomach is filled with hot stew and the rest of his body, still draped in Lucifer’s cloak, hasn’t felt cold at all since Lucifer started the fire.

One last time as Sam passes it, he looks at the letter-opener, now covered with Lucifer’s blood.

He leaves it. Lucifer is snoring steadily from his side of the bed, the covers rising and falling with his breath. Sam removes his cloak carefully, and unsure of where to put it, folds it and lays it across a chair. The bear’s head doesn’t seem to be growling at him anymore.

Sam slides under the bedcovers. He sucks in a breath. He’s never been more comfortable in his life. The weight of the furs presses him down into the mattress, but they’re all soft to the touch. He stretches his body down the bed, covered chest to toes. The pillow beneath his head is firm but pliable, giving way to a comfortable shape. He turns to look at Lucifer.

Lucifer frowns in his sleep. His cheek is wet, and Sam feels the urge to reach out and wipe it dry. It rises, he resists, and it fades again. Sam turns over. He shuts his eyes and sleeps better than he has in years.

[sagemonsters]

@atlasthefallen has a blind date with...

Imara the Gnoll

Imara is a happy gnoll (a bipedal and intelligent spotted hyena) who loves the African metal scene. She dresses from head to toe in black leather and lace adorned with silver spikes and chains. She wears a lot of silver jewelry and has dyed some of her fur black as well.

Imara is dedicated to metal, and is always excited to go to concerts and music festivals. She can talk about her favorite bands for hours on end, and loves discovering new music. She’s always down to talk about music with you, and is starting to build a vinyl collection while hunting down the perfect turntable.

Imara is an incredibly cheerful person, and isn’t nearly as angry as her music taste would lead anyone to believe. She always has a hug and a few words of encouragement at the ready. She tends to look on the bright side of things and expects the best out of people, which some folks mistake for childishness—to their downfall!

She’s a carnivore first and foremost, and her powerful jaws can crunch through bone when need be. She won’t hesitate to defend you from any threat, and doesn’t allow bigotry of any kind to pass unchallenged. 

Thanks to her thorough immersion in the metal scene, Imara is a bit of an outlier in her pack, but her large extended family supports her interests and is always ready to back her up if things go south. Once you’re introduced, the family is eager to welcome you into the fold for however long you’re a friend or partner of Imara’s, and is always happy to dispense advice or aid if you need such things.

Imara is very feminine and loves makeup and jewelry. Her tastes tend toward the macabre, although she identifies more as a metalhead than a goth. Her wardrobe is 99% black, and she watches a lot of makeup tutorial videos on YouTube. She’s always happy to loan you articles of clothing and help you with buying and/or putting on makeup.

“Okay, so you don’t have Desecrated Deeds to Decease,” the gnoll said, leaning her leather-clad elbow on the glass countertop. “What about Intellectual Metamorphosis by Wrust?”

“Rust like iron?” the salesclerk asked.

The gnoll huffed and reached over to grab a pad of sticky notes from next to the ancient-looking computer monitor in front of the cashier. She scribbled something on it and showed it to him.

“Oh, I see,” the cashier said as he looked. “That’s a Botswana-based group, right? I don’t think we carry anything from Africa.”

“And you call this place a record shop,” the gnoll grumbled. Her black, pierced lips peeled away from her fangs in a grimace of frustration. “Can you order the vinyl from your supplier so that I can pick it up?”

“Uh, let me talk to my manager…” the cashier said, and fled through a door in the back of the shop. The gnoll looked over her shoulder at you, her kohl-lined eyes softening and her grimace turning more embarrassed than frustrated. “I’m sorry this is taking so long,” she said. “I know you’ve got your own stuff to buy; I wasn’t expecting this much hassle.”

You smiled back at her. “No worries. I’ve been here a lot; their catalog system is from the Triassic and takes forever to look anything up. I’ve been in your position plenty of times, and with longer lines behind me! It’s cool.”

The gnoll let out a burst of cackling laughter. “It’s a relief to hear that,” she admitted. “I hate making people wait when they’re in a hurry. Who’re you?”

You told her your name, and the gnoll nodded as she looked at the stack of records in your arms. “Nice picks there,” she said appreciatively, and grinned. “Say, is African music really that exotic to people around here? I want to get my vinyl from local indie record stores, but so far nobody in this city has carried the stuff I want.”

You shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for? Tell me what in particular you like, and I’ll see if I can help you find it.”

The gnoll’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s real sweet of you. I’m a big metal fan, if you couldn’t tell, and my name’s Imara. I try to find music that’s kinda, you know, off the beaten track. I think you’ve got pretty good taste, so let’s swap phone numbers, yeah?” 

“Awesome!” you said, and shifted the stack of records into the crook of your arm so that you could pull out your phone.

see here if you'd like your own blind date with a monster!

[mrsshabana]

♥CW: None. Pure fluff. Gender neutral reader.

♥AN: I've been wanting to start writing for Shigaraki so here's something small to start. I love mothman Shiggy fics and I had a cute idea, so here's my little contribution.

♥WC: 1,004

This is getting annoying and you’re fed up.

Every time you open your closet, you find your favorite sweaters filled with new holes. How is this even happening? These sweaters are useless in the frigid winter when they are filled with holes. The holes are big too, and there’s only one thing that you can think would have wrecked such havoc on your wardrobe.

You must have a moth infestation.

After buying some moth balls from the local supermarket, you make your way to the closet that night before bed. This should get rid of those pesky moths, you think to yourself.

Opening the closet, you are shocked by the sight before you.

A man with giant wings has your sweater sleeve in his mouth.

His wings are black and white, with an iridescent sheen that lays atop a delicate pattern. Feathery antennae stick out of his shoulder length, white hair. He has a fluffy white ruff around his neck, matching his hair. Ruby red eyes stare back at you with a frown. 

With a squeal you throw the mothballs at him.

He hisses, showing off his fangs in an attempt to scare you away. The scent wafting off the mothballs irritate him, so he simply picks them up and throws them back at you. Returning back to his meal.

“Stop it!” you shout, snatching your favorite sweater from his grasp, “This is my favorite sweater!” You’re more concerned about saving your sweater than you are about the literal mothman in your closet.

He squints his eyes at you, “Hungry,” he growls.

Getting a better look at him, he does seem sickly. Very thin and pale, with scars scattered across his skin. He’s wearing tattered pants and no shirt, the sight of his ribs show you just how hungry he is.

You start to feel bad for the poor creature, not enough to sacrifice your sweaters though. “Stay here, I’ll get you some food.”

He waits patiently while you go to the kitchen to fetch him something to eat. He has sharp teeth so you assume he eats meat, grabbing a raw chuck roast from your fridge. Bringing it back to your room on a plate.

“Here,” you sit across from him, offering him the plate. “You can eat this.”

He crawls towards you, cautiously approaching. Sniffing the meal you hold out to him. 

With a single, swift motion, he lunges forward. Pushing the plate aside and latching his fangs on the bottom edge of the sweater you’re wearing.

“No! Stop it, my clothes aren’t food!” You protest, pushing his head away from you. But he doesn’t budge no matter how much you try to push him away. It’s obvious that his strength is far beyond that of a human.

He chews at your sweater with urgency, like he hasn’t eaten in ages. And he’s shivering too. It’s the middle of winter and the poor thing doesn’t have any proper way to stay warm. Maybe that's how he ended up in your home, he was looking for a warm place to stay through the winter. 

You sigh and stop trying to push him off of you. He’s just hungry after all and you can always buy new clothes. Bringing your hand up to the ruff of his neck, you gently pet his soft fur, “Fine, you can have the sweater.”

He purrs sweetly in response, laying his head in your lap as he continues to eat away at the fabric. You stroke his fur, admiring his beauty for the next hour. Until he’s traveled up your body, and down your arms, devouring every strand of the sweater you were wearing.

The mothman licks his lips in satisfaction, sniffing around your chest to make sure he got it all, before turning around to leave. Figuring that he has overstayed his welcome. Quite embarrassed that he had just savagely devoured your sweater, unable to control himself due to the fact that he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

“Wait!” you reach out to him, “Please stay… at least through the winter. You’ll be safe here.” For some reason, you feel sympathy for him. Yeah he was eating your clothes, but he was only trying to survive.

Why are you inviting him to stay? You should be screaming in fear like the other humans do when they see him. But you’re different… the first person to show him a hint of kindness. He can’t turn you down even if he wanted to, his chances of surviving such a harsh winter will be slim without a warm shelter.

Seeing that he’s not quite convinced, you quickly put on a t-shirt and scurry over to your bed. Holding the blankets open for him to join you. The warmth of your bed beckons him. He can’t remember the last time he had a warm, safe place to sleep. Following his instincts, he slips under the covers with you. Nuzzling up to your chest, purring as you roll your fingers through his white hair.

Surely you must have a death wish, allowing a deadly mothman to huddle up with you for warmth. But you don’t care. So far he’s only shown interest in harming your clothes, so as far as you’re concerned, he won’t harm you.

His tense muscles relax in your touch, wrapping his arms around you with a relaxed sigh. Trying to convince himself that he’s only doing this to warm himself up, no other reason besides that. 

“Tomura… my name is Tomura,” he mumbles. Thinking it rude that he hasn’t introduced himself yet, he doesn’t want you to think he’s some wild animal with no manners.

“What a pretty name. My name is Y/N… you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Tomura,” you say sweetly. 

“We’ll see…” he grumbles. Burying his face into your chest to hide the blush forming across his cheeks.

He’s so comfy here with you, that he might just consider staying through the entire winter. And you wouldn’t mind one bit.

[deathbypride]

Our Flag Means Death x Queer Eye AU.

humour me here:

Ed’s the owner of ‘Ed’s Bar and Grill’ and BOY does he need a pedicure and some tlc.

Stede’s his bff who everyone thinks is his boyfriend, no idea why, we’re just friends, stop looking at me like that, Tan!!

Antoni teaches Roach the chef how to slice an avocado. Falls wildly in love with Jim’s mad knife skills. He’s never seen a carrot sliced that finely!! Jim shrugs. Olu glowers quietly.

Jonathan deep conditions Ed’s hair, tidies that whole thing up, plaits cute little ribbons into his beard. Compliments him on his glowing skin. Ed blushes. Stede glowers less quietly. 

Tan asks Frenchie and Wee John what they think of Ed’s wardrobe. Ends up with three pages of notes and a diatribe on why cats are the devil. He secretly agrees; cat fur is a bastard to get out of fabric.

Bobby asks Pete for help revamping the restaurant. He’s thinking some DIY stuff - put up shelves, sand down table tops, nothing too strenuous. Pete goes away and wittles a tiny, perfect model of ‘Ed’s Bar and Grill’, complete with all the staff as movable figures. He’s uncharacteristically modest about it. Bobby mounts it on the wall and nearly cries.

Buttons introduces Olivia and Karl (who lives, don’t question me here) to Neon the dog. They’re besties in minutes. 

Fang and Ivan try to smuggle Neon into their truck with doggy treats. They get a few yards before Stede gives them his best ‘I’m Very Disappointed’ look. Neon whines nervously. So does Ivan.

Lucius gets adopted into the Fab Five. Maybe this time the literature specialist role will work out??

Izzy’s the grill’s assistant manager. Karamo takes one look at him and has a field day.

[uroborosymphony]

"Indeed yes... I was. Just a little detail I wanted to discuss with Lee-sshi on my current case but it seems impossible to have a face to face with the man these days. Is it always like this? He's the disappearing one in the office?" She speaks and then questions. In this office, Jung Ara has left the costume of Quinn, to go under the name of Kim Sora. A new identity she has spent monthhs forging, crafting for herself. It is not so easy to fool an entire audience of professionals like the private investigator Lee Hyuk and well, his associates. She is a profesional herself, confident in her theater skills, yet she also learned how not to underestimate the other party : it is the first source of failure. To compromise the case regarding Black Fang that detective Lee Hyuk has taken in : that is her longterm goal. If Black Fang manages to secure their tracks through the right alliances, play with the law for the authorities to never be able to use any evidence against them, it is different when it comes to private investigation, something bigger must hide behind why Lee has been hired in the first place. It is a long run game the vigilante has to play. Beforehand, it is important to etablish trust by pre occupying herself with small cases Lee has been giving to her, to prove her dedication, to leak as many information from the Gangnam Police office she could get her hand on to prove her good faith : Kim Sora has value to the team now. In this journey came colleagues too, notably Nakamura Suki, one odd girl that Ara surprisingly came to appreciate the company of. In another life, she is convinced they would have been good friends. As Suki is already dragging her out of the office, she lets out of a laughter at the other's energy, catching her bag on the way as they walk out. She lets Suki locks the doors, watching her closely. Sora does not have her copy of keys just yet, not out of mistrust, simply out of nobody-took-care-of-it yet. Stealing Suki's to come and wander at night would be too risky. She must be patient on this one, a simple faux-pas could compromise her months of work. "That place you told me about the other day, with... what was it you call them? Vertical sandwiches?" Ara asks, with a tone out of tease, she finds the naming pretty fun. "Why not go there and then, let's see.. shopping? I need a new jacket." She questions, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. "You're absolutely sure it's okay thought? Lee-ssi won't get upset if he comes back and we're somewhere off drinking boba?" The real Ara could not give a damn about authority and the threat of punishment but Sora, her, wants to do good by the Boss. Also her questions help her draw a map of little information collected on Lee Hyuk's habits since in fact, she barely could interact with the man so far. Shopping is a bold suggestion. Sora's wardrobe is different : away from red leather, designer fur coats and cunty ponytails. Here, her jeans are blue and tight, her turtleneck is black, she even wears glasses when in front of her computer, her hair let down. How will she resist the newest prada high knee boots with chains on when they get there?