#anyone reading this should draw venom

[xvx-cooldude69-xvx]

we can imagine anything.

[lsleofthelost]

shades of being lovable

[read on AO3]

T | 5.2k | Chapter 1/3 | Mal/Evie | angst, AU - they don’t leave the Isle, introspection, aged-up characters

Content warning for implied/reference child abuse, off-screen animal death

Summary: It’s the most open secret on the Isle: Evil Queen’s brat is in love with Maleficent’s spawn.

It is whispered behind her back when Grimhilde leaves the salon, it is laughed about roaringly in pubs, and it is scribbled on the desks in the back of Dragon Hall classrooms. Grimhilde loves to pretend that the whole Isle doesn’t know because Genevieve’s … thing is more humiliating than any of her other failures. More humiliating than being caught, more humiliating than failing to kill Snow White, more humiliating even than not being as beautiful anymore. But everyone knows it, everyone knows Genevieve is in this gooey, soft, crippling kind of love.

Including Mal.

Mal swears that knowing doesn’t affect her. She is still the leader of the most powerful gang on the whole Isle. She takes what she wants and breaks what she can’t take. She knows how to keep distance between herself and her underlings. Mal is civil and talks to Evie with enough courtesy that makes it clear that they are not friends and that Mal’s words are orders to be followed, not friendly suggestions.

Sometimes, when Mal barks a command with too much force, too much venom, she notices that Jay and Carlos share a glance. It’s probably worry, it may even be sadness, Mal can never truly tell. The glances weigh on her, make her feel something a villain never should because guilt has never gotten anyone far. She shakes these emotions out of her head, what kind of poisoner wouldn’t be able to take some venom?

(She lies. It affects her. Some days she can not bear to look at Evie. She tells herself it’s disgust. In more vulnerable moments, she tells herself it’s not knowing what to do with these misplaced feelings Evie has.

In the past, whenever some poor unfortunate soul would try to make things romantic between them, it was either a weak attempt at manipulation or inappropriate worship. First never worked because Mal doesn’t need love, never has and never will, so the promise of it was unappealing. The second was more pitiful. These people had an image of Maleficent the Second, the new Mistress of Darkness in their heads that would shatter if they got too close. She knows that once they discover who she really is, once they look into her heart, they would find nothing to love there. By her mother’s design, Mal is impossible to love.)

Feelings aren’t a thing they talk about on the Isle. Any feelings, but especially those. There are few moments for tender-heartedness, deep under the velvet cover of night, where no one can overhear, but Mal is above that. She is the destruction of the free world, there are more important things she can focus on.

So, Mal knows, but she never does anything about it. She doesn’t say anything and neither does Evie and it allows things to feel almost normal. Up until Evie gets too flustered or too greedy or tries to be too close to her and Mal gets images of blood-red smiles and yearning eyes burned into her eyelids.

***

Now that her gang is indisputably on top, Mal has a lot of free time. It’s confusing. She has spent her entire life fighting, nineteen long years a constant battle. It would be a disgusting lie to say that her life is peaceful now (Mal will never know peace, it’s preordained, she is revenge personified) but she finds herself with nothing to do for a few hours every two weeks or so.

‘Fight or die’ is the law of the Isle but what is she to do when there is no fight?

All the borders are checked, pirates are staying within their own territory for once, even the Huns are pacified under a new agreement, her own are fed and fine. Mal gets too wired to sleep and too burnt out to draw, so she turns her eyes up.

She likes getting as close to the barrier as she can, without being stuck wrestling the crowd near the bridge. Or trying the sharp teeth of the sea. She scales the side of the only church on the Isle (it’s always empty, save for the old priest and his quiet daughter) and climbs to the very top of the central spire. Perched there, she can reach up and touch the shimmering air of the barrier. Being this close to active magic is calming in a way she can’t describe.

Sometimes, Mal notices the priest’s daughter peeking up through an open window. She’s tempted, then, to wave at her, to invite someone else to bathe in the warmth of magic. But every time she’s about to open her mouth, a gravelly voice yells to do some chore or the other and the girl disappears inside with a squeak.

***

Evie fell in love hard and fast.

Her very first day out of banishment, the day after her sixteenth birthday, she caught Mal’s attention. She didn’t know yet that it was a bad thing, fascinated still with life in relative freedom.

Mal had been cruel then, she knows. She’d never hide it, there was nothing to be ashamed of. Fight or die is the only law of the Isle. Genevieve was highly possible competition, bright and dazzling, so Mal did the pragmatic thing and enacted a scheme.

The plan was simple, she’d even thought it elegant at the time: play nice with Evie, invite her to the full moon howler at de Vil’s place and when Blueberry makes herself the centre of attention, as she certainly will, drop a bucket of animal blood on her. She toyed with the idea of locking her in that bear trap of a closet Cruella has, but it would be too quiet, too easy to miss over the chaos of the howler. She needed a signal, something that let not only Evie but the rest of them remember who the top dog around here was.

Something to knock her down before she could attempt to stand up.

At least that’s what it was supposed to go like. In no world did Mal imagine that instead of running out covered in tears and blood, Evie would activate her magic. The shield was weak and peppered with holes, but still, the majority of the blood ended up on the floor around Blueberry.

Mal grabbed her arm then and dragged her outside past the crowd. People made way for the pair, sure that she was going to beat Evie up. Hell, even Mal was sure of it.

Yet, when they got to the rickety porch and Mal finally turned face to face with Evie, for some reason, she couldn’t find it in herself to scream and call her names. Looking at her bright eyes, the colour of them indescribably red in the fiery light of Hell Hall, at the drops of blood dotting her face and hair, slowly running down, at the hopeful smile stretching her violet lips, Mal could not bring herself to say what she intended to.

Magic, or the sad grains of it that could be accessed under the barrier, was for the strong. Like Mal herself with her fire.

So instead, she found herself asking how reliable Evie’s hold on magic was. She told Mal about how this was the first time her magic got a physical form, about how she brews potions and poisons, about how even the most potent ones never made her sick.

Mal ordered her to join her gang. Evie’s eyes snapped up then, trembling and wet, so full of unfiltered hope and affection and stared at her. Her whole body leaned in and slackened when she accepted. Something about the brightness of her eyes or the happiness of her voice in that moment terrified Mal into almost taking a step back.

***

It is baffling, sometimes, how much love Genevieve has in her heart.

The fountain of it seems endless, she doesn’t need to ration it into little portions to be consumed. Evie loves sewing and designing, she loves the kids under their protection, and especially that giggly Tremaine girl, she loves how giddy with fear everyone gets when she brings her apple pie (that she made because she loves their crew). She loves and loves and loves.

She even loves this stupid little rabbit.

Mal and she were in the Dark Forest, foraging for ingredients and Evie kneeled by a big oak tree to cut off some mushrooms when she found it. It’s a pitiful thing, small and weak, two more from its litter lying on either side of it with their throats ripped out.

“It’s going to die.” Mal’s voice is cold and too loud in the darkness of the forest. Evie’s eyes are still on the carcasses and all she does is give a tiny nod.

In retrospect, it was probably a twitch at Mal’s tone.

When Mal unsheathes her dagger light must catch on it because, in a second, Evie turns around to face her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill it.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is the most obvious thing in the world. The weak can not fight. They do not survive.

Immediately, Evie scoops up the tiny thing and brings it close to her chest. She’s shielding it.

“What? No!”

“It’s going to die anyways!” Mal angles her dagger toward where the rabbit must be. “Give it to me!”

It makes Evie turn her body away from her, shielding the animal even more.

“No!” Her eyes are scorching when they meet Mal’s.

This defiance makes her recoil physically. How dare she? Over some stupid animal? Mal’s free hand shoots out to grab Evie’s shoulder and shake her. “Let me kill it!”

“No! You can’t!” Her eyes stay as steely as before, even as they begin to water. “You can't!” Even as her voice begins to shake.

Mal brings her dagger even closer. So close, that she can see her own reflection in the cold metal of the blade.

“Why the hell not, Blueberry?”

“I love it, you can’t kill it! You can’t! It’s alive! I love it!”

***

Usually, Mal bites her tongue when Maleficent pushes lessons on her, letting her mother rant, and it’s no different today, even though she is so frustrated, so tired. She doesn’t even know what set her mother off this time, but she doesn’t bother to speak up. Mal can feel her inner temperature go underworld low and dragon fire high, back and forth, all day, she can feel her skull splitting where her horns should be, she can feel her back muscles moving to accommodate for wings that can’t be sprouted, magic produced in her body without an exit, stuck inside her. She feels like half a corpse and half a god.

“Furthermore, Mal, you must not dismiss my advice. I am not saying this out of ill will, I only do this due to your promising nature. I see you have the capability to own this world, to lead the conquering, and to take over after I rule. You are Maleficent Morgana the Second, do you understand?”

It’s funny. She doesn't even have her own name, her mother never gave her one. She made her fight for each letter tooth and nail but the prize is becoming her mother. All she sees when she looks at her daughter is a twisted reflection of herself, a second chance at achieving promised greatness.

Maleficent takes a sip of her coffee, and though Mal knows it is horribly bitter, she does it calmly. A mirthless smile stretches her thin lips.

“I was like you when I was your age. Ignored my mother’s wisdom, thinking I was oh so mature. But the world is cruel and we must be too. We fight or we die. It forced me to cast my heart aside, practically ripped it out of me, and when I started using my head, I finally started yielding results. I only wish to protect you, like I now realise my mother was trying to protect me way back then. You are my daughter, be better than me, cast emotions aside now, and don’t let them cloud your judgement. I truly believe you will be the deliverance of our preordained fate.”

She takes another sip of her coffee and lowers it on the table in a harsh movement. Ceramic hits wood with a boom.

It’s only the training that stops Mal from flinching at the resonance. Her hearing fluctuates between true faery abilities and the constricting human level, and all the sounds are grating her ears. Not that she hasn’t heard this speech many times before. Mal has been a promising child since she was born. She didn’t do anything to deserve it, she didn’t make any vows, her lips did not form words binding her to divine wickedness. No, her mother, and her mother, and hers, they gave the old prophecy of owning the world to her like an inheritance.

“Yes, yes, you will be our deliverance.”

With a content sigh, Maleficent nods once more and leans back into her armchair.

It is as clear a dismissal as she will get, so Mal pulls herself up, feels her bones ready to snap under the weight, and with a small bow turns away from the coffee table. It takes all her willpower to keep her composure. Near the doors, she chances a pause to gather herself once again, and glances at her mother.

She looks frightening. Not like when she would stand over Mal’s barely conscious body after leaving a pattern of black and blue all over, no. Not like when she would suggest plans that would put Jay in grave danger just to watch Mal’s reaction either. No, this is an ultimately frightening sight.

She looks pathetic. Imprisonment has not been kind to any of them but the inaccessibility of magic has hit the inherently magical beings the harshest. To Mal, her mother looks like she might collapse, fade out on here, never get out of that armchair.

That is the fundamental reason she lets her mother lecture her. She fears her, of course, but she patronises her more now. Mal is already a shining example of never letting her emotions cloud her judgement in battle. She stopped herself before she could grow attached. Built walls even between herself and her General, retreated away from his warmth when he got too close.

So she shrinks, hides more and more of herself in order to not appear threatening to Maleficent. It only makes Mal despise her more and in turn, despise herself.

One day, she promises herself as the flash of pain fades and she closes the doors behind herself. One day she will take a butcher’s knife and cut this umbilical cord.

***

Next Thursday, Mal finds Evie crying in one of the smaller rooms of their lair.

It’s obvious she’s crying, even if she’s turned away from the door, cooped up in a dark corner. Her whole body is shaking silently, tiny little movements arrhythmic, like she’s fighting the tears.

Mal turns away. She will ignore this moment of foolish vulnerability, maybe send Carlos or Dizzy this way instead. They can be gentle. Mal appreciates kindness only because it shows that their evil has intent, that they inflict hurt on purpose. Gentleness is inside their bones. Hers are hollow.

It is at that moment, when Mal has made up her mind, that Evie notices her.

She always seems to notice Mal.

Their eyes lock. Mal feels glued to the spot. Evie’s eyes sparkle softly in the dim light, her mascara is running down her face in black and blue streaks, and her lipstick is smudged and half bitten off in the middle. She looks magnetic. Evie is beautiful, not despite her harried state, not because of it, just beautiful. Always so beautiful.

“I’m sorry, I-” Evie’s breath stutters as she gulps more air in, “I thought no one would be here.” She looks somewhere behind Mal, not like she’s trying to gauge if there are people behind her, but like she can’t bear to look at her any longer. “You ca- should go. I’m- I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t say sorry.” Mal comes in and closes the door behind her. It plunges the tiny room into more solid darkness. “It’s weak.” She steps a little closer to Evie.

Evie hastily wipes her face and shakes her head a little. “Yes, of course.” She sniffles. It is such a pitiful sound, brittle and barely controlled, Mal wants it to stop. “Really, Mal, you, you don’t need to stay, can, you can go.”

It is the most erratic Evie’s speech has ever been. Usually, her words are so measured, it’s weird to hear her stutter. Mal kneels beside her on the dusty floor. There is not much space in the room, it feels stifling, being so close to Evie. She wants to move back, to come closer, to storm out, to crush her in a hug. She settles for leaning back on the balls of her feet and digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

“Well, I’m here.” What would Carlos do? Shit, what would one of those soft as shit Auradon kids say? Because even though Genevieve is one of the most feared people on the Isle, even though she can dig her nails in wounds just to listen to the screams, she requires this tenderness.

“So tell me what bullshit made you… uh-”

“Cry like a baby?” Evie says with a bitter smile.

Mal just hums. That is exactly what she was thinking but it seemed too harsh to say right then. Mal wouldn’t kick one of her own while they are lying down.

Another stuttering breath. Genevieve keeps shaking, all those emotions too much for her tiny body. She is taller than Mal, but like this, she looks so small and bursting at the seams with everything.

“Remember last week? We found that baby rabbit?” Her voice is still so soft. “I had to kill it.” More tears gather in the corners of her eyes. They twinkle in the darkness like stars in the sky. “I- My mother, she, ah- I guess she wanted a new fur collar.” With a put upon shrug, she continues: “It’s not even the worst part.” Mal watches her swallow heavily, like it pains her to do so, like she is swallowing glass. “We, ah, we can’t afford to be wasteful here. And, you know, that’s fine... Well, it’s not fine, Auradon makes us do this and we haven’t even done anything but be born! And they can definitely afford to get normal food and clothing and water for us. I mean, have you seen the new castle the Beast’s family is building? ‘Secondary summer palace’, what bullshit!”

“Princess, I appreciate anger for those Auradon fuckers as much as the next person but get to the fucking point.” Her tone is always too cold, fuck. Now Evie will think she’s angry at her. Maybe she is, a little. For making her feel so responsible for her sadness.

“Sorry,” she catches herself too late, “Mother made me cook him.”

Mal is silent at that, and Evie tries to fill the silence.

“And, I knew he was going to die. You were right. He was too weak to survive, he couldn’t fight, but, gods above, I never- I didn’t think she’d make me butcher him.” Her voice dissolves into nothingness at the end.

“You really were in love with that thing, huh?”

Evie freezes up at that, so still, she might be made of marble. She shakes her head after a moment. “I loved it, I was not- I was not in love with it.” Her gaze is trained on the toes of her boots, on the tiny stubborn dot of blood that hasn't washed out. “That’s different.”

And that, that is the final nail in her coffin. Fuck! Mal already doesn’t know what to say, what do you say to a person who is crying? There are no memories in her head to use as an example. The last time she cried, her mother had dangled her light body out of a balcony, telling her not to shame the legacy with something as weak and as human as tears. That did make her stop crying but that is not what Mal is going for with Evie. And she was so stupid to bring up love.

“You should’ve let me kill it that day.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t mean it. Evie would not have let her do it.

“You shouldn’t cry so much over it.”

“I’ll be fine. You- you don’t need to worry about me so much.” She smiles a little, the waterworks finally coming to a stop. It makes Mal feel disgustingly soft, like a rotten apple.

“I wasn’t worried. But you’re on my team so it’s my responsibility or whatever.”

“Still.” There’s a tiny smile on Evie’s ruined face.

And in that darkness, surrounded by specks of dust and looking at black and blue tear tracks and smudged lipstick, Mal thinks that maybe it’s not such a horrible thing to be loved by Evie. She loves so much so easily, it can’t be a terribly huge deal to be a part of the long list.

***

No matter how much her mother snarls in distaste, Mal prefers that her gang is less rigid and the atmosphere is more companionable when they are together. Sometimes, though, when they are being particularly annoying, Mal wonders if her mother is right.

Diego de Vil and his band of musical misfits really don’t work hard enough to afford all the distraction and halfway-manic laughter they cause. Fucking freeloaders. Honestly, and she has told them this more than once, they are only here as Carlos’s kin and because their music sets really bring the howlers to the next level.

They’re always jamming or giggling in “their” nook of the lair. That, or harassing the other occupiers of the loft.

They make fun of Dizzy for following Evie around everywhere, like a loyal duckling. When Evie furrows her brows and tells them to cut it out, they snicker behind their hands and Ivy starts singing the silly song they wrote just for Dizzy. They “are just kidding, really, Dizzy, you are our dark magician girl”, after all.

They make fun of Freddie, whenever she decides to come around. Yell something about how matted her hair is, and the twins pop out their perfect clouds of signature de Vil ashen hair to mock her. She just flips them off because they all know that right after she finishes her dealings with Mal, she’s going to be slithering in the nook and plopping herself on a pillow between Maria de Vil’s feet, letting her work her own kind of magic.

Even Mal is not immune. They make fun of her “brooding face”. They make fun of her short stature. They find a lot to laugh about, but they never push too much, and Mal can’t help but think that it’s nice. To be in on a joke.

(She remembers running with Maddy. It’s silly now but then it felt like a sign that they both had purple hair. It seemed so concrete when she was ten-eleven. And Maddy would run around to make fun of her behind her back, would sabotage Mal on purpose, feed her wrong information just to watch her trip up. She’d punch her in the shoulder and say: “Come on, it was just a joke!” and cackle mean-spiritedly.

Maddy never knew the limit. Maddy bleaches her hair obsessively.)

The band joke about a lot of things, and notice every embarrassing reaction, which is why Mal half-expects howling laughter when Evie turns beet red after Mal off-handedly says “Attagirl” during a sparring session. They don’t laugh when Evie rushes to bring Mal some kind of special electro-something water after training. They don’t laugh when Evie asks if she can “move up from her regular loft room? Somewhere closer to you? Not- not in that way, just that rooms get bigger closer to the top and I need space for my brewing!”

They don’t laugh when Evie blanches at the sight of Mal’s mangled fingers after a nasty fight. They don’t laugh when she pulls out some salve and bandages from her thigh holster when she tapes them together ever so carefully and something close to tears shines in her eyes.

They never laugh at her. Mal wishes she didn't know why.

***

Mal’s gang may be far less rigid than Maleficent’s armies used to be but if anyone dared to think that Mal was not a demanding leader or, gods forbid, that Mal was soft, they would be proven wrong fairly quickly.

Perfection is expected, achieving more than asked for is expected, and falling short is punished. The closer you are to Mal, the harsher you get burned by her hellfire rage.

She’s yelling about the botched chloroform, asking Evie how she can be so stupid and incompetent, how dare she not perform her role in the gang, and give her one valid reason she shouldn’t send Evie back into banishment right this moment! And maybe Mal is being harsher than usual but then Evie’s lip stops trembling and her poisonous blood is boiling with anger and she is screaming right back at Mal. Saying that she is “cold-blooded, cruel, a fucking tyrant!”

Mal doesn’t stop herself when she swings a punch.

It doesn’t land properly. Evie moves away and Mal ends up hitting her shoulder, Evie’s hands on her wrist and elbow, and a moment later Mal is on the cement floor, her breath knocked out, with Evie hovering over her. She’s crying. Her mascara is running and her eyes shine brightly and Mal’s heart stops.

It’s like a dam has been broken. Evie tries to calm herself but all her inhales are shaky and all her exhales are ragged, she can’t stop the hot tears from rolling down her cheeks and landing on Mal’s face and neck. She’s still uselessly pounding her fists on Mal’s chest, so she catches the witch’s wrists and brings them down.

Mal doesn’t want to dislodge her even if her instincts tell her that this is how you get your throat slit. Evie is still shaking on top of her. Mal doesn’t know what to say and she can’t bear to look at her. She turns her head to the side. Evie’s wrists are burning against her underworld cold hands.

They stay like that for however long it takes for Evie to calm herself. Far too fast for how hard she was sobbing earlier, probably.

“Why do you do that?” Evie’s voice is hoarse and small but still full of fury.

She feels like she’s about to fall through the floor.

But Mal is still on the floor and she looks at the place where the wall meets the floor and she realises it wasn’t painted very well. “I-” her throat is swollen, “I have to. I need perfection.”

“Don’t be so cruel to me,” Evie exhales unsteadily, “you know, you know that I, you know I-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I wish it counted for something.”

Mal finally turns to look at her. The blue mascara stains on her face look like bruises.

***

Mal climbs the church tower that night.

Her bones creak, weary and tired on the ascent. For a few seconds, she hears the way storm clouds gather under the barrier. The stone is warm under her infernally cold hands.

There are kids on the streets nearby but none of them are hers so she doesn’t care. If they are staying the night at the church square, neither do their parents.

The dim lights of the Isle don’t reach her here, she is illuminated only by the shimmering of the barrier. If she tries, she can probably even find a star or two through the gaps between the stormy clouds that are anchored on top of the barrier.

She wonders, can he see the barrier down there? Is her father reaching out to touch it too? Is he digging through the dirt, like she is? Does he think of her?

Mal does not think of her father often. Sometimes, she forgets she has a father at all. She is her mother’s daughter so thoroughly, she wouldn’t be surprised to find out if even her very bones had “Property of Maleficent” carved into them.

But tonight, she wonders about Hades. She knows so little of the man, of the god. She knows that he sits in his catacombs, that he makes that little Facilier runt run his errands, that he’s merciful with her. Mal has only one memory, though it is spotty like the radio transmissions they get on the Isle, inviting imagination to fill in the blanks.

And, like everything about her, Mal’s imagination is cruel.

She remembers the day her father left. The cold grey light, the dust particles that floated in the air, the back and forth screaming, and the smell of sulphur that filled their house. She was hiding under the staircase, ready to dart into the closet if her mother decided to take out her frustrations on her.

Then, a vase… or a sugar bowl? Something porcelain, anyway, was thrown down and broke into a million tiny sharp pieces at the bottom of the stairs. She remembers having to clean it up later and getting cuts on her chubby fingers.

Her mother screamed something along the lines of “You are not a god anymore! Go back to hell!” and slammed their bedroom door shut. Mal peeked out from under the staircase, just as the thunderous steps made more dust fall out and float in the air.

This is where it gets fuzzy.

Sometimes, she can only remember him opening the front door, daylight outside too bright for Mal’s eyes that were used to the semi-darkness of their house. Hades turned to look at her for a moment, face unreadable, and walked out with a resounding slam of the door.

Sometimes, she remembers more. She remembers that her father noticed her peeking out from under the stairs. He walked up to her, and he doesn’t have a face in these memories but she knows he was looking her in the eyes. He asked her if she wanted to come with him, but before she could answer, he sighed and said: “No, that won’t work. I’d be tired of you. I’d be able to bear that if I loved you but you are too much like your mother already. It’s too late, she taught you well.” And then he turned around and left her life forever.

Sometimes, she entertains the idea of finding him. Marching into the catacombs where he has made a home, holding a knife to his throat, seeing if he bleeds red or golden. The problem is, she will never be able to make him feel her own pain.

And what would that accomplish? He was right.

Mal was an unlovable child and she is an unlovable adult. At least she is rational enough to know it.

Here, in this dark place where no one can hear her, she tips her face to the sky. There is no hope to find the stars but the rain finds her somehow. The droplets are sweet on her lips.

No one sees her cry.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 2

Astarion Ancunin + Bloodplay

I’ve always been a huge vampire fanboy, ever since I read twilight years ago. Plus, a vampire voiced by Neil Newbon? Woof.

Reader is Dark Urge in this. Featuring some Durge headcanons, like their blood being like crack for vampires when willingly given. Not a lot of smut in this, I got kinda carried away by the relationship part.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

Living a life without memories should have been more difficult than it was, but outside of the random urges for manslaughter, committing manslaughter in your sleep, and how desensitised you appeared to be to all types of pain and torture, it was whatever. After a while you didn’t think about it much, even as time passed and you learned more and more about your past, or how your so-called servant showed up at night to try and tempt you into killing all of your allies.

Your memories still weren’t fully back when you learned about your Bhaalspawn status, but it made sense in the long run. From the first time you had met your allies, you’d thought in detail how you wanted to kill them and bathe in their blood, devour their flesh and make ornaments out of their bones. All but one, that is. And that was none other than your ragtag team’s rogue vampire Astarion, ever since you had first met it was like there was a connection between the two of you.

When you had awoken to him one night attempting to feed off of you, you had felt no disgust, but instead a possessive want. You had grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him in, burrowing his handsome pale face into your neck, almost more excited about being fed on than he was to feed on you. Astarion would later tell you that your blood was the most delicious he had ever tasted, though he had very little else to compare it too, especially not another sentient living being.

That first feeding seemed to have opened the floodgates, not just in Astarion but in yourself. It was like a bloodlust that had been dormant before flashed awake, like the vampire venom coursing through your veins acted like a shot of adrenaline to your system. Astarion would never outright ask to feed from you, he was much too proud, but you could both tell you enjoyed it, maybe a bit too much for either of your sakes, but with the situation you were in neither of you seemed to care.

You never experienced the fatigue one fed on from a vampire should feel, and if Astarion had ever fed on another sentient he would have been able to tell you that he gained more strength from your blood than he would have anyone else. When learning your Bhaalspawn status, it all made sense, at least to those who knew about your kind. It became especially clear when some of Cazadors spawn tried to feed on you and immediately screamed in agony and turned into black soot. The blood of Bhaalspawn, and Bhaals most beloved child, could only be freely given, any who tried to take it by force would die a painful death.

Even after turning down Bhaals fate for you, dying and then coming back again, your blessed blood stayed. And when everything was done and over with, and most split up to continue their lives, you and Astarion stayed together. Neither of you had anywhere to return too, and you could both admit you had fallen in love. Astarion had no master, and whilst the Bhaal cult still worshipped you to some degree, you felt no need to return. The cult had been quite useful in its own way though, as its lairs had possessed different items that would allow Astarion to walk in the sun even without the tadpole.

But even as you two travelled across the lands, set on exploring and living life to the fullest, the yearning for blood was present. It was like an instinct or need that had been implanted deep in your body, as it was in Astarions in his need to feed. And at times his fangs in your neck as he gulped and your hands in his hair wasn’t enough, at times you needed to draw the life from someone’s eyes and bask in the power it gave you.

That is what lead to the situation you found yourselves in now, both covered almost head to toe in the blood of slave traders. Astarion and yourself had stumbled across a medium sized village mainly filled with refuges of different descent, and had learned how their more beautiful children kept disappearing. So, the two of you set out to hunt down these slave dealers. Normally you two would debate on going more than you did, but something had fuelled the two of you.

The children were brought back to the village, you two were paid with what little gold the town had, and you two returned to your camp even when offered housing by the villagers. Whatever room you would have been offered wouldn’t have survived the hunger you both experienced, you had barely removed the order off your body before Astarion was on you, his nails digging into the tight muscle of your chest as he lunged for your neck.

It wasn’t a bite just for hunger, not in the sense of which he normally fed from you for strength, but a hunger for something deeper. Your hand wove through his pale locks and pulled, drawing an almost snarled groan from him as he panted out his nose, dislodging his fangs from one spot to bite another. The blood of a god still flowed through you even after being disowned, so the puncture wounds shut on their own.

After the life Astarion had lived, he had never been much for intercourse after being free, but you two found a deeper connection this way. Your vampire felt no need to get off, but it didn’t stop his hands from sneaking under your belt to start touching and pulling, his nimble fingers playing you like a fine instrument as you lapped at the muscle and veins of your neck.

Orgasm like this was euphoric, you felt alive in ways you couldn’t remember ever feeling, even in your many years as a cult leader. And for Astarion your trust in him lit a fire inside him, making him feel freer and more in charge of himself than he had been for 200 years. Times like this could draw on for hours, your godly blood replenishing with ease no matter how much your lover drank from you, your cock filling up under his actions as he drove you to pleasure and far into oversensitivity again and again.

It always ended with you two having to stumble your way to the nearest river and clean yourselves, even as your legs felt numb and the glow in Astarions skin made you want to jump him again. As you laid down in your shared tent, you always swore your undead lover felt warm to the touch. Maybe it was the large amounts of blood he had consumed, but he always seemed to sleep better on nights like this as he laid on your left side, his ear pressed against your chest to listen to your heart as it pumped. You didn’t miss being a cult leader, you didn’t miss Bhaal, not one bit. And laying here with Astarion made you glad you had given it all up.

[literallygeeway]

intro post!!

name: just call me caleb

age: dont wanna disclose but i am a minor so please dont be weird!!

pronouns: he/they idk

gender: kind of just unlabeled rn it hurts my head too much to think about

sexuality: also unlabeled. i kind of just like anyone in any way it doesnt really matter idk (but i have a beautiful beautiful gf :3)

favourite artist: my chemical romance!!!

other favourite artists: bikini kill, mommy long legs, mitski, bratmobile, cat valley, hell baby, dazey and the scouts, wet leg, skinny girl diet, the muslims, voodoo church, crass, chumbawamba, panic! at the disco (specifically afycso)

other artists i just generally like (yes i love music): sonic youth, le tigre, the julie ruin, pierce the veil, x-ray spex, pleasure venom, olivia jean, necromancy, catholic spit, picture me broken

hobbies: music (i can play bass, guitar, drums and piano), writing, photography, filmmaking, cinematography, drawing, making bracelets (though i need to do it more often)

some other stuff i like also includes: heathers the musical (off broadway) (its the only musical i really like), studio ghibli, the sims 4, omori, undertale, deltarune, stardew valley, ddlc, mouthwashing, doctor who, the umbrella academy, arcane, the owl house, bojack horseman, adventure time and scott pilgrim (the tv show, movie and game - i havent read the graphic novel but want to)

more stuff under the cut - dni, fun facts and some more stuff :3

fun facts!!!

my favourite colour is dark red

my favourite food is sushi

im learning japanese and french

my favourite movies are parasite, everything everywhere all at once and isle of dogs!! my favourite tv shows are i am not okay with this and the end of the f***ing world

i love wes anderson movies!!

i had two fish called flamey and sir bubbles the fishington when i was younger but they both died so i flushed them down the toilet

i collect bottles and cans (mainly ramune bottles and like three cool cans but still), funko pops (i have two gerard way funko pops - the black parade with the facepaint and revenge red tie) and vinyls (mcr, mitski, bikini kill, the muslims and wet leg)

dni!!!

basic dni like homophobic, transphobic, ableist, racist, pro-isreal, islamophobic, etc

mcr haters!! /hj

shipping irl people unless its a joke

transmeds and terfs

people who think trans men cant present femininely and trans women cant present masculinely (im a trans-ish guy who wears skirts sometimes so suck my toe)

people who unironically think gerard way is a trans woman... guys he's said they use he/they pronouns and if he was a trans woman he would probably say something!!

please interact!!

mcr fans

riot grrrl fans (not problematic)

alternative people!!! (emo, punk, goth, scene, decora, etc)

just cool people in general :3

other stuff:

no need to use tonetags with me, dont worry about it

i use !!! and :3 and stuff like that a lot, and i also swear more than the average human should

im alternative but dont have a specific label as i dress in a mix of ways and listen to many different genres of music :3

on here i'm mainly gonna post about mcr, so if you dont like them you probably wont like most of the stuff i post :<

i will probably edit this as i think of more stuff to add and as my interests change but yeah <3

pinterest: literallygeeway

instagram: killj0ysneverd1e (i only use it to look at mikey way and frank iero's stories)

fav user: @darkermylovex (go follow her rn she is awesome!!)

I DID NOT MAKE THE PNG THAT APPEARED EARLIER!!

current song obsessions:

okay thats all, have a great day, bye bye :3!!!!

[okiedoketm]

Unfortunately, Azula’s first memory is Zuko.

The details are hazy. She is two, maybe three years old. Holding something. He quickly snatches it from her hands. Pushes her forcefully into a bow, head to the floor.

Then Father is there. He grabs the object Zuko took from her. Raises his voice. Smacks Zuko. Leaves. Zuko cries.

It’s a rather dull first memory. Not even about her.

~ ~ ~

Her second memory is much better.

She is almost four, watching Zuko’s lessons. She’s figured out how to firebend for a few weeks now, but hasn’t told anyone. Instead, she is watching. Waiting.

Zuko runs through the same kata he’s been trying for days. The same steps, same motions. Azula can see acutely where he falters. Can see Father’s eyes narrow, his mouth mangle in distaste.

She hops to her feet and strides onto the field, beside Zuko. Father barks her name, but she ignores him.

“Like this, Zuzu,” she says, and performs the motions, but turns her foot where Zuko keeps it planted.

Fire bursts from her hand, a perfect blast.

When the light dissipates, Father is smiling. Father has never smiled before. A thrill rushes through her.

~ ~ ~

Azula is five the first time she realizes just how stupid her brother is.

Unlike Zuko, she has never been struck by Father. It’s actually quite simple. If you make Father happy, he won’t be angry enough to hurt you.

Zuko, for some reason, still hasn’t figured that out. And he’s had two years on Azula to get there first.

They’re at family breakfast. Zuko drops his fork under the table. He crawls under the tablecloth to get it. Father scowls.

“I’ve mastered my intermediate forms, Father,” Azula says, “I begin advanced training today.”

Father turns his gaze to her, a smile forming.

There’s a thud. The table shakes. Father frowns, and puts a bored hand over his glass. Azula does the same - quick and calm enough that it seems she did it on her own.

Zuko scrambles out from under the table, holding his head where he undoubtedly hit himself.

“But I’m still learning the intermediate forms!” He says desperately. Azula fends off a cringe. She just played the biggest card in her hand to make Father happy, and Zuko is wasting it.

“Zuko,” Father says sharply. Zuko flinches. Azula wants to strangle him; he should know that Father hates displays of fear.

“It’s okay, turtleduck,” Mother says softly, but urgently, “Sit down.”

Azula wants to strangle her too. Father hates-

“What did you just call the boy?” Father asks, voice dripping with venom.

Idiots. Azula thinks fiercely. Shut up.

“It’s nothing, Ozai,” Ursa says placatingly. Azula wants to tackle her and melt her lips closed. “Zuko just-”

“Zuko,” Father cuts her off, “Needs to behave himself at the table. Or else he won’t be allowed to eat at all.”

He stares at Ursa with hatred that could melt steel without fire. Ursa, to her credit, doesn’t buckle and blubber like Zuko would. She nods tersely and returns to her breakfast, only shooting a discreet look of urgency to Zuko.

It’s messy, but passable. Azula would have actually responded with words, and with dignity, but Azula would never let herself draw so much ire in the first place.

Zuko finally, finally takes a hint and starts to return to his seat.

“Azula,” Father turns back to her pleasantly, and the slight tension in her shoulders vanishes. Her card is still in play. “Perhaps I will join-”

SCREECH

Azula snaps her head to the noise. Zuko is frozen in place, halfway through scooching his chair on the marble floor like a fucking dog-monkey.

“Father is speaking,” she practically spits at him.

Zuko’s eyes widen.

“Azula!” Ursa exclaims. Azula whips her head to her, too, fresh vitriol ready on her tongue.

“ENOUGH!” Father’s voice booms, echoing off the high ceiling.

The table shakes, more violently than before. Azula primly covers her glass with her hand. There is a searing flame of rage in her chest, hotter and fiercer than any chi she’s ever had. She had been crafting this moment for a week, and Zuko ruined it with his incompetence.

“Take the boy and get out of my sight,” Father orders Ursa.

She stands and gathers a petrified Zuko, scooping him up gently from the chair. Like she has all the time in the world to-

“Now,” Father growls, and Ursa drops the gentleness, practically dragging him from the room.

“Should I leave as well, Father?” Azula asks.

Father sighs.

“No,” he says tiredly, cutting into a sausage and popping it into his mouth. “Someone should remain to enjoy the morning.”

He puts the cutlery down and dabs at his lips with a napkin, despite the fact that Father has never let a stray crumb or droplet of any kind touch his face since the day he was born.

“I was hoping to watch your lesson today, but it seems like I will be too busy teaching the boy manners.”

Father stands, dropping the napkin atop his half-eaten food.

“Perhaps tomorrow, Azula.”

“Of course, Father.”

When the doors close behind him, she is alone in the massive room. After ten seconds, when she is sure he’s gone, she snatches a piece of toast off Zuko’s plate and coats it in searing flame, burning it to a puck. With a shout of pure, unadulterated rage, she throws it at the wall. It shatters into a shower of burnt gluten and embers.

The hall is silent, and her angry heaves of breath are deafening.

Then she remembers herself. Azula is five years old and a princess, not a tantrum-throwing toddler. With a wave of her hand the debris are smothered, and she shoves away from the table. The chair doesn’t so much as squeak.

“Clean that up,” She snaps at a servant. “Bring a fresh plate to my room.”

~ ~ ~

Read the Rest on AO3

[abysshare]

Normally i don't do this because like. While I'm well aware i can have my own opinions, i still don't want to make anyone feel bad for me being a disliker ( maybe hater? ).

Spoilers / talking about the new Venom movie below. If you liked it I'm glad you did! If you want to explain in why in comments, feel free! /genuine

I'll start with: i had a bad-ish day so maybe everything soured my mood and i wasn't ready i. The end. I also picked the wrong ticket and had to watch it in 3D < not a 3D fan due to being sensitive to flashing lights.

What i did like:

Implications of being bonded since v1

Knull ( surprisingly, i hate the comic story though I'm gonna be so real. But its been awhile since i looked up the plot/story ).

Agony and the Christmas themed Symbiote

Horse.

Dancing.

The blue symboite and that fire symbiote ( so pretty?? I loved the different powers and such. I want to draw both of them ).

The symbiote hunter, shes gorgeous.

What i Did NOT like:

Toxin being erased entirely.

They killed of Carnage and Cletus in 2 so this whole thing flopped without them IMO

You can see where Disney or Sony whoever wanted this or that but when Tom or whoever didn't want it, it got scrapped and had messy left overs.

Too much action and too much comedy ( the dancing was fine, but the hippie family deal went on a bit too long imo ).

Why was Agony introduced but not the other three? Specifically Scream at least?

Knull having his own thanos moment for sony, a spin off or whatever they're doing.

Eddie's ENTIRE attitude.

That Montage was ASS. Hate that song too.

Too much going on imo

I would have loved to have a genuine queer moment, a kiss, a "i love you", literally anything. I can MAYBE understand if they tried but Sony or Disney said no ( fuck them ) but still. And no i was one of the few that hope there wasn't fucking or kiss with HARD tongue ( i am ace and also these two are my dads to me, it would've been awkward ). Yeah i see some people saying "Its textual" !!!

Yea sure thats nice but aren't you tired? It doesn't have to be queer baiting but like. I'm so tired.

Even if you remove that um? Its not.. that great.

I'm WILLING to watch it again and read positive sides. Because my mood just may have soured.

i think my biggest issue if i take everything away what i just said, is Eddie just going back to being annoyed at every little thing Venom does or wants. ITS OKAY to be concerned about being found by the hunter, but even before then hes just so done. And even during? He should've been concerned. Or Yeah he CAN be annoyed / irritated, but it should be with care. This felt like he was back to thinking of Venom as a tumor, something he just needs to get rid of.

It was vastly upsetting as someone who has partners. Like.. it would be okay if this was the second or first- but it isn't!!!!! And yeah couples fight, but they didn't even do that. Couples have disagreements! But they didn't even talk it out or anything.

Also like? One of my things that bugged me was, when Eddie was complaining about his feet, and we knew Venom couldn't fully take over..... why didn't Venom just yk. Cover his feet for him and walk? That would have been a subtle sweet gesture while they could've still been bantering and so on.

If they had like. Argued, fought, had an emotional moment at the end, Eddie was upset he never got to apologize- i could see it. But thats another thing- he wasn't even THAT upset...

Its fine to not be a super empathetic person, fuck i dont always cry appropriately either. But he didn't show Nothing and not in a "i'm a no empathy person" way.

Idk!!!!!!!! My brain is scrambled.

People have said a lot of what i have problems with already but idk i just!!! Feel the need to put it out there.

Also i missed the second end credit scene :,)

Note: I'm not angry or completely a hater. More so neutral and not a huge fan of some things.

[thevampiremarie]

treehouse chapter 31 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 6.3k words of sin and both Morpheus AND Reader being wet cats.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

-

Morpheus is not thrilled that Johanna Constantine has swooped in to save you.

please read my statement on Palestine here

tags under the read more

-

Tags: jealousy, exhibitionism, public (not actually) sex, fucking on the throne, she can't fuck you like I can, cockwarming, orgasm denial, CNC but not really, one sided hate sex (she hates him but wants to fuck him, he loves her and wants to fuck her) THIS IS UNEDITED, DO NOT HATE ME

Morpheus POV

He hates her, this knight in shining armor. Loathes her, even. He hates that she’s touching you, and he hates that you find comfort in it.

But Morpheus has no wish to soil your rooms with what hell he plans to wreak upon Johanna Constantine’s head, so he wraps you and the interloper in threads and transports you both into the throne room, the true seat of his power.

As Dream reclines in his great chair of white marble flickering with streaks of onyx glass, he settles on a form somewhere in between the man you love and the dragon that went against his own kind for you. “On what business do you trespass in my realm for? You were not invited here, Constantine, nor did you petition for an audience. And I certainly did not grant you permission to speak with my bride.” You have laid with him and loved him, and you should know what manner of creature you’ve permitted to lay a claim to your heart.

Does it matter to Dream that you still balk at the thought of marrying him? No, not particularly. It’s semantics - if you agree in the future, that’s functionally the same as you agreeing now.

You face him with fury blazing in your eyes. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you, Morpheus? I don’t fucking need permission to talk to anyone,” You snap, your cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

You don’t understand yet. Morpheus reminds himself that you’re new to this, new to this world, and how these things are done. “This does not concern you,” He says to you, not dropping the mask of the fierce dragon despite how badly he wants to go and be soft and comfort you.

But you have your rules and so does he. Johanna Constantine has trampled on every one of them through daring to breathe in your direction and she knows it.

You wield your force of will like a knife to his throat. “Yes, the fuck it does.”

Morpheus wants to do selfish, despicable things to you. He wants to kiss you, feel you sigh and tremble in his arms, and make Johanna Constantine watch as you give in every single time.

Constantine cuts in, as impetuous as the rest of her line. “I come here on mortal business, Dream Lord.”

“You have no right-“ He rises to the provocation like a snake in the grass, fangs bared and venom dripping to the ground. Is he not king here? Is Morpheus not the name all must answer to and shake in terror at the sound of it?

“Oh, I very much do. You see, I’ve made a deal. You remember the rules. I represent two humans who are in search of their child, metaphorically. A child I have found here, stolen away by you. I deliver their child safely back to them, where she belongs, and they pay our arranged price. Hell, I even gave them a Friends and Family discount.”

Morpheus tenses as the magic Constantine invokes settles upon him like a yoke, binding him to the ancient rules of hospitality and obligation.

Orpheus invoked such rules in pursuit of his bride. Where did that get him? Nothing much other than his death and Eurydice returned to her master, Aidoneus.

So - he must house this thief and give her the honors due to an invited guest until her quest is done. “Do you intend to take her by force? I did not think a Constantine would be so stupid as to try my might.”

Unwillingly, his gaze is pulled to you. You have that effect on him, a magnetic grip that draws Dream to you with the strength that not even gravity could exert.

It destroys a part of him you brought to life to raise walls of gilded magic around you to keep Constantine from tearing out his heart and soul in taking you. But he must.

Tears glimmer pearlescent in your large, pleading eyes. “Morpheus. Morpheus. What are you doing? Let me go. Stop it. Please.” As he would rather your hatred over your absence, Dream remains unmoved by your cries.

Constantine’s face hardens. “Of course not. She must come willingly. But if this is how you treat her, well, I thank you for doing my job for me.”

Out of sight of either of you, Morpheus’s fist tightens in the sleeve of his dark robe. His fingers dig so deeply into the marble arm rest that he leaves behind fingerprints in the solid stone. Constantine is doing this on purpose. She must be. Reminding him over and over with every word how you’re not meant for him.

What can Johanna give you that he can’t?

Everything.

You’d be safe with her. And Morpheus thinks you might be happier not cut off from the world and the life you love so much. He loves how much you love it and your people, and that you find love growing in places he’d never think to look.

If he had been Nada, he wouldn’t have chosen himself either.

Morpheus can’t even be good enough to let you go. His awful adoration of you traps him as the villain to your maiden, the death of your life, the true evil you must be protected from.

That cult only endangered you because of him. And Morpheus is going against the laws of nature to have you. The sharpened edge of an ax will remain at your lovely throat until the day he finds the strength to look away, or until it ends your life. Whichever happens first.

“Your family has been much favored by me. You have directly benefited from that benevolence. Is this how you seek to repay me?” Morpheus feels your heart beat furiously in your chest, as furiously as your hands on the bars of his cage.

No, he’s not angry with you. He understands your longing for the Waking world like he understands his own longing for you. Like the yearning of blood to rush through one’s veins.

“What can I say? I just work here. Sorry,” Constantine shrugs.

“You cannot have her. Do you understand me? She is mine,” Dream growls, his voice underpinned by the faintest sound of claws against stone.

“Let me go. Let me go. I’m begging you. You said you would be different. You promised. Please. For the love you bear for me-“ You say.

For the love he bears for you.

He’s almost moved to do as you wish. Almost.

Constantine knows better than to rap at the bars of your prison. That could be interpreted as an attack on his realm, giving him ample cause to expel Constantine. Just as he cannot harm a guest, she cannot harm her host. “Release her, Dream of the Endless. Come on. This is horrid. Absolutely horrid. No fucking wonder she doesn’t want you,” The woman spits in her coarse, common accent.

“I’ll let her go once you’re gone,” Morpheus replies, magnanimously ignoring her rudeness.

“And I’m not going, so that unfortunately puts us at an impasse.”

You’ve lapsed into silence and your pretty mouth twists into a furious scowl. There’s a humming in the back of his many sharp teeth, like the electric tension that hangs in the air before lightning strikes, thrumming through his stardust bones when you watch him.

It’s best to get Constantine safely tucked away before your thunder shakes the throne room from ceiling to floor. “Per your deal with the mortal Willow, I shall house you in appropriate state until your mission fails. Go. My Vizier will see to it. This is family business. Stay out of it, and out of my way.”

-

Reader POV

Your stupid tears have long since dried by the time he frees you. You’ve got half a mind to demand he return Johanna to the throne room so you can go with her. Especially after that display of fucked up posessiveness Morpheus seems incapable of restraining, getting the fuck out is looking more and more appealing by the second.

You don’t have to put up with this. You don’t have to put up with him. You can just leave if you want to. And you do want to.

“Well, Morpheus,” You say in a short clipped tone instead of doing the logical thing of leaving. “That certainly was a display. Are you pleased with yourself?”

He leans back in his throne, unwillingly drawing your attention to the long, lean lines of his chest, his chiseled stomach, his thighs under his close-fitting pants. “That depends, my dear. Which answer would please you?” And his eyes- they flicker and gleam in his godly face, sapphire and aquamarine and onyx.

A warm breeze curls past your cheek and a bead of sweat drips down your neck under the silk robes you wear, kissing your spine as it goes.

You dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to regain control of your breathing, to slow down the desperate, panting rise and fall of your chest. “I am deeply uninterested in your efforts to please me. All you’re capable of is disrespect and humiliation,” You hiss.

The air tastes hot on your tongue as if someone’s stoked a fire in the throne room. The fire burns with smoke and something animalistic, something musky, the scent of bare skin on bare skin.

Morpheus’s gaze darkens as you draw closer. “But I live to please you. Every breath, every gesture, every move I make will bring you pleasure.” You’re not sure if you’re stalking towards him because you want to hit him or kiss him.

When you reach the throne, you grasp the arm rests and lean over him, your hair falling around your face like a veil. “Every breath you take has done nothing but hurt me.” You’re taller than him as long as he stays seated, and you take complete advantage of this, snarling in Morpheus’s face like a lioness.

Morpheus swallows, a movement so sudden and quick like the flapping of a bird wing. It’s one of the few signs that you’re affecting him at all.

But you want more than that. You want to take his frozen heart and dash it on the floor until it shatters. “And if I am to be the Queen you want me to be, what makes you think I’d let your foolishness stand? Did your mom not teach you basic courtesy, oh great paragon of feminism?” Because that’s how you felt when he raised those golden chains around you in a beautiful cage. You felt shattered. Betrayed.

And above all else, stupid. You should’ve known better than to believe Dream.

Just as his hand reaches for your waist, you dance out of reach. “That’s right, you’re a god so you probably don’t even have a mom. My mistake for expecting better from you,” You tell him in a cold and cruel voice, from a very safe distance of a few feet away.

“Do you think insulting me will accomplish anything?” You see his long, razor-sharp teeth shine in the light as he speaks.

A low humming sound registers a little too quietly for you to hear precisely what it is. It sounds like a heartbeat thudding alongside a thousand voices whispering in a dark and sinister melody.

His smoldering, smokey gaze drinks up the aroused flush reddening your cheeks and your half-lidded, languid eyes. “It’s certainly pleasing me,” You murmur after a pause to stop the urge to pull your heavy robes from your limbs and leave them on the ground until the heat kindling between your thighs abates.

“You’re very clever indeed, little darling,” Dream praises you. He takes an odd delight in being insulted, more amused than he is offended, treating you like a kitten that’s learned to roar.

That only eggs you on further. “I can see that mortal niceties are lost on you and you don’t deserve them anyways. So let me speak in a language you’ll understand.”

In a split second, Lucienne’s earlier warnings make sense to you. This is about power and having power, the power to keep the thing Morpheus loves most, sees the most value in. You give him power and he’s afraid to lose it.

He’s afraid to lose you. That he might hurt you in the process is a cost he’s willing to pay.

“You will not put me in a cage, you will not dictate to whom I can speak to and when. I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Every time you disrespect me, you only reveal yourself to be unworthy of me, your kingdom, and of your power.”

Morpheus merely smiles and bows his head. “Hauteur becomes you.” Is he teasing you or being sincere? The bastard has the audacity to have fun at a time like this.

And despite yourself and your convictions, you’re having a little fun, too.

“And it would be very easy for me to find someone worthier. Johanna Constantine, for example.” You toss the suggestion his way as carelessly as you might let a sleeve fall off your shoulder, revealing the bare expanse of your back to ignite Dream’s hunger.

And ignite his hunger your words do.

He sits upright in his throne as rage battles his self-control in the angular confines of his preternaturally-handsome face. When Morpheus blinks, the black of his pupils grow and grow until they swallow the sclera.

Unconsciously, you take a step back.

It seems as though self control is losing.

“That is a dangerous game to be playing, my love,” He says silkily, his mouth twisting into an expression that should be a smirk and comes off more as a snarl.

You can no longer pretend that you don’t care, that this is just a game.

“Oh, so she threatens you? No, you should be fucking threatened by me.” You get louder and louder with each word. “You need to be fucking terrified right now. I swear to God I will bring her back in here and fuck her in front of you if I have to.” He’s as common as the next human man, so obsessed with his possessions. “Don’t test me, Your Grace, lest you find yourself dethroned,” You tell him through your mouth filled with rancor and spite.

And then Morpheus is up on his feet before you can blink. He surmounts the distance between you in only a couple of steps and towers over you, wrapping cool fingers around your wrist with a grasp tighter than a manacle. His dark eyes are filled with a frantic wildness that scares you as much as it attracts you.

Morpheus bends down until his mouth is level with your ear. “You’ve forgotten something,” He whispers.

Your heart beats so loudly in your ears that you can barely hear him over it. “And that is?” You’re trembling. Do you want him closer? Do you want to shove him back? You turn the two outcomes over and over in your head as you try to pick one.

His nose brushes your hair and he swallows, his pale throat bobbing with the effort.

Morpheus’s voice coils in your ears like a snake, his words writhing and twisting as they take the whole of your focus captive. “Who you belong to. I’m out of patience, darling, and I think you need to be reminded of who possesses you, who’s devoted to you above all else.” Burning hot need scorches through your stomach and your breath catches in your lungs.

He drops into a rough, raspy growl. “Who you’ll always come back to. Who adores you. Who worships you.”

You fall into Morpheus’s embrace without a second thought. It’s the most natural thing in the world, giving in to him. His mouth on your mouth, kissing, biting, he lays a palm on the back of your neck and presses his other hand between your collarbones, trapping you where he can devour you.

His sharp nails dig into your skin and his tongue presses between your lips, turning the kiss into a mess of slick saliva and your ragged gasps for air, your high-pitched whines when Dream’s teeth- no, fangs, leave imprints of his love on your bottom lip.

Then you fight him. Not for freedom, like before. For sovereignty. For domination, for hegemony. You wage war, grabbing a fistful of his beautiful black hair and dragging him down to you, and you take control of the kiss, using your tongue wickedly against his before breaking away. Morpheus might have his hand near your throat still, but you’re shoving his face to the side to sink your teeth into his neck.

He groans at the unexpected burst of pain and the pleasure of you doing it again and again, marring his pale skin with glimmering red-gold marks.

“You’re a fucking menace,” You hiss.

The very instant Dream’s had enough, the hand he’s resting on your collarbones moves upwards until it wraps around the base of your throat. He’s careful with the practically-nonexistent pressure, far more careful than you would’ve liked in a time before he got you pregnant, but it’s such an effortless show of control that you release his hair and gasp breathlessly anyways.

“Good girl,” He whispers. “Very good. But this is just the start. You’ll be begging for me before we’re done here.”

He’s kissing you once more. Your nose knocks into his from your enthusiasm and he laughs with his head tilted back, making a bright, happy, human sound. Then Morpheus folds his arms around your waist and lifts you into the air so he can continue to ravage your mouth, softly kiss your cheeks, and occasionally nuzzle your hair while walking backwards without tripping.

Your knees knock into the marble stone of his throne. Morpheus has led you here and his intentions on what he plans to do become clear when he elegantly lowers himself into the seat, keeping one hand cupping the back of your neck while his other hand trails down the neckline of your gown.

There’s enough room on the throne for you to kneel in his lap. Morpheus doesn’t even need to help you; you crawl atop him all on your own with eagerness that almost disgusts you, your body animated by desire as bright as an open flame.

Once you plant your knees solidly on the outsides of his thighs where you can rock your humming clit against his fully-hardened cock, you hear a sharp ripping sound. Cool air chills your exposed breasts and now-naked thighs. Dream’s fucking ripped your beautiful, splendid clothes straight down the front and now the remnants hang from your shoulders in tatters.

“Fuck-“ You exclaim as your cheeks flush from embarrassment. Anyone could… anyone could walk in and see you, see what he’s doing to you.

Then his hand clamps down on your jaw to prevent you from looking around. “Look at me, darling. Come now,” He hisses. This close, you can see scattered flecks of light in the pure black of his eyes, a whole universe in his gaze. Beautiful.

“Someone’s gonna- Morpheus, please, not here,” You whisper shamefully as he teases one of your swollen tits, rolling your nipple between the pads of his fingers. You cut your pleasured moan off by biting down on your lip. “What about Lucienne, ahhh, or Matthew…” He switches to your other breast, massaging your flesh in slow, luxurious circles, and your eyes flutter shut.

Without so much as a warning, Morpheus removes his hands altogether and sits back to look at you, folding his fingers under his chin, arrogantly tilted up. Those fingers would be better served on you, you think grumpily, or between your legs, dealing with the wetness trickling from your cunt.

His expression is remote and utterly heartless. “I told you to look at me.” There’s nothing soft or gentle in that face, a mask of porcelain skin stretched taut over a skull far too severe.

“But,” You start to beg. Doesn’t he realize what he does to you? You can feel the hunger churning viciously in your stomach, like you’ve spent your whole life starving and the embrace Morpheus is denying you is everything you need to sustain yourself, every flavor you crave.

Your mouth twists in a scowl as he bats away your wandering hands tugging at the collar of his cloak. It’s not fair that Morpheus gets to sit there unbothered while you’re practically melting. “A queen, begging for me? I’m honored,” He teases.

The moment before you resort to desperate measures, like clawing open his clothes yourself, he slips his hand in your hair as if holding back was torture for him to. Morpheus licks a hot stripe along the length of your throat, nipping and kissing over your pulse. “Can she make you beg like this?” Your skin muffles the sound of his voice.

You feel him stroke your spine with gentle fingers, counting each vertebrae. Then Morpheus finds his way towards your rounded hips, squishy and soft, and he groans under his breath in appreciation.

“Who…” Truthfully, you’re not listening to him, not even a little bit. Your back arches, encouraging Morpheus to palm your ass. He plays with one of your cheeks, bouncing your flesh in his hand, and when you gaze into his eyes, you see pure adoration warring with pitch-black possessiveness.

His fingers dip down, down between your thighs, and come back shining in the soft light streaming through the stained glass windows. “Johanna fucking Constantine, my love. Does she make you this wet?” Morpheus cleans his fingertips off with his tongue. His eyes shut as he savors you.

The sunlight flickers. One brightly-lit moment, he’s the angel finding heaven in your body. The next shadowed moment, his obsidian claws almost pierce your skin. A wraith from smoke who’s only aim is to make you moan and tremble.

And forget. Morpheus almost succeeded in making you forget why you’re fighting in the first place.

You pin his wrist to the high back of his throne. “Are you fucking for real right now?” A shiver runs through you. You put more of your weight into your grip. Dream could throw you off with just a thought, but he doesn’t.

Fuck talking. It’s so much easier to articulate your feelings through fucking him. “ I was just saying that to- to-“ He leans forward to take one of your hypersensitive, swollen nipples into his sinful mouth. “God, Morpheus, please.” He kisses, then sucks ever-so-carefully.

You no longer hold him away from you - you clutch his wrist for stability as pleasure ripples under your skin straight for your cunt.

Blindly, you grasp for the stone, eventually planting your elbow on the spot next to his head. “Oh, I am being very, ‘for real.’” Morpheus switches to your neglected breast, now mouthing along the heavy curve then kissing along your sternum.

He brings you pleasure. Traps you in a cage. You hate him and he loves you. You’re determined to say no but Morpheus will always tempt you to say yes.

You spread your thighs further, bringing your dripping core closer to his hips. “What are you, five years old? You have to learn how to share, Dream.” As you grind, you gasp and your eyes roll back. Your clit throbs and sensation wraps around your insides like honey, warm and sticky and sweet.

By now your arousal has leaked all over your thighs and his pants.

He lifts his head from your tits and his free hand cups your cheek. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Morpheus croons, watching your face shift and slacken as you whine. “Let them watch, let her watch. Why wouldn’t I share such a precious and rare thing as you?”

Everything happens so quickly.

No matter how sweetly you plead or how urgently you nudge him towards your cunt, Morpheus’s hands go literally everywhere else.

You shove the last of your robes onto the ground like they’re burning your skin and they might as well - you can’t stand anything touching your skin that isn’t him.

He slaps your bare ass with a light touch, more of a love tap than a proper blow. A drop of sweat slides between your tits and Morpheus traces its path with his mouth. Murmurs echo in the space between you and him. If you listen closely, you can hear Dream say how much he loves you, how beautiful you are.

You’re perfect. You’re divine. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.

You don’t say anything in return. You just stop his words with kisses. Those are simple. The taste of him on your tongue. It feels good, so good, and it doesn’t hurt like listening to him does.

Morpheus could beg like that for the next fifty years and it wouldn’t be enough.

When he tries to talk again, you growl and dig your nails into the nape of his neck. None of that shit. His fucking words got you fucked up to begin with.

He rests his forehead against yours. His long eyelashes frame his vulnerable gaze, as delicate as fractured glass. A stray breeze could shatter him.

No. Fuck Dream. You’re not the bad guy. You’re not the villain. He is. He can’t- he shouldn’t make you feel so fucking guilty…

There’s no preparation. He doesn’t warm you up or ease you into it. You blink and in a single, lust-filled moment, you’re turned the other way around where the whole throne room and palace and this plane of reality can see you, naked and aroused and dripping wet for their king. They can all see how much he wants you.

It shouldn’t make you wetter. It does. A fresh trickle of arousal drips from your swollen folds and you hear Morpheus mutter a hushed curse before delicately dragging the tip of his pointer finger through the shining path it took.

He moans as he tastes you.

Morpheus kisses the back of your neck as he shifts under you. He pulls his thick, angrily-hard cock from his pants and you eagerly rock back on your knees, trying to catch the tip between your thighs.

“I thought you didn’t want to be seen,” Dream laughs darkly, holding your hips up with one arm so you can’t sink down on his dick and soothe the hollowness in your stomach that’s devouring your senses, craving to be filled by him.

Frustrated tears gather in your eyes. He’s rubbing the fat head of his cock through your folds, just grazing your clit with every teasing motion. “Just fuck me already.” Your thighs quiver each time he does.

Pain shimmers through your nerves as he bites down on your throat. You arch your back and rake your nails through his thick hair. “Just fuck you already…” Dream’s voice mockingly draws out the last word.

If you weren’t so fucking horny and half-out of your mind, willing to do almost anything, even crawl on your hands and knees for him, you’d be looking for the nearest knife.

“…Please,” You say through gritted teeth, humiliation blooming red in your cheeks and across your chest. Oh, he’s in for it. First he’s going to make you come, and then you’re going to kill-

He slips into your cunt with a harsh curse, the breath in his lungs stuttering from how tight you are around his dick.

“You only had to ask nicely, little darling.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, driven by the feeling of his cock spearing you open inch by inch. Morpheus holds perfectly still. You’re doing all the work as your hips roll against your will, your muscles flexing to suck him deeper and deeper into your cunt, and gravity does the rest. He doesn’t need to do a goddamn thing, the fucker.

He runs his palm over your bare spine over and over, soothing you as you shake and cry out. You’ve never felt more wanted or debauched in your entire life.

Behind you, you hear him gasp when your pussy milks his cock. “Deep breaths, my love.” Your core has almost swallowed him whole. Almost.

In this position, the tip of his dick is angled so that it brushes your most sensitive spots with each movement. It’s torturous. You can feel Dream in your guts, stretching you out so perfectly that you barely register his muttered curses and eloquent praises.

Shhh. Good girl. You can endure it, I know you can. Doesn’t it feel good? Fuck.

“Can you take the rest, sweetheart? For me?” His voice is strangled and stuttered and strung out, as if Morpheus is just seconds away from losing his entire fucking mind. His hands ghost over your hips, his fingers tremble on your skin. He wants to reach out and pull you down onto his cock so badly, you can tell.

You cry out as your inner thighs finally meet his lap. Your back arches, your thigh muscles shiver and ache. The feeling of the full length of his cock buried into the depths of your pussy clenching helplessly over and over, scorches your veins with a pleasure as bright and clean as vodka burning the back of your throat.

When you involuntarily shift to try and find a more comfortable position, one that’s easier on your stretched cunt, your eyes roll back and you whimper hazy little noises between hitched breaths.

“Good girl,” Dream moans. One of his hands grasps you possessively, like his fingers are loathe to leave your skin even for a moment, and he cups your hip, then the soft, squishy curves of your rounded belly.

His breath stutters across the back of your neck, damp with sweat. The entire weight of his focus rests on you. All of it, every giddy dream-feeling and dark night-belief. Morpheus touches you and the baby like you’re his whole world, safely contained in the space between his palms and the span of his arms.

You can almost taste his thoughts

How could he ever look away, Morpheus asks himself when he kisses your shoulder reverently. Why would he ever want to?

You’re soaked, your slick is drooling all over the seat of his dark pants. Your body feels like it’s hanging by a thread, desperate for him to do something.

To move.

“And here I thought you had no need for me.”

You shut your eyes as white light sketches across the backs of your eyelids. “Morpheus… ah…” Your voice trembles and trails off into a sweet, desperate sigh.

You’re just so full in this position, forced by the stillness to think of nothing but Morpheus buried deep inside your belly. Every time you try to rise, to shift and ease the hot, slick pressure between your legs, he keeps you from rocking back and forth and deriving any true pleasure from this with a tight grip on your round hips.

He takes your earlobe between his teeth and the sudden, sharp pain makes you shriek and your cunt spasm. “Control yourself. Let this be a lesson, my love, in discipline.”

The incomprehensible, borderline-Lovecraftian cosmic deity fucking you in his ridiculously grand throne room groans in the same timbre that has haunted your fantasies since that very first night together. It’s so familiar and comforting that it breaks your heart.

Through the foggy haze clouding your mind, you vaguely remember that Dream was talking to you. “What-“ Before you can finish that thought, his hands loosen ever-so-slightly. Your animal hindbrain takes over in an instant, urging you to circle your hips, grinding the tip of his dick against your sweet spot.

“No, my darling. I’m not going to move. Not until you beg,” He says in a voice richer and more intoxicating than blue-gray tobacco smoke lacing the air. The sound clogs up your lungs until you’re groggy and weak and utterly dumb.

You curse under your breath as you cast your bleary gaze about the throne room. Is that a footstep you just heard, or some stray conversation wafting towards you as the speaker momentarily enters to see your lewd display?

Any respect Lucienne has for you would disappear in an instant. Matthew would never be able to look you in the eye again. Desire would merely laugh, their teeth snapping with amusement.

Your body betrays you.

Abstractly, you’re horrified by the thought. But right now, practically driven mad, the need to orgasm wrenching your muscles taut…

And as if Morpheus is reading your fucking mind, “I might not even let you come. Perhaps- I’ll simply leave you alone, wet and wanting. See if Constantine can do half of what I do to you.”

One of his palms moves from your ass and ends up pressed against your belly, right above where he’s buried inside your pussy.

“No, no, please, don’t-“ You sob, batting at his arm as his fingers rub tight, torturous circles into your swollen, aching clit.

With every firm brush, your thighs clench and tears of frustration, pleasure, and terror, all at the same time, run down your flushed cheeks. Morpheus might keep you here for days, playing with you, bringing you to the edge over and over and never giving you release.

“Shall I summon her? You’re so desperate that you’d let me as long as I fucked you? Don’t lie - fuck, I can feel how you tightened up when I said that.”

It’s too much, like pressing your tongue against a hot pan and feeling the sting down to your bones, and not enough at the same time. 

“I need to-“

“Beg,” He says, before the sound turns into a choked groan in your ear as your muscles ripple around his length.

His arms coil tighter around your hips and waist. “Please.” One little, tiny word leaks from between your kiss-swollen lips.

You rock back and forth and Morpheus permits it, helpless to his own desires.

He pulls you upright, your back snug to his chest, and you feel him unencumbered by clothing. His skin radiates heat like a furnace. “Who?” 

As you shift, he grinds up into your cunt in achingly slow thrusts.

“Morpheus,” You demand, as infuriated as you are close. “Please let me come.”

Your hand grasps behind you until your fingers find his soft hair that’s cool to the touch. You tug and pull on Morpheus’s hair, urging him to meet the rolling, deep pace you’re riding him.

“…I’m sorry,” His voice wisps through the air. And underneath it, something forlorn and horribly lonely.

Later, you’ll tell yourself it was just the feeling of getting fucked within an inch of your life that wiped away your filter, that you didn’t really mean it. “No- Don’t… don’t want anyone else. Just you, my love.” The term of endearment slips off your tongue almost as an afterthought.

“Come for me, my queen.”

Your body shudders on top of him and you let out a long, keening moan. Your eyes stare unseeing at the opulent surroundings, the rich, ornate beauty that pales in comparison to the being bringing you so much pleasure.

There’s a loud roar in your ears. Your insides wrench themselves into knots, tighter and tighter, you can’t breathe, you can’t think. You can only come and keep coming. Your cunt gushes, the slick dripping all the way down his thighs from your stretched core.

Morpheus pants in between fevered kisses and mouths greedily at your shoulder. A burst of warmth flutters against your walls, finally soothing the ragged edges of your orgasm splitting your belly open.

When he tries to kiss your sweat-damp cheek, you turn and meet his mouth with yours.

“We fucked on your throne,” You murmur in a rough, conspiratorial tone.

Morpheus hums his assent as he runs his palm over your baby bump in gentle circles. “You indulge me.” He picks up your hand and kisses it delicately, his scintillatingly blue eyes never leaving your face.

You slump backwards into his solid, comforting embrace. “And if Lucienne had walked in on us, it would’ve been all your fault.”

His chest rumbles with a purr. “After all, I am… a menace.”

He’s smiling. The bastard is smiling. Not a full smile - a half-tilt of the corner of his mouth that fills your stomach with butterflies, a mask resembling the man who lit your cigarette.

Like blinking during a sunset and missing the switch from day to night, the afterglow dissipates in an instant and takes your good humor with it. “Let go of me.” Feeling has returned to your fingers and toes and you have no need for his embrace, or so you tell yourself.

You carefully avoid touching him again as you stand to find the shreds of your clothing reforming into a large cloak that covers your nakedness.

It makes your stomach turn, how easily you give into Morpheus every fucking time, that you find more comfort in his shadows than you do out in the sun.

“By Your Grace’s leave,” He says quietly.

Morpheus has never been small to you. He’s always larger than life, more vibrant than Technicolor, loftier and greater than anyone you could imagine, a presence so grand that he generated his own gravity.

But he seems very small as he sits back in his throne with hunched shoulders. He sits there defeated and you almost- you almost run back to him. You can feel the impulse in the back of your throat, clinging like arsenic and something of the same bitter, regretful taste.

“We can’t go on like this anymore, Morpheus.” Your words exist in parallel universes - the one where all he can do to change your mind is to fuck you, and the one where all you can do is cause as much damage as you can.

It’s a compulsion at this point and you’re so sick of it, so sick of yourself, like poking at a rotten tooth despite instructions to leave it alone.

Maybe it’s a compulsion for him, too. The ashamed tilt of his gaze directed towards the floor tells you that you’re right. The more you fight him, the more lashes he can add to his back.

Faced with the cold account of all of your mistakes, and his, you turn and flee the throne room, tears trickling down your cheeks.

So this was actually supposed to be smuttier but it languished in production hell for months because (writer's block / health issues / disabilities / mental health issues / life events) so I was like. Perfection is the enemy of completion. I will just post it unedited and not fully written to my original plan. Please don't hate me.

[flygonscales]

I’m rereading the Saga of Darren Shan (Cirque du Freak) and oh my goddddddd

What do you put in your books Darren?? It is not often I read something so addictive. I saw someone describe them as being like crack. And yeah I can see that I don’t even read Animorphs books this voraciously

(Spoilers below)

And yet. Rereading the second half of the series. When you know who the vampaneze lord is and how it’s going to end. Just:

God. (Or should I say, Charna’s guts!) the planning that must have gone into the series. I can see the foreshadowing/just a prophesy that they don’t know how to follow properly because they don’t know how it ends. It’s like how a horror film protag doesn’t check why a cup fell down because they don’t know they’re in a horror film. Darren! You had Steve at your mercy! SEVERAL TIMES!!! Kill him! It’s unbearable!!! He’s lying!!!!!! This is like a fucking Greek tragedy mess of a plot!!!!!!!!

(Just try. Try reading Allies of the Night knowing full well what’s happening)

(The Greek tragedy comparison makes sense though, Darren is literally struggling against Des Tiny, even if he doesn’t know it)

And then, Mr Crepsley is dead, and Darren (post depression) and Harkat go on holiday to the nuclear dragon desert to gather panther teeth, gelatinous toad globes and Grotesque venom so they can go fishing for souls! It’s very reasonable that the war is drawing to a close so we need a break before the final battle but those toad spheres came of left field.

And then we hear the cirque du freak is returning to Darren’s hometown!! Love it when heroes return after most of their journey and discover they’ve changed too much to go back! But especially Darren, who cannot talk to anyone or even look around too much. He died. I LOVE IT I LOVE THESE BOOKS SO MUCH BUT I AM TEARING AND CRAWLING OUT OF MY SKIN THEY HURT SO BAD I JUST WANT MY BOYS TO BE HAPPY AND SAFE AGAIN)

(Boys includes: Darren, Harkat, Mr Crepsley. Vancha, Alice and Debbie. Not Steve Leopard. Fuck Steve Leopard. All my homies hate Steve Leopard)

And another thing: now I know about actual science - ‘vampire atoms are wobbly so they don’t show up on cameras’ - that is some of the most shallow pseudo scientific bullshit I’ve seen outside of JoJo’s. I love it. It’s so silly and makes no sense.

[yellowstonewolves]

Wyllstarion server weekly challenge (In which Withers matchmakes)

WITHERS

Ah, there you are. I have been searching for you.

WYLL

Your quest draws to a fortuitous end. You’ve found me. What’s on your mind? Nothing dire, I hope.

WITHERS

Walk with me, young Ravenguard.

(Wyll offers his arm, and the two stroll up a hill, just beyond the perimeter of their camp,.)

WYLL

So…nice weather we’ve been having, no? Shame we’ll be headed off to the underdark afore too long.

WITHERS

The matter I wish to discuss with you. It concerns Astarion.

WYLL

Oh. Him.

(Withers gestures to a log up on the hill , Wyll sits on it, WITHERS beside him. They have a view of the camp below. ASTARION is in the middle of camp, practicing knife tricks while reading.)

WITHERS

When you first sampled each other’s bodies, I was not enthused. I thought it would be a distraction from your mission, indulging as you did in the pleasures of the flesh.

WYLL

I…you were spying on me?

WITHERS

I did not need to. I was not the only one who heard you, at the party. The two of you were quite theatrical in calling out how much you enjoyed each other’s anatomies.

WYLL

This is a nightmare I’m having isn’t it? My teeth are going to start falling out any second. I’m going to realize that I’m late for lessons.

WITHERS

No.

WYLL

I’m sorry to have disturbed you then. I can assure you, it won’t happen again.

WITHERS

As much as it pains me to say it, I think it should.

WYLL

What?

(ASTARION reads something in his book that makes him gasp and press a hand to his mouth. The knife falls and stabs him in the leg. He screams.

WYLL stands up,ready to go to him. WITHERS clears his throat. WYLL sits back down.)

WITHERS

If I thought you were distracted before, it is nothing compared to what has come over you now. You stare, you pointedly ignore, you find excuses to talk to him, you find excuses to avoid him. A man in conflict with his own heart. Or perhaps with his other organs. It matters not.”

(ASTARION is arguing with Shadowheart about whether or not his leg wound is “his own fault” and whether he’s “so, so stupid.”)

WYLL

That night was a mistake. I was half-drunk and fully miserable and well…he is as lovely to look at as he is disturbing to speak to. I’ll admit to having had fun, in the moment…But when I woke up and realized that I’d stolen the joy of an unspoiled first time together, from my fated love…

(ASTARION is still arguing with SHADOWHEART. He pulls out the knife to gesture with it and starts gushing blood. She rolls her eyes.)

WITHERS

“You say you believe you have a fated love. Yet you seem determined to avoid leaving it up to fate. Desperately clinging to plans made—when? As a child?”

WYLL

I take what I’m given in this life, Withers. I do what I must. I put myself on the line again and again for the good of the people of this world,

(With sudden venom)

Who have been all but abandoned, I might add by their so-called gods.

(WITHERS does not visibly react to this slight.)

But I will not kill this one thing. This extravagant dream I have, of a love that’s good and pure and true, words which hardly describe our friend Astarion. I won’t do it. For you, or anyone.

WITHERS

You’re entitled of course, to this dream of yours. But you may ask yourself, does it serve you? Or do you serve it?

(ASTARION is finally getting healed. He gives SHADOWHEART a sweet little smile. She says something that starts them arguing again.)

WYLL

Good night, Withers.

WITHERS

The wheel of fate turns ever to the dark :/

[notelcol]

Foreshadowing in the 100

I’m so sorry to anyone who reads this😬

I finally got to watch the last two seasons after them not being available in my country and after watching that I went back and watched season ones first episode again. I noticed some interesting foreshadowing that has led me to come to the unhinged conclusion that the writers knew where the show was going all along. I will explain below😵‍💫

So the first thing I saw as the episode started was Clarke’s drawing of a scorpion. Now stay with me on this one. In season 7 when Bellamy is on the mountain with Doucette, he eats a scorpion right before the scene where he prays and sees the shepherd. I personally believe that his vision was actually a scorpion venom induced hallucination, and the shepherd appearing was down to Bellamy only having a photo of the shepherd and his book to occupy his mind for months. Which brings me back to Clarke’s drawing in episode one. That scorpion foreshadows Bellamy’s death. (Making it a tiny bit more bearable more me.)

My next point is regarding Octavia’s line to Fin. “Rescue me next.” Yeesh. This just takes my mind straight to when he goes to rescue Clarke and massacres an innocent village.

This one’s a bit silly but Clarkes face when Octavia strips off was the shows way of hinting to us early about her being into girls. She flat out just stands there drooling for a second before going back to default Clarke mode.

The next two are both about Jasper….Monty says “note to self: next time save the girl.” While patting Jasper on the shoulder….Now I know the shoulder pat was a way of saying well done but I couldn’t help but think yikes, next time he does not save the girl…..

Then when Jasper is about to jump the rope Fin says. “I knew there was a badass in there somewhere…it’s okay to be afraid Jasper the trick is not fighting it.”

Then Jasper replies with “see you on the other side.” And yes I’m totally aware this is probably the100 trauma but that whole exchange just encapsulates what Jasper becomes. The see you on the other side cut deep.

Finally, we have the final line of the episode. “We’re not alone.” A classic line in media that usually references aliens. After watching the last two seasons, i cannot see this line as anything but foreshadowing for the discovery of aliens and eventual becoming of aliens.

The end conclusion of this messay is that I will forever remain delusional rather than admit the ending was bad. Despite the bullet holes on the Mount Weather sign showing that the writers weren’t fully committed to the ALIE setting off the bombs storyline meaning that they couldn’t have planned the whole story from the start, I will choose to ignore that.

Side note: I am very traumatised after finishing this show 💀 I should have stopped at season 5 like the streaming services wanted me to.

[symbiotic-slime]

that's a lot, but still: for the fanfic ask game: ❤, 💥, ⏰️ , 👓 , 🦋 , 🦈, 💭, 🧪, 🔥, 💘,💡, 🔎, 🎨 .

SORRY, THAT'S A LOT!!! 😭

hi I’m so so sorry it took me a bit to get around to this 😭 also never apologize for sending too many, I am professional yapper and will take every opportunity to talk about my fics :D

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

oooo this is tough! I have to go with this line from the fic I’m working on right now, which kinda goes too hard for a fanfiction that involves a man falling in love with mold

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

Eddie Brock being the King in Black. I know there’s a lot of people who think it’s cool and like it, but to me it just feels out of place for him. like he should just be A Guy™️, not like the commander of all symbiotes and able to move through time or whatever the hell is going on right now in the current run.

⏰️ Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

they’re definitely at random! it’s just whenever I get bursts of inspiration, I’m trying to be more regular (especially with VenomFest— I’m trying to keep up with it being weekly) but yeah, there’s no schedule 😅

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

this is gonna make me sound like an iPad baby but I love having videos I’ve already seen on in the background while I write! if Coffeezilla isn’t explaining a scam on my tv while I write on my phone/laptop than I am operating at like 50% efficiency 💀 It’s so bad 😭

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

I absolutely love writing the Venom Symbiote!! they’re such a goober it makes them so enjoyable to write! also it’s so fun to write about human things from the perspective of a guy who’s confused by them all the time.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

Don’t know if he’s actually tough to write but part of the reason I haven’t written any symbiOT3 fics is because I’m scared of fucking up Flash 😭 I get like that with new characters, I get so petrified of writing them even though I find when i actually do write them it’s not as bad as I think. like it took me a while to build up to writing comics!Eddie, even though he’s not that hard to write (imo) and very fun to write!

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

LGBT delusions /j

my genuine answer is honestly not far off from that though— Venom and Eddie just exist in my brain all the time and writing about them helps me from just rotating them in my brain all day.

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

a bit? it depends on what I’m writing because most of it isn’t stuff that requires research, but if I ever get around to my Malevolent/Venom crossover I’m going to have to figure out how investigations actually work.

🔥 Have you included any sexy scenes in your fics? If yes, do you find them easy or difficult to write?

I have written them and I find them lowkey difficult to write 😭 I love writing them— all the ones I have published right now are x reader fics but the TMA au does get weirdly horny. listen okay im not crazy the corruption draws on sexual horror so it’s narratively compelling for Eddie to be horny for mold— [I am dragged out of the room by armed security guards]

💘 Is it easier to write angst or fluff?

fluff!! I find it hard to write angst— I just want all of them to be happy and gay and live happily ever after

💡How many WIPs do you currently have?

Currently I have two WIPs! I’ve got my Magnus archives AU, which has three WIP chapters, and I started writing a Eddie/Venom/Reader smut fic >:3

🔎 Does anyone beta read or edit your fics?

some of my irl friends beta read and edit my fics!! @fist-of-vengeance and @cyborg-empress are what keeps me from publishing fics with typos and just overall issues, I cannot thank them enough!!

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

OUGH there’s too many,,, I’ll try to narrow it down to just three of my favourites:

good old fashioned symbrock smut from Symby’s perspective:

symbiOT3 fic where Flash and Eddie are neighbours! it’s so adorable, I cannot wait for the next chapter:

and a fic where Venom is the monster under kid!Eddie’s bed! kinda heavy (it deals with Eddie being abused), but it’s so heartwarming to see kid!Eddie and Venom becoming friends and Venom protecting Eddie:

[dragons-and-magic]

Okay, here it goes!

James and Nia for Humanised, Dragon, and Monster!❤️🧡

James and Thomas for Dragon!❤️💙

Gordon and Edward in Humanised!💙🩵

(For this ask game) Awesome!

WOAH. That's a lot! I hope I can come up with that much stuff!🤣 No problem though! I think I'll do three headcanons/dynamics per au. That way it's not too overwhelming for me. Hope that's okay.😅

Long post below the cut. You have been warned. Lol.

James and Nia Headcanons/Dynamics

(Humanized AU: Engines but as hoomans.)

1: I like to think Nia works as a Zoo Keeper at the Sodor Zoo. So she has access to all kinds of animals. Including bugs. And James definitely doesn't bugs. However that doesn't stop Nia from trying to show him them. Or whatever potentially creepy crawly critters the zoo has. Meaning on occasion you'll see James run off screaming while Nia is laughing her head off and holding a giant tarantula or something.

2: James is a fashion designer in the human au, so maybe Nia shows him some fashion trends from Kenya or something? And that inspires him to make a line of clothing based off of them? That might be cool.

3: This one really applies to any au. But I thought I'd add it anyway. I could be just me, but Nia seem to enjoy a little playful pranking. And so does James. I feel like there could be some really good potential for funny stuff right there.👀 Maybe they team up on something? And they bring along Thomas too? That would be a funny fanfic right there. Lol.

(Monster Engine AU: Engines, but Beasty! :D)

Honestly @ohjeeztrains would probably be better at this, but I'll give it my all!

1: As monster engines, Nia would probably be leopard inspired. And I could see James vaguely resembling a lion. I should draw this actually. I've never tried my hand at monster engines.👀 On a side note, I like to think Nia was a feral monster engine someone found in Africa. And maybe Sir Topham Hat brought her over to see if she'd like it there on Sodor.

2: Uh, let's see. How about Nia liking to sleep in trees like a leopard? That would be funny. And James is trying to figure out way on earth she would do that, until she invites him up to try it. Sir Topham Hat then had to call the rescue team for a very frightened red monster engine stuck in a tree.🤣

3: This one doesn't have James in it, but I thought it would be funny. Nia sees zebras at the zoo.🦓🦓🦓Pro: They remind her of home. Con: She likes to chase zebras for fun. Cue her poor crew getting jostled about as she gleefully gallops after said zebras. Lol.

(Dragon AU: Engines, but dragons. My au!)

This one I can probably handle! Quick note to anyone reading. I ship James and Nia in my AU, so that's why these will probably seem a bit shippy. Anyways, on with the headcanons!

1: Nia is a tropical wyvern and used to warm weather. When she moves to Sodor, it so flipping cold. Luckily, James is a Phoenix Wyvern/Dragon and is very warm. And he's also very fluffy. So you'll on occasion, see her hiding under his wing, enjoying the toasty warm heat.

2: James loves mangos in this au. And Africa definitely has Mangos. And since James is the one to go on the adventure in this version of BWBA, I'm sure Nia showed him a mango orchard. They had a lot of mangos before the farmer almost saw them and they had to skedaddle.🥭🥭🥭🥭

3: On the BWBA adventure, they ran into a lot of scary situations. And James has terrible survival skills. Nia had to save him a lot. From all kinds of stuff. Snakes, ravines, his own incompetence.🤣

4: Bonus tidbit. James had rarely seen any tropical wyverns before. Even though he's half one. So after meeting Nia, he learned a few things about himself he didn't even know he had. Like being able to climb trees and walls with the hooks on his wings. And the fact he has a venomous bite. (That last one is based loosely off of real wyvern legends!)

And that's it for them! Next up;

James and Thomas Headcanons/Dynamics

(Dragon AU: Engines, but dragons. My au!)

1: Thomas like to play wrestle. And his two favorite people to do this with is Percy and James. Although, sometimes, the wrestling spawns from James and Thomas being frickin fed up with each other and then they really get rowdy.😂

2: When they get older, James is usually Thomas's partner on missions to bring fleeing dragons back to Sodor. They're surprisingly a good team.

3: James was initially jealous of Thomas over him being next in line for the Dragon Clan's patriarchy. That eventually worked itself out though. And they are actually quite close now. Most people don't realize though, with all their banter.

Gordon and Edward headcanons/dynamics

(Humanized AU: Engines but as hoomans.)

Oof. This is gonna be tough. I've always struggled with the human AUs. Unfortunately, I think the only one I have is this one.

1: Out of everyone, they are the best cooks in the entire family. But Gordon is better at fancy cuisine and Edward will makes the best traditional British food you'll every have in your life.👨‍🍳

I wish I was better at human au headcanons. The problem is most of my headcanons fit into literally anything and not a specific au.😅

Well, I hope like these! Thanks for the ask!

[gear-project]

Annon-Guy: Which Guilty Gear and BlazBlue/XBLAZE characters would be good at playing Poker (Texas Hold'em)? I'm asking because there's this game by TellTale called Poker Night 2 where you play Poker with Brock Samson (Venture Bros.), Claptrap (Borderlands), Ashley "Ash" Williams (Army of Darkness) and Sam (Sam & Max) with Gladis (Portal 2) as the Card Dealer. P.S. You should check up the conversation quotes on YouTube when you get the chance. They're fun 😊!

Who's the best "Gambler" and who has the best "Poker-Face"?

Well, if we're talking cream of the crop, that would be Johnny of course!

He gambles with the best of them, and he can read a situation faster than the average person could draw a sword!

But it's not like Johnny doesn't have any sort of weaknesses. When it comes to women, he tends to lose track of his concentration! Hah!

But, if we were to list some other "poker-players" that would do well in the game of Cards:

Slayer: He's just unflappable. You won't read him unless he WANTS you to read him.

Ramlethal: Despite her recent change in tastes, it's actually quite difficult to get a read on her emotions. She'd be very good at bluffing.

Bedman: You can't read someone who sleeps through everything. He'd be a surprisingly "patient" player. Bedman can also read others' thoughts through his abilities.

Venom: Not quite as powerful, but Venom can read other people's "aura", which means he has the upper hand in reading others' intentions! Perfect for an Assassin, but also perfect for a HUSTLER.

Kum Haehyun: Don't let appearances fool you! She can read the state of anyone with her Tuner's abilities… Of course, she's not very good at hiding her weaknesses… She's powerful, but risky.

Robo-Ky: Okay, now that's just cheating! Robo-Ky has X-ray vision and can see other peoples' hands! Robo-Ky does have some standards though, so he follows the rules if there are any.

Chipp: Here's the thing about Chipp: high risk, high reward. That's not only his fighting style, but that's also his life motto! He isn't very cautious, but if you're the type who goes all-in, he's good at negotiating the risks. His foresight ability is also second to none (impressing even the likes of Gabriel and Answer).

Answer: Chipp's right-hand man is also pretty good in situations that call for his talents. His memory and recollection abilities are a great tool in reading any given situation. He could probably use his knowledge to win horse race bets too!

Sol Badguy: He's known for his brute-force methods, but he's also a scientist, and his gambles tend to pay off significantly. I'd say, if Sol was in a situation where all bets are on the table, he'd be a sure bet to win! (He'd likely be an all-rounder player… no real strong traits, but no real weaknesses either.)

I-No: She's a performance artist to say the least. She can coax weaknesses out of anyone she meets, and when it comes to confrontations (bluffs), she can bluff with the best of them. She is a bit of a risk-taker though, so it might be tough to win in some situations in her case.

Potemkin: Hmm-hmm~ You weren't expecting a grappler to play cards, were you? Potemkin is actually very good at hiding his emotions, though once he has a winning hand, it's hard to really stop him once he gets going. His massive hands could probably only "just barely" hold his cards, but when you're the best at what you do, you don't need to worry about losing as much. That being said, Potemkin is still a bit of a slow-starter… so getting good luck and a lucky hand might be troublesome for the likes of him.

Izuna: For a guy who doesn't like to stand out, but of course he'd be pretty good at bluffing. Izuna's a bit of a card shark on his own, but his methods are most likely unorthodox and random, so his luck is also just as random.

Axl Low: This man believes in the Goddess Lady Luck… he's surprisingly religious. And truth be told, he is pretty lucky, and he's good at reading situations very well. But, as Lucky as he may be, he doesn't take undue risks if he can help it… and he's not very good at hiding his emotions (unlike other potential players).

Goldlewis Dickinson: You can't have a game of Texas Hold'em without a True TEXAN! Gold is likely all about the payout: what risks to take and how much would be most profitable! He'd go full-force on a gamble, and he'd be good at hiding his plays… But reading others' bluffs on the other hand is his weak-point (he's not good at reading situations, or even when situations go awry…). Still, he'd make up for it by solid hands and nothing too risky. A well-rounded player.

Dr. Paradigm: What can I say? He's a master strategist. His tactics and planning are very thorough, though his luck is somewhat lacking (don't ever say "this plan is perfect" around him… it'll jinx). He's a good reader of tactics, so of course he'd be decent at bluffing and plays. But again, he hasn't had much good luck lately (or being playable as a GG character… hopefully that'll change someday soon).

Dr. Faust: Ooh~ A Wildcard player has entered the room! Faust is good at taking advantage of random situations, so he's very Luck-oriented. Having a Bag over his head also helps quite a bit for bluffing and calls. He does get a bit emotional at times, however… so having a stable hand might be difficult.

Nagoriyuki: A very focused and straight-forward player. He can spot weakness in other players almost immediately. Still, as strong as he is, he doesn't take many risks and as a result his luck and skill tend to taper off when he hesitates. It's also pretty easy to read someone who doesn't rely on those risks to get good hands. Even if Nagoriyuki wears a mask, he plays the game straight.

A.B.A.: You wouldn't think she'd be good at a game like Poker, but A.B.A. can hide her intentions and blend in a crowd very well. She tends to keep her cards close to the chest, so she wouldn't show very strong plays at first, but once she gets going, well… good luck trying to keep up with her! She's emotional and unstable, but her playstyle would be unique, on top of that she's great at bluffing! If she has to win for Flament Nagel's sake, she'll do anything and risk anything to win!

Well, that was fun to write… I hope you enjoyed it! I will check out what you suggested eventually!

[notmuchtoconceal]

--

wally read out the minutes. 

- 5, 6, 7 ... 9 :--

cpt. jacek flinched whenever wally accelerated time.

- 10, 11 ... 13  :--

it wasn't right.

how he bent the hands of the clock to the clucks of his tongue. swallowed an additional rotation -- by the laps and furls incoming.

- 15, 17, ... 19, :--

made the minutes pass -- by double-fisting.

- 21, 23 --

cpt. haruspex rapt the jade chime with the tallest of his silver spoons.

cpt. jacek swallowed the knot he could not cut :--out the mucus froth heat-welt by ballpoint. it congealed from the tar of his lining.

- new business! new business, new business! would anyone besides joey like to christen the bolt-wrought weathered hull of a sterling new venture by with frothy breakages of remembrance shouting –

brux bellowed til he was hoarse.

… new business! new business, anyone?

- new business!

cpt. schreibermachen called out.

- joey, stop! you haven't finished explaining all your new business (new business!) from last week!

- there are a lot of moving parts!

with a storm wind, you rose the hand mallet.

it swung toward the anvil.

in the thunderclap which sparked, all had known -- that you were the only one with might enough to shut joey up.

- permission, sir!

brux was piping up now --

… to bar cpt. schreibermachen from the introduction, indexing or glossification of any new businesships for a period of at least three lunar deci-cycles to perhaps even six solar hexi-cycles! 

overruled. without joey being the only one to talk, the venture would have to remain with brux.

- sir, you're sayin it with your face…

it was customary -- to humiliate all dissenters with the gavel.

cpt. haruspex, your dearest and most treasured confidant, fellow of strange lands and stranger loves, did not deserve the route degradation of our custom so delivered with such painful constancy.

- he is such a route disappointment to him, cpt. schreibermachen -- 

cpt. psychorrhax leaned to speak.

… that he is ashamed even to honor his failings with a public admission of evident reality, for cpt. haruspex's reputation remains so starkly in ruin, he would kick up dust before he realizes he has no shards left to hammer.

these words you knew to be laika's – 

for from the dulcet tones of his soprano, his diction mimicked schreibermachen's as though a bird call through reeds, breathing venom into the hoary and wild snout of a petting zoo monitor lizard.

- i will throw pixie stick filling in your eyes laik!

in cpt. haruspex's homeland, this statement would be deciphered as an act of targeted, disproportionate malice against an unstandard male -- for there remained a place where brux remained but simply substandard.

- sir, your breathtaking economy which melds the eloquence of your wit with the wit of your ecology could be but a dim remembrance cutting at the margins of sensibility outside the orthodoxy of the transcription!

brux was keenly aware that joey could cite plausible grounds for the necessitation of a footnote by -- with the ostentation of his sycophancy -- drawing attention to where he recorded his poetic impressions of your entrenched and solemn brow with but the most astute acuity.

- no new business it is!

cpt. haruspex shuffled his slick prints.

… well not if sir's gonna encourage joey to include that in the written report. to think that cpt. hlaford's fine and exquisitely legible and timely shorthand should be plastered over with joey's jittery ink blotted scribblings, reeking as a packet of firecrackers engulfin gunpowder paper fortunes outta lunar meadowlings of flutter'd watermoths-- well, mate, it's like ya don't even wanna put together a dossier whose calligraphic simplicity recalls the stunning brushwork of printed kyoto seclusion!

cpt. hlaford, finger blades sloshing the black tide, lashing at the manta flesh which gilled the filter of his ink theremin -- did not cease to recoil, though embodied the chaos within the lancing of his strokes.

- cpt. haruspex --

this was cpt. psychorrhax.

… cpt. hlaford resents that his achievements could be only ever fodder in petty games of onesupsmanship between men who lack even the lack of courtesy to consider one another their rivals.

as all were implicated in this comment, wally could not resent it -- though under any circumstance, could have found ample cause to do so.

- make me lick the blood off yer boots, aye.

cpt. hlaford's wrists would flick -- as his lips moved, puckering as suckerfish past gritted teeth, tethered by fingerbones to sugar-strings.

… once you kick me when i'm down, sir.

- old business it shall remain then!

cpt. haruspex was eager to move back.

- new business resumes then!

as joey was eager to remain forward.

- terrorism funding! today we're talkin bout terrorism funding!

their throats filled the air. the room filled with their groans.

cpt. haruspex, a classicist well-at-heart, proved eager to scrape, as a horse carcass from a grill floor, our most languishing historical custom.

- what if the terrorists --

brother jacek, still as the earth below the storm wind -- held himself to attention. by some secret will, he found the fortitude to speak.

… aligned with the anarchists.

cpt. psychoraggia knew well the terror cells to be among our country's most well-endowed and respected counter-military measures -- they who would align with enemies of the state, both known and unknown, only if -- and when -- competitive salary or the need for artful experimentation necessitated nonseasonal conflict.

- they are our brothers too, cpt. jacek -- our brothers in headgear and neckscarf; cradling jet-propulsion tanks of double-humped gin.

laika let his hand linger long on the sun-warmed slab of brother jacek's back. joey saw nothing -- for he felt so truly what was evidently so evident, his hand could stain only what glosses the hide.

- terrorism funding…

joey's enunciation -- level though it was -- could be nothing but.

- yes, mates. terrorism funding! not racy, i know but necessary, see -- with all the bombins goin round, and terrorism bein such a trite and overplayed topic, y'know, as any other part a life like taxes or rite of the consecutive first, second, and fourth marathon nights, i figured we could save a lotta time and manpower day to day by tonin down the theatrics, reorganizin the apartments, cuttin out a couple dozen tonnes of deadwood :-- ringin some cauffers and focusin on the hirin and nurturin of ambitious young blood who'd really hunker down in the palpitatin hearts of the Populus at large to commit to a more subtle and yet infinitely more pulpable regiment of intimate psychological terror which at times outright erupts in surreal horror! y'know -- really give the kids at home somethin to be shooken by! now, i'm not asking to move mountains overnight! it would be a gradual transition of course, tho --

- what if the terrorists --

brother jacek, once again, could only swallow.

… aligned with the anarchists.

cpt. hlaford spoke into the dictaphone now --

- evisceration. dismemberment. labial grinding.

- cpt. psychoraggia, please --

joey sounded like laika when he was annoyed.

… we live in a country with real problems.

- 50 cent people on nickel budgets.

cpt. hlaford's words echoed as the dirge of a heartbeat trancing bone-excavations up still-drums of stretched skin.

- 25 cent words for a silver dollar.

that one mighta been laika.

- cpt. schreibermachen, you know --

that one was laika. the one before had to've been joey.

- psychorrhax, you speak out of line --

you're pretty sure it wasn't brux.

- sir, whaddya tryin to do to me? you've been pickin on me all night, and i got a really good idea this time! i was up all mornin workin on it, least ya could do is take it seriously and pretend to have a look!

WHAT IF THE TERRORISTS

– jacek howled.

ALIGNED WITH THE ANARCHISTS

only forest sprawled before you.

for an eon, the idles stood among the dust.

the beast bore back from the darkness of his inducted night -- the night which was now the endurance of himself.

- …

- …

- …

brother jacek.

– a handsome man's glower intoned.

would you like to take the floor now?

across the plain, a wind only whispered.

cpt. psychoraggia seated himself. his trembling ceased. it found stillness, having now been brought to your awareness. he sat entrenched in poise from the waist up. hands folded over one another. some slight caress stirring from the kiln of his palm. a forge which was form to itself.

cpt. haruspex cleared his throat.

- terrorism funding's the topic, mates!

terrorism funding. we were discussing it.

- hey joey, ya know any good bankers? all mine got holes in em!

- HEY BROS

cpt. drottin strode in with two temple priestesses. wet-look and silken stripped down to the veiny palm fronds of their dolphin skins.

… WE TALKIN BOUT TERRORISM FUNDING!?

[spirestar]

It's hard sometimes to resist the urge to draw back and apologize, too. Mia doesn't scare him in the way a monster would -- He's scared for her, for her well-being and happiness, afraid she'll never feel comfortable ever again, even for a moment, for a second. And Ethan tries desperately to never be a part of what was done to her, even though he'll always be tied to those same people, to that same house and horror and bitter mold. He chose that, though. To go. He'll never regret it. Ethan only regrets that he can't be more patient; Mia deserves better than his exhausted frustration.

"No, Mia, I'm--" One of his hands reaches toward hers, but he pulls it back when he sees the way she moves her fingers, that familiar discomfort bleeding into her bones and breaking his heart. "I should've said something." Because he should have, but it hurts far worse to admit what she's compared him to before when she feels so trapped by their home. He knows it's not on purpose, knows he feels just as trapped some days by the restrictions put on them just for being victims, but he can't sink into it--Can't let himself. He'd crumple into a ball of hurt and venom if he did and there's too much he needs to keep trying to do to keep them safe. It's just too much sometimes. "It's alright, I know you didn't--I know you," he says firmly, trying again to offer his hand, this time palm out.

Maybe if Ethan could read her mind he'd be able to help more--If he could understand what not to do, what hurts her and how much. But they can only talk, and it's proven more difficult to remember how after so long apart. "You don't want to hurt anyone, not really. I just--I care about you Mia." He swallows, eyes flicking to the floor, "I'm sorry, too."

@spirestar : ❛  can't you see i'm hurting? or do you just not care enough to notice?  ❜ ( really shitty of me but. mithan ) / accepting.

Ah.

It's almost always a kind of relief — the rare moment where Ethan snaps at her, gets angry at her. Gets almost - angry at her. The self - hate is sharp, like dried mold or the knife Daddy sharpened special the first time he carved her throat half - open by way of punishment. ( not the chainsaw she hacked his arm off, that thing was dulled and rusted with too - many killings and too - much blood. ) It hurts, but it at least makes sense, as so little does outside the cage she spent three years / her whole life, it often feels like / trapped inside. Ethan's anger is far righter, far more logical, than his patience and his sweetness. And it would be even had she not spent three years learning that cruelty and abuse were the only true things.

She spits cruelty, somedays. Had today. She's just afraid — she's always afraid — and was a control freak long before Dulvey and her own sins drug every minute sign of potential autonomy out of her throat. Umbrella is so controlling and so close and Ethan tries to keep her safe, she knows he does, but she can't breathe around it somedays, their apartment feeling more and more like a prison / more and more like the rotted house that broke her heart. She'd snapped something cruel while he'd tried to soothe her, and he'd, for once, snapped back.

She looks at him, dark eyes flat with sick and relief and sad. Her hands are limp, her fingers too - long, too - pale, too - scared where Momma cut them off. His hands are fists. She can see the scar she left him at his wrist, and the hundreds of others she left behind his skin. "I'm sorry," she says, and she is, even if it is close to comfort, the way the confusion gets quiet, makes way for the devil she knows. "I'm — sorry." And she is. She's sorry that it's so hard to see anything outside her own skull, notice anything outside her skull. She hadn't realized he was hurting. Not more than they're both always - hurting. Not more than the man she loves more than the stars is always - hurting. Because of her. She's not a very good wife. She wasn't a very good wife before, either.

"I didn't mean to snap. I'm sorry." Her hands raise, fingers pressing together before her stomach, fidgeting. She can't pull them out of the sockets like she could before. She tries not to think about how much safer and more steady it feels when he's angry at her than when he's not. "I...I notice. I'll be better about noticing. Do you want...to talk about what's — what's wrong?"

[yanderedreaming]

Happy Anniversary, Love

150 followers event

Pairings: Reader x Yandere Chrollo

Warnings: Forced captivity, yandere behaviour, yandere, dub con, non con, smut, dark content.

Summary: Today marks the 1 year anniversary of Chrollo and his darling, will his patience run out when Y/n decided to be a brat today, of all days?

Word Count: 4.2k

MDNI: Please read the warnings.

“I bought this for you.” Chrollo spoke, entering the room he shared with you. The dimly lit room provided you with enough light to see what was in his hands, it was a dress. A red satin dress from what you could make out. 

Your eyes turned away, wanting to look at anything but the face of your captor and his seemingly genuine smile, you remembered the time when your eyes would sparkle with excitement whenever you saw that smile of his, how you fell head over heels in love with it. 

You thought back to when you fell in love with him, he was so different back then. He was kind, caring, considerate, a true gentleman; always opening the doors for you, never once letting you pay, walking you back to your apartment without ever trying to invite himself in. 

It didn’t help that he was the most dashing man you had ever seen, always dressed to the 10s, his grey sparkling eyes could draw just about anyone in, his beautiful smile which he would only exhibit when he was in your presence. You felt like you were the luckiest woman alive, oh just how wrong were you?

“My love?” his voice brought you back to reality, the one you didn’t want to face. You wished you could go back in time and just walk past him when you first saw him, you wished you never entertained his offer to buy you another cup of coffee when he spilled yours after bumping into you. You wished you never invited him in that day, and gave him everything you had to offer.

“I thought you could wear it tonight” he said after not hearing a reply from you, it wasn’t uncommon for you to ignore him, you would do it ever so often, the version of you he fell in love with had been replaced by a cold and bitter woman and it was none other than his fault.

“I’m not going.” you spat out, your voice laced with venom. You couldn’t understand how he thought you’d be alright with celebrating your 1 year ‘anniversary’ with him, when he had captured you half way through your relationship, that was the day it ended for you, your relationship was no longer one of lovers, but of a captor and captee. 

“My love, what has brought about this foul mood of yours” he said, stepping towards you hand reaching out for yours, picking it up to bring it to his face. You didn’t flinch when he touched you anymore, you had gotten used to it in the 6 months you had been held captive, but that didn’t mean you were alright with it.

He kissed your knuckles and stares intently at you, observing your body for any slight movements, the last time you had a foul mood you snapped at him and tried to run away, which was stupid on your part, escaping this man was nothing short of impossible.

“You.” you said as you turned to look at him, your face exhibiting all the pent up anger inside you. “You’re the only cause of my foul mood, actually, my mood will always remain as foul as this, if not worse, as long as I have to stare at that pathetic face of yours.” you said pulling your hand away.

“You know I don’t appreciate that bratty attitude of yours” his calm face betrayed the venom laced in his voice, you always did wonder how he could maintain such a calm exterior all the time.

Chrollo didn’t have time for your temper tantrum, he had prepared a lovely evening for the two of you, on the balcony of his luxurious penthouse, he was a man who liked to stick to a schedule, and your temper tantrum was just messing with it.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I ran into your friend.. hmm what was her name again” he pretended to think for a second before speaking again, “Oh yes, Sasha. She had a baby, thought you should know that.” he observed you for a change in expression, it was the one consistent thing you had in your life. His observations of you, everything else was quite unpredictable.

You knew why he had brought her up, it was a silent threat. The mention of your friends baby was just adding more weight to his threat. You boiled with anger, how could he so casually threaten you, how could he be so calm when indirectly talking about how he could kill your friend, and her new born baby on top of it?

In his mind your tantrums were uncalled for. He did everything he could for you, he spent as much time as he could with you, he bought this luxurious penthouse for you, he fed you, provided you with all the jewels in the world and he, someone who was previously thought to be incapable of loving someone, loved you? Why were you so ungrateful?

You always had a good grasp of your emotions, you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of breaking you down but something about how he would so casually bring up your childhood best-friend, who was like a sister to you made you lose your cool.

You raised your hand to strike his cheek, expecting to hear a loud smacking noise followed by the sight of his flushed red cheek, but that didn’t happen. He was far quicker than you as he stopped your slap mid air, his hand holding onto your wrist as he shed his calm demeanour, showing his true colours.

“Y/n.” He said and you immediately froze, it was not the tone he used, rather the use of your name. Since the two of you had started dating, he had never used your name, not even once. You could tell his choice of words was intentional.

Your hand started to shake, regret setting in immediately. What could you have hoped to achieve by slapping him? What good would that have done? No, it wouldn’t have done anything, you just dug your own grave. You were too scared to look him in the eyes, at the same time you didn’t want to look away, you chose to divert your sight to his free hand, expecting it to make a move.

His grip on your arm tightened, you let out a small yelp already feeling the bruises form where he had formed his tight grip. “Y-you’re hurting me” you spoke out, your voice barely audible as it took everything for you to say this.

“Am I really the monster you think I am?” He said, his dagger eyes never leaving your form, you could’ve sworn his gaze could burn holes in your body. You wanted to lash out on him, telling him just how horrible he was. How you’d rather be dead than to spend another day with him, how taking your freedom away was the worst thing anyone could ever do to another person but you choked on your words, the only thing you could say were the three words he didn’t want to hear, “i hate you.”

“I’ve been nothing but patient with you, now go and get dressed.” He said letting go of your hand, your other hand instinctively made its way to rub the bruising area as you felt it sting as he let go.

Your mind told you to go, to comply. Telling you how retaliating would do you no good, but your heart told you to take a stand and you did. “I’m not going to get dressed. I won’t let you defile something as precious as an anniversary by making me spend it with you” you took a step back as you said it, pushing all the regret down to make space for the sudden outburst of confidence and rage. There was no turning back for you now.

“We aren’t together, we were through the day you kidnapped me.”

Chrollo paused, a smirk on his face he let out a light chuckle which ended up with him erupting in full blown laughter. You were confused at his sudden burst of laughter, what did you say to him that was so funny?

“We’re not together?” He asked, wiping the tears that formed in his eyes due to the intense laughing session he just had.

“No. We’re not.”

“Then why do you share a bed with me?” He asked, stepping closer. “Why have I been so loving and caring if you’re not even my significant other?” He took a step each time he completed a sentence.

“Why have I been denying myself of you, when you’re my hostage?“ you stepped back when he was inches away from you, but he extended his arms to hold you in place till he took his final step, his body brushing against yours leaning in till his lips were brushing against your ears, licking his lips before he said, “Then why don’t I do what the other captors do to their hostages?”

He brushed his knuckles against your cheek as he said this, admiring how soft your skin felt to his touch, wondering why he never gave into his temptation before. He loved you, he missed all the good times the two of you had together, he knew you loved him too because he was the one who deflowered you, he was the one who made you go insane, the only one who’s touch you would crave. 

Chrollo had been good, he avoided touching sexually you without your consent, lightly brushing your skin, resting his hand on your thigh, even the occasional kiss on your cheek as you slept wasn’t ever enough to satisfy his need. He realised he was addicted to you, you awoke the nympho inside him, and then you denied him. His patience had run thin, your crude words made him stop holding onto his temptation, he was going to have you tonight.

You chose to remain silent, arguing with him was never a good idea, he always had the best counter argument, he would always make you question your own belief’s so you decided to say nothing in hopes he would back off. 

“I expect a reply when I ask you a question, Y/n.” he said, as his hand grabbed the back of your neck to turn your face towards him, you were so close to his face that you felt his hot breath on your forehead. Your mind thought of a million things to say, but each one idea had been tossed out the window, it was never good enough. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll go get changed” you said, trying to take a step back, but his grip on your neck never loosened, his eyes told you what he was going to say next, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go now. 

His hands made their way to cup your face, whether it was a romantic act or one to stop your face from moving, you didn’t know. Nonetheless, he glanced at your pump lips, stained red from the red wine you sneakily had a glass of, and he leaned down till his lips made contact with yours, taking you in fully, his grip on your face was tight enough to prevent you from moving your face, you resorted to move your body to break free, but he was faster than you, placing a hand on your back pushing you to him, your bodies touching leaving no room in between, his other hand made its way back to where it was, you couldn’t break free.

He made his way over to the bed, not breaking the kiss, pushing you down on it. His hands danced over your sides, pulling your satin nighty up along with them as his lips slowly started to trail down the column of your neck inhaling your natural scent along the way. You brought your hands up to his shoulders to push him away saying, “Stop it. I’ll be good!”

“I’ve lusted after you, thought about you endlessly, but never once did I give into my temptation out of love, and you chose to demean our relationship. Tell me why I shouldn’t just give into the most natural instinct I possess as man?” He said, lifting his head from the column of your neck, his eyes had a hint of sadness to them, as if your words really did hurt him. He wasn’t dumb, he knew it was unfair for him to just pluck you out of your life, taking away all the life you had out of you and keep you locked in the confines of the bedroom he shared with you, but love is a crazy thing.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” you said, pursing your lips. You weren’t sorry, if anything, you wished you said more, you wished you had the courage to say worse. Chrollo knew how you didn’t mean what you said, he could always judge the authenticity of your words as he was hearing them and you knew that. The change in his expression now made you wish you actually meant them.

You watched as he ran his fingers over your body tracing the sweet valley in between your breasts before grabbing them, squeezing them together and placing soft kisses all over them. The old you would’ve been a melting mess by now, but knowing the amount of blood that’s been shed with those very hands just made you sick.

He pulled the neck of your slip down to reveal your breasts, groaning at the sight, sparing no second before diving right in, nipple in his mouth flicking it with his tongue. You held back your moan, your body couldn’t help but give in, but your mind kept on telling you to fight back. 

You hadn’t been touched like this in 6 months, and you would’ve been content with it if you never gave yourself to him, but once you got a taste of sex all those months ago, you could never go back. He watched your face contort when he sucked ever so lightly at your nipple, he saw how the heat rose to your cheeks out of shame for your body giving in. 

“I know you want it, my love” he said, pulling away from your nipple making his way down to your core. A sudden panic overcame you as you lifted your back up to pull yourself away, there was no telling what would happen when he would dive in between your legs, you didn’t know if you could keep your composure once that happened.

“No!! Not there” you exclaimed, as he took your back being off the bed as an opportunity to slide your nighty down, the fabric gathering around your hips, before he pushed you back down taking it all off, leaving you bare for him. His hand was firmly placed on your stomach, stopping you from getting back up and his free hand was placed on your thigh, pushing it open to see the passport to heaven that was placed in between them.

“Then where would you like it, my love?” he asked, a slight smirk on his face knowing you wouldn’t have a good enough come back to this, he already had a comeback for when you’d say nowhere. 

Disregarding your apologies and pleas for another change, Chrollo dived right in between your legs, his nose running along your core taking in the sweet smell he had been deprived of for all those months, you felt your core gush at the slight contact, your hands hesitantly trying to push him away as you felt his wet tongue slide all over your folds, your back arching when you felt it slip in between your core, licking at your entrance. 

Groaning out of pleasure while his mouth was taking you all in, all you could muster was a weak ‘stop’ as your own body was betraying you, your other thigh slid to the side slightly, as if to gave him more room to continue on pleasuring you, you knew it was wrong, it was so wrong how your body was slowly giving into temptation, how your mind was clouded by the thoughts of his thick cock slamming into you until you were a crying mess, but why did it feel so right?

His tongue explored your wet core, sliding everything as if to taste every single spot he hadn’t been able to for all this time, his grip on your thigh tightened as his erection was trying to break free out of his pants, he pushed his mouth as far in as he could, the temptation to bite you, the temptation to take you all in was too strong for him to handle.

His lips nipped at your bud, his eyes fixated on your own face contorted in pleasure, knitted brows, lips that had started to bleed at how hard you were biting down at them, at how you were trying to find that one boost of strength to push him away. His fingers slid inside your throbbing hole pumping in and curling against that spot he so effortlessly found. Stretching you out to prepare you for something that was easily thrice the size of his lean fingers.

You breaths got deeper, the sensations clouded your judgement, you tried to think hard at all the atrocities he had committed in the past, trying to snap out of your daze, trying to deny him his pleasure but a mind broken moan of absolute euphoria escaped your lips as your slick coated his finger, dripping over to your thighs when you came.

“How I've missed those beautiful sounds.” he said as your moan finally came to an end.

He got up from his position, quick to pounce on you not letting you have the moment after cumming when you’d come to your senses and push him off. Perhaps letting you feel that sweet release was a mistake, your judgement was no longer clouded once you got what you want, but watching your body arch for him and hearing those sweet moans was all for him, not you. 

You planted your hands firmly on his bare chest, pushing him away closing your legs. Although it was a moment of weakness that let him touch you like that, it was gone, you were thinking clearly now. 

“Get off of me!” you shrieked, trying to wiggle up so your bare cunt wasn’t touching his clothed crotch anymore, hands keeping him at am arms length away from your body while he continued to push down till your arms hand bent, elbows planted on the bed desperate to support your cause.

“My love, just a second ago you were a moaning mess, what happened to you now?“ he asked, a slipping in a sly remark along the way, his hands were quick to grab your own, pinning them up with one hand, his legs pushed in between yours, stretching them open while his free hands fondled with your breasts before slipping slide his boxers off.

Your eyes shifted from his face to his lower body, you could see his cock was now out, it was rock hard and the tip glistened with the pre cum that was coating it. He gave it a few testing pumps before positioning it at your entrance.

You moved your hips to throw if off, making sure he wouldn’t be able to slam into you, your eyes darted to his face, an unwavering expression on his face. He knew it was about time, he knew it would happen and you would give in. The little fight you put up was no match for him, he would have his way.

His hand left his cock, and held onto your hip holding you in place, while he placed one of his knees on your thighs to make sure wiggling away wasn’t an option for you. He guided his cock to your opening before looking back at you, he wanted to stare deep into those eyes he fell in love with when he entered you.

You felt his tip push in, a sudden sensation of pain overtook you as he stretched you out, he closed his eyes to revel the feeling. A wave of nostalgia washing over him thinking about how good it felt when he first took your virginity, and how it felt the same even now. How you were still as tight as the first time he slid inside you.

“Fuck” he cussed while moaning, slowly slipping in, your walls clenching his cock tight. He stopped slightly right as his tip was inside you, trying to give you time to adjust, but the carnal desire took over as he said, in a barely audible tone, “Can’t take it anymore” before leaning down to take your lips into his own and slamming inside you right away.

Your mouth opened as you shrieked against his lips, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in and let it explore all the crevices of your mouth.

He groaned against the kiss as he bucked his hips to thrust deeper inside you, slamming his tip against your cervix as if trying to break it to get deeper in. Your mouth was still ajar, not having the strength to close it or fight him off, your hands bend down to grab his own that had a tight hold on your wrist, desperate to grab onto anything.

He moved his knee off of your thigh and your head shot back in pleasure as the pain wasn’t the dominant feeling anymore. You moaned against the kiss, back arching to feel him deeper, if it was even possible, your cunt clenched him even harder once you did so, he grunted with every thrust he made, unable to keep his composure.

His hand left your wrist and took one of your own into it, fingers intertwining with your own pushing your hand deeper into the bed with all his strength, your free hand made its way to his back, nails digging into his skin while pushing him down to feel his chest over yours.

Your mouth started to move on its own and you deepened the kiss, the pleasure clouding your mind once again, he was the only man who had ever been inside you, yet you knew he was a sex God.

“Fuck. Oh fuck” you whined as he broke out of the kiss to catch his breath and take a look at your bouncing tits, your face contorted in pleasure and you started babbling incoherently. His thrusts got even faster, and his desperation to cum was growing stronger. His hand left your hips to push down on your thigh as he used it as support to push himself up, the added height allowed him to slam harder into you.

You were sure the sounds the two of you were making were echoing in the entire house, you didn’t care if the entire building could hear the two of you, you just wanted to feel good after feeling so miserable after so long, you didn’t care what was happening, you’d just let him have this one night of affection even if it wasn’t for him.

“Yes baby, cum on my cock for me” he said, his deep voice pushing you over the edge as you let out a loud moan as a wave of pleasure overcame you, pulling his face in for a deep kiss as you came, biting his lips till you tasted something metallic in your mouth.

His thrusts got sloppy indicating he was close, you lifted your free leg to hook it on his waist, your hand left his back to slide over his chiseled chest as he pumped inside you.

“Cum for me, love.” You said, the euphoric high still taking over you, hearing those words out of your mouth pushed him over the edge as he came inside you, thrusting in once or twice to ride out his orgasm.

He slid out of you, his body still on yours as he gazed into your eyes intently, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your forehead as he said, “Happy anniversary, my love” before rolling over to get off of you, pulling you in close for a hug, leaving no room for air.

His free hand was placed flatly on his forehead as he tried to catch his breath as if thinking ‘what just happened’ a big smile on his face as he turned to look at you. Your panting form, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks and after sex glow made you look like the most ethereal being in the universe in his eyes. God did he love you.

“I love you so much” he said, as his hands rubbed on your back, he knew you wouldn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t care. He just loved you too much and knew you were going to be in his arms for the rest of your life. He protected you against the bad of the world, keeping you safe, providing the love any woman could ever ask for.

According to Chrollo he was protecting you from the world, protecting you from all those people who might come after you after realising you were his one weakness, but in reality, he was the biggest threat to you, and you willingly exposed yourself to that threat. There was nothing you could do to save yourself, you were his forever and Chrollo Lucilfer was not one to let his treasure walk away.