#black sulfur au

[empressofkingfishers]

I've projected my sensitive eyes onto Narinder. I've projected my occasional body pain onto him (but like his is far more serious.)

Perhaps I should also project...

Tummy aches.

[hershelwidget]

Hey chat I designed a bunch of demons and I’m kind of proud of them so here’s a rare post that has barely anything to do with The AU

These first three are grouped together for their human-like appearances and are called Kindred, Bloodlust, and Mourning Demons respectively!

These second three are grouped for their more object-like appearances and are Wave, Colour, and Elemental Demons!

More info under the cut :)

Kindred Demons naturally appear the most like whatever they were in life before they died, and are the Only types of Demons that can come from passing on. They become a bit more fluffy, gain some eyes and emphasized limbs, and they are so so sweet!

Bloodlust Demons are relatively chill and are often compared to gargoyles. Despite what the name implies, they usually only hunt for Aviary Demons, which are not shown here. They typically appear more muscular than the other species, which gives them a leg up on certain tasks in Hell!

Mourning Demons always carry their oars with them, even when they’re not doing their duty of skimming the… “water” in Hell. Their long and beautiful cloaks combined with their object-heads and ethereal eyes give them an almost Angelic vibe!

Wave Demons manifest as actual light waves, and favour infared and micro above all of the other types. They are perfectly visible to their neighbours (Bloodlust!) but other Demons usually have a harder time seeing them. As an ongoing bit, a few Waves at a time will band together and form a Microwave (the appliance)!

Colour Demons are like small comets of pure colour, and are close relatives of the Wave and Aviary variants. They have a massive size range, and can be anywhere between 5 cm to 7 km in length. A group of 3+ Colours is called a Palette, and 2 or more Palettes together can form something called a Siphonophoric, which is like the Auroras here!

Elemental Demons are very interesting because there is exactly one for each Periodic Element. They are completely invulnerable and immortal until that element no longer exists in the Living Realm, so ones like Iron and Hydrogen are going to be around a long time!

Some bonus images!!!

Two more Kindreds, Puppy & a concept for Harry if he was one. Kindred and Mourning Demons share similar naming customs, where their names are directly based on What they are or their most notable features. As such, Harry’s name as a Kindred might shift to Otter, or Suitor. Though, let it be known that Puppy is actually a sheep, they are called Puppy due to their dog-like ears and fur!

Jovice, a Bloodlust! At this point I’d like to mention that a Bloodlust’s horns and ears are their most prized and protected body parts. Getting their ears pierced or their horns engraved, especially with the idea of someone else in mind, is a really big deal. Doing something like that is sometimes how Bloodlusts propose! That’s exactly what Jovice is hyping themself up in the mirror to do.

A Mourning called Geometrica. It’s a bit hard to tell, but their oar is broken. For a Mourning, getting their oars damaged or lost in any way is like getting one’s heart broken, and they get either incredibly aggressive or antisocial as a result. On similar note, they do not depict emotions the same way Humans do, so while Geometrica looks calm and even a bit happy here, they are about to stab who they’re looking at with their broken oar in a fit of rage.

Wow, that’s the image limit ^^; I’ll be sure to do more posts about these Demon types in the future, they are REALLY fun to think of and design!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[lovelybucky1]

Ego (rockstar!anakin x reader)

warnings: band!au, AFAB!reader, spitting, light choking, praise, degradation, (mentioned) exhibitionism, (mentioned) public sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, m!receiving oral sex, rough sex, smoking, consumption of alcohol, anakin is kind of an asshole in his, but he loves you

masterlist

The concert was explosive. Your ears still ring from the deafening bass from the speakers next to the stage and your nose is filled with the scent of smoke and sulfur from the fireworks that lit off during the last song.

You push through the flow of the bustling crowd leaving the venue, as you make your way up to the stage. You climb over the barrier and skip up the stairs. You slip behind the curtain and walk through the backstage area to the back exit.

The roadies are wheeling the band’s equipment to the bus and are packing it up to be transported to the next city overnight. You cut in front of the train of carts and equipment and run towards the bus, your stiletto heels clicking on the wet pavement.

When you reach the door, you find it already open. You walk up the few stairs and find yourself standing in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The band is lounged on the leather couches, each with a bottle and a cigarette in either hand. Everyone cheers when they notice you; they all love you.

“There they are!” Kit exclaims.

Ahsoka, the newest addition to the band and the youngest of the group at 19, giggles loudly at something on her phone, obviously a little intoxicated.

You greet them all as you walk towards the couch towards your boyfriend. Anakin is lounging lazily on the couch, his feet kicked up on the arm of the couch, with a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He looks up at you as you walk by, eyes half-lidded and a little glazed. He smiles slowly as he takes in your outfit: tight pants, his band’s shirt cut and distressed into something very revealing, and high heels.

Anakin is wearing something of similar style: a sweat-stained dark gray t-shirt, black distressed skinny jeans, and large black boots that make him even taller. His piercings glitter in the low light, and his smudged eyeliner makes your knees weak.

“Hey, baby,” he grins, reaching his hand out to grab your waist.

“Hey, Ani,” you laugh as he guides you into his lap.

He puts his cigarette in his mouth to free his other hand to touch you. With a smirk, he pulls you up his body so you’re straddling his waist.

“The show was amazing tonight,” you say.

“God, it was,” he says, closing his eyes and grinning as he reminisces on the night.

There’s nothing Anakin loves more than attention. He’s the front man of the band, always has all eyes on him. Everyone in the crowd cheers for him, is there to see him, wants him. As much as Anakin loves to play his music, he loves the ego trip even more.

“Everyone loved you.”

“It was electric. I can still feel it,” Anakin said with a groan.

Being on stage turns all of Anakin’s emotions up to eleven, and he rides that high for a long while after the concert. Like now, he’s looking up at you with lust blown eyes and you can feel his cock growing harder underneath you.

“Don’t be a diva, Ani, they loved all of us,” Ahsoka chimes in.

“Please, if Kit’s ugly ass was our front man, that venue would be empty,” Anakin huffs. “Everyone wants what they can’t have, so they’ll buy songs and tickets and all the other stupid shit we come up with just so they can get a taste of what it’d be like to have me.”

“If your head gets any bigger, it’ll pop,” Aayla rolls her eyes.

“Well,” Anakin swings his legs around so his feet are back on the floor, keeping you in his lap. “In that case, I better make good use of my time before I get my brains all over the bus.”

Anakin places his hands under your thighs and stands up. You wrap your arms and legs around him and hold on tightly, your faces just inches apart.

“Ugh,” Ahsoka groans.

With a wide grin, Anakin walks you back to the bedroom at the back of the bus. It’s a large bed that Anakin has claimed since he put them on the map, much to the other’s annoyance. Anakin kicks open the door and takes one long stride before he’s dropping you down on your back atop the bed.

He shuts the door and makes quick work of shedding his sweaty t-shirt. His abs ripple when he puts his arms down and you find yourself staring at the tattoos that litter his abdomen, chest, and arms. You reach out to trace the stars mirrored on each of his hip bones, those being your favorite tattoos of his.

He looks down at you with exhaustion-heavy eyes, the liquor he undoubtedly had, not helping. Despite how tired he is, he needs to get the leftover adrenaline out of his system.

“You’re not even gonna let me kiss you first?” he asks you with a raised eyebrow.

“You taste like cigarettes.”

“That’s how I got you addicted to me in the first place,” he smirks as he reaches up to graze his thumb over your jaw.

“Trust me, that’s not what got me addicted.”

“No? Then what was?” he smiles as he waits for an answer. “My money? My fame? My dick?”

You roll your eyes. “Kiss me, you idiot.”

Anakin grins as he bends down to kiss you. He smashes your lips together in a rough, passionate kiss. He does taste like cigarettes, as well as alcohol and something that is so distinctly Anakin.

“I’m so fucking horny for you,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss finally breaks. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting such blunt words. “I was thinking about you the whole goddamn time.”

“What were you thinking about?” you ask curiously, your face still inches away from his, looking at his stained mouth from your lipstick.

“Bringing you up on stage and taking you in front of everybody,” he confesses as his hands travel from your neck down to your torso.

“I think that’d make the fangirls jealous.”

“Good. Let them be jealous. Let them see how good I can give it.”

Anakin stands up straight and you bring your hands up to work at Anakin’s pants; unzipping the fly and pushing his jeans and boxer briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free. It almost his you in the face as the pink tip bobs tantalizingly in front of you. You look up at him, silently asking for permission to put your mouth around it.

“It’s not gonna suck itself,” he smirks as he guides your head towards his length with a hand in your hair.

Once you get your mouth on his dick, he loosens his hold on you and allows you to go at your own pace. His voice is already a little hoarse from performing tonight, and the added gravel to his moans make your head spin as you listen below him.

“Fuck, they’d be so jealous. I’d take you up there and let you suck my dick in the middle of a song, just like this.”

Anakin tilts his head back in a groan as you flick your tongue around the tip.

Your mouth waters aroud his length, and after a few bobs of your head, drool is leaking from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. Anakin loves when you get messy like this, especially when your dark lipstick leaves prints at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” he groans.

Anakin threads his fingers through your hair and holds you tightly, not directing you, just making sure you feel it.

You take him all the way into your throat and look up at him with glassy eyes as you gag around him. Anakin loves the feeling of your throat contracting as you struggle not to gag; it feeds his ego knowing that his dick is too big even for someone so well trained.

Anakin feels like orgasm nearing, so he pulls you off by your hair so he does not finish too quickly.

You sit back on your knees and wipe your face with the back of your hand. You look sinful underneath him like this; lipstick smudged and eye makeup running from tears.

“Come up here, baby,” he says, taking your hand and tugging you to your feet. You put your arms around his neck and look up at him, feeling small in his arms. “I want you to give me some marks. I want something to show off tomorrow,” he grins.

You lean in to latch your lips onto his pec, sucking the smooth skin that covers the hard muscle into your mouth. You suck firmly, pinching thr skin between your teeth as you do. A satisfied hum rumbles through his chest when you pull away and he sees the dark red mark you left on his pale skin.

Before long, his chest, collarbone, neck, and abdomen are littered with similar sized hickeys. After each one you left, he reached down to press his fingers into the forming bruise, just to feel the dull pain.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Anakin says, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close so your hips are pressed flush to his.

“Then why don’t you fuck me?”

“Is that how you ask for it?” he asks with a smirk.

“No, but I have a feeling you’ll give it to me either way.”

Anakin chuckles as he slides his hands up your sides, pushing your shirt up as he does. You raise your arms above your head and he pulls it off, revealing your lace bra underneath.

Anakin’s eyes darken even more as he takes in the sight of the delicate black lace over your perfect tits. It’s beautiful, and Anakin was to destroy it. He grabs each cup firmly in his large hands and pulls, ripping the pretty bra down the center.

“What the fuck?” you gasp. “That was expensive!”

“You bought it with my money, didn’t you?”

You glare at him. “Yes, but-”

“Then I should be able to do whatever I want with it.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you huff as your shrug off the scraps of your ruined bra.

His hands move to the front of your jeans, but you swat them away before he can ruin anymore of your clothes. While you take your pants off, he does the same.

Now, you’re both standing in the tour bus bedroom, completely bare to each other’s gazes.

“Turn around,” Anakin orders.

“Make me,” you challenge.

He gives you an unimpressed stare before he grabs your hips and spins you around. He pushes you so you lay face down on the bed, but you do not stay there. You prop yourself up on your elbows and just as you look back at him, his long fingers slide through your wet folds.

“Soaked for me, huh?” Anakin chuckles.

“Don’t tease me, Ani.”

Anakin eases two fingers into you, curling them along the way to find the spot inside you that makes you clench.

“Or what? We both know you can’t resist anything I do to you.”

You hate that he’s right, but whatever annoyance that was building inside of you quickly disappated as he began to move his fingers in and out of you.

Anakin didn’t spend long opening you up before he replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock.

He did tease you; he slapped your pussy with it before giving you just the slightest amout, enough to stretch but not enough to fill.

“It’s not enough,” you whine.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “You want more?”

“Yes, please.”

Anakin grips your hips firmly, then slides all the way in. That’s how Anakin goes about everything: all or nothing. You cry out as you adjust to the intrusion, but he doesn’t give you much time befote he starts to rut into you.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight. Your pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes, yes, it’s yours,” you whimper.

With each stroke, the sound of his hips hitting your ass fill the room is sharp claps. You can feel the tip of his cock in your stomach after every thrust in, and it punches the air out of your lungs. Anakin fucks you hard and fast, his fingers digging into your hips which will surely bruise.

After a while of this position, Anakin wraps his forearm around your middle and pulls you up so you’re standing, trapped between him and the bed.

His large hand presses on your lower abdomen so he can feel each thrust of his cock inside you, and because he knows the added pressure will make it so much better for you. Anakin hooks his chin over your shoulder and presses his mouth to your ear so he can whisper.

“I fuckin’ own this pussy, got that? I own you.”

Your stomach flips at his vulgar words and you lean your head back on his shoulder and moan.

Anakin can’t help himself when he sees your mouth open wide for him. He reaches up and hooks his finger in your cheek to hold it open, then spits. Some of it lands on your cheeks and lips, but most of it lands on your tongue.

“Swallow that,” he says, his breath hot on your ear.

You do as he said, swallowing his spit obediently. It’s hot and dirty and everything you love, all at once. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, and unless Anakin physically stops you, you’re going to cum soon.

“You’re so fuckin’ good for me. Bet you’d let me fuck you like this on stage, huh? Serve me while everyone is cheering for me like I’m God.”

Anakin’s voice is low and rough, obviously growing more desperate with each stroke. He pushes you forward and you brace yourself on the bed with your arms. He leans over your back and licks a hot strike over your sweaty neck before sinking his sharp teeth into the tender skin under your ear.

You cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain from Anakin’s teeth in your skin. You’re sure it will leave a crescent bruise behind, but you can’t bring yourself to mind right now.

“Let me cum inside you,” he says in your ear.

Finding your words to be lost, you nod, giving him permission to claim you. He makes a noise akin to a growl as his thrusts start to pick up in speed. They become more erratic as he nears closer to his orgasm, and yours slowly builds along with his.

He grabs your hips and thrusts deep inside you, then holds you flush to him as he pumps his load into you. The feeling of his hot cum flooding your insides makes your eyes roll back, and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder. He grabs your throat and presses his lips to your temple.

“Cum around my cock. I want to feel you.”

His other hand reaches down between your legs and begins to toy with your clit. The feeling of his fingers rubbing you in just the right way, his still-hard cock inside you, along with his cum leaking down your pussy work together to throw you over the edge.

You whimper as you begin to cum. Your knees feel weak as your lower stomach blooms with warmth and pleasure.

Anakin revels in the feeling of your walls convulsing around his sensitive dick. If he hadn’t already cum, your pussy would be milking him like this. Once you’ve finished riding out your high, Anakin pulls out of you and lays you down on the bed before joining next to you.

He turns you around so you're facing away from him and he spoons you, pulling your back to his sweaty chest.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he whispers.

“Felt so good,” you reply quietly.

Anakin’s cum is still leaking from between your legs, but neither of you care right now. You’re both exhausted, wrung out from sex and the busy day before this.

“Hey,” Anakin says, breaking the silence in the room.

“Hey.”

“Tomorrow night after the show, I’m gonna marry you.”

“What?” you gasp, turning around in his arms.

“I want to make it official. Make sure that everyone knows I’m off the market. That you’re the only one who actually gets any real part of me.”

Anakin may have a reputation of being a diva, an egotistical superstar, which isn’t necessarily untrue, but like this, in private with you, he’s tender, loving, and real.

“So what do you say?” he asks, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

You smile wide and bring him in to kiss. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say against his lips.

He kisses you again, deeply, as he confesses all of his love for you with a physical act.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ll get hate from Anakin’s fans for stealing their celebrity crush from them, but you shrug that thought off. On stage, he may belong to everyone, but here, he’s only yours.

[cornerstoreclown]

May I like, request a blurb or something that’s describing a moment between art and reader in the little childhood friends au the other anons were talking about 👉👈 Can be anything! Maybe it’s just them reminiscing about their past. It’s up to you

Sure, I can build off of this one! Gender neutral reader x Art, childhood friends au. Since this seems to be a popular one among y’all which has shocked me. Not proofread because it’s 12am and I gotta be in an office tomorrow.

—————————

After dessert, that night you and Art spent hours going through that scrapbook he’d thumbed through earlier and stained with blood. He seemed a little more… Content? After some cheesecake.

Still didn’t make up for you ditching him all those years ago, and he’s certain to continue to hold that against you as leverage to get what he wants until he’s milked it dry.

With his hands now clean because you politely asked him to, you’re watching him take his time with each page. You’re curled up against him on your comfy couch, body leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder. He supports your weight.

The room around you provides ambiance when you’re not speaking. The sound of your clock on the wall, and the television in front of you both at low volume, playing some old black and white romance movie that neither of you cared to actually watch. The news was an option, but you didn’t want to listen to whatever was going on in the world when all you cared about was right next to you, encased comfortably within these four walls that you could call a part of your home.

As he flips through various pages, there’s all sorts of memoirs of both your youth that ranged from photos to drawings to letters you’d send him. He was older than you. You were younger. But you grew up close together within proximity. You remember digging up worms in the dirt together, observing unlucky dead baby birds that fell out of their nest, watching the seasons as caterpillars turned to either moths or butterflies, and throwing bugs in spider webs just to marvel at the way nature could be so beautiful yet so cruel.

It was a constant cycle of life and death. That’s the way the world works, isn’t it? You think to yourself, as Art is still coated in now dried gore that fortunately won’t stain your couch, but may very well make it stink. He smells like death. And sulfur. He is death.

And he’s warm. So comfortably warm. You don’t have central heating system money, and fall is here. So he’s quite nice. A warm living furnace. But a stinky one. You wrinkle your nose.

“I kept a lot of our memories.” You confess as he’s nearing the end of the book, now looking at the pictures you cut out of your yearbook and slapped between the pages. He doesn’t look at you. It’s almost as if the clown is entranced, enticed and curious about a life that he almost doesn’t seem to recognize, like it’s the first time seeing them. But they’re all him, alright.

Art wraps an arm around your form as he continues to go through the contents of your blood, sweat and tears all pressed between leather and bindings. He pulls you in closer, attention never leaving the pages.

He appreciates the effort of documentation. And, you think, he appreciates you.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 26, 28 juin 1902, Paris. Toilettes d'été pour dames et jeunes filles. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(13) Corsage de dîners pour jeune femme ou dame d'un certain âge, en dentelle arabe agrémentée de petits velours noirs et de choux. Guimpe et dessous de manche en linon de soie soufre à plis fins. Manche pagode ornée de choux comme le devant du corsage.

(13) Dinner corsage for young women or ladies of a certain age, in Arabic lace decorated with small black velvets and cabbages. Guimpe and under sleeve in finely pleated sulfur silk lawn. Pagoda sleeve decorated with cabbages like the front of the bodice.

Matériaux: Dentelle en laize; 2 mètres de linon soufre.

—

(14) Robe élégante pour jeune femme. Jupe en forme, en crêpe rose-pastel, ornée au bas d'une bande plissée, encadrée d'entre-deux en broderie de soie noire sur fond rose. Corsage de dentelle à longue basque rapportée; ceinture rose. Boléro à manches courtes, en crêpe rose plissé et entouré de bandes brodées. Empiècement plat et col montant en dentelle; devant, choux de velours noirs et bouts tombants terminés par des glands de perles.

(14) Elegant dress for young women. Shaped skirt, in pastel pink crepe, decorated at the bottom with a pleated band, framed by black silk embroidery inserts on a pink background. Lace bodice with long basque attached; pink belt. Short-sleeved bolero, in pleated pink crepe and surrounded by embroidered bands. Flat yoke and high lace collar; in front, black velvet puffs and falling ends finished with pearl tassels.

Matériaux: 10 mètres de crêpe; dentelle en laize.

—

(15) Robe de visites pour jeune femme. Princesse en drap souple vert-Nil. Le bas est un volant à repincés sur lequel passent des biais piqués. Le corsage à repincés et biais piqués est décolleté en rond et ouvert sur un dessous en linon de soie à plis fins piqués. Col en forme en taffetas blancs à dessins roses. Manche évasée, conçue dans le même esprit que la jupe, écourtée sur un bouffant de soie pareille au col. Les biais du corsage se terminent sous des boucles.

(15) Visiting dress for young women. Princess in soft Nile green cloth. The bottom is a ruffle with stitched bias binding. The bodice with stitched bias binding has a round neckline and opens onto a silk lawn underside with fine stitched pleats. Shaped collar in white taffeta with pink designs. Flared sleeve, designed in the same spirit as the skirt, cropped on a silk bouffant similar to the collar. The bodice bias ends under buckles.

Matériaux: 0m,50 de drap vert; 2 mètres de linon de soie; 1 mètre de soie à dessins roses.

—

(16) Robe simple pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en homespum d'été bleu clair moucheté de noir. Jupe composée de volants en forme taillés en pointe devant et ornés d'une fine passementerie noire. Corsage orné de pattes de velours noir et de passementerie. Manche à trois pèlerines. Grand col de linon plissé orné de broderie. Col et ceinture en panne émeraude.

La même toilette serait jolie en toile ou en piqué.

(16) Simple dress for young women or girls, in light blue summer homespun speckled with black. Skirt composed of shaped ruffles cut into a point at the front and decorated with fine black trimmings. Bodice decorated with black velvet tabs and trimmings. Sleeve with three capes. Large pleated lawn collar decorated with embroidery. Emerald pan collar and belt.

The same toilet would look pretty in canvas or pique.

Matériaux: 6m,20 d'homespum; 1 mètre de panne.

—

(17) Robe de campagne pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en toile gris pâle. Jupe en forme faite de volants pèlerine superposés. Longue basque rapportée, ornée de poches en toile brodées de cotons lavables ou appliquées de fleurs et de feuillages en cretonne. Boléro très ajusté enguirlandé de la même façon. Guimpe rayée de ganses noirs. Nœud en mousseline de soie blanche lisérée de noir. Manche à revers brodés.

La même toilette en lainage léger et appliques; la guimpe en pékiné.

(17) Country dress for young women or girls, in pale gray canvas. Shaped skirt made of layered pelerine ruffles. Long attached peplum, decorated with canvas pockets embroidered with washable cotton or applied with cretonne flowers and foliage. Very fitted bolero garlanded in the same way. Guimpe striped with black braid. Bow in white silk chiffon edged in black. Sleeve with embroidered cuffs.

The same ensemble in light wool and appliques; the wimple in pekiné.

Matériaux: 8m,50 de toile.

—

(18) Robe de visites pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en foulard japonais blanc et rouge clair. Jupe en forme garnie de trois petits volants lisérés d'un dépassant en pékiné noir et blanc. Corsage à basque rapportée, entourée d'un biais en pékiné, ouvert sur un gilet de taffetas, lui-même ouvert sur un plastron de soie rouge. Col dentelé en soie blanche rayé de velours noir. Grand col de dentelle; manche élargie, très courte sur un volant de dentelle. Ceinture en taffetas pékiné.

(18) Visiting dress for young woman or girl, in white and light red Japanese foulard. Shaped skirt trimmed with three small ruffles edged with a black and white pekiné overhang. Bodice with attached peplum, surrounded by a pekiné bias, open on a taffeta vest, itself open on a red silk bib. Serrated collar in white silk striped with black velvet. Large lace collar; enlarged sleeve, very short on a lace flounce. Belt in pekiné taffeta.

Matériaux: 12 mètres de foulard; 2 mètres de taffetas à rayures; 0m,60 de soie rouge.

—

(19) Manteau de promenade pour dame d'âge moyen. Collet de drap gris-clair, bordé d'un biais passent des pattes claires, volant brodé d'incrustations, de découpures en drap gris clair sur panne ou taffetas gris foncé. Col brodé pareil au volant. Deux pattes ferment en croisant.

(19) Walking coat for middle-aged lady. Collar of light gray cloth, edged with a bias pass of light tabs, flounce embroidered with inlays, cutouts in light gray cloth on panne or dark gray taffeta. Embroidered collar similar to the ruffle. Two legs close by crossing.

Matériaux: 2m,75 de drap gris clair; 2 mètres de taffetas ou de panne gris foncé.

Le chapeau est un tricorne de paille brûlée, enroulé de dentelle blanche et piqué de deux ailes noires.

The hat is a tricorn of burnt straw, wrapped in white lace and adorned with two black wings.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 30: Whump

Agape | @tami-ryver Rating: Mature Word Count: 2,421 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), First Kiss, Dean Winchester Swears, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond Summary: Cas, I don't know if you can hear me, I need your help. I got myself kidnapped by a demon; you told me to pray in case something like this happened, so, please, help me! With his eyes closed, Dean doesn't see the way the demon starts leaving his old vessel and starts drifting toward him. Only when the smell of sulfur fills his nose, his eyes open quickly and he sees the black mass of the demon right in front of him, he sobs. Then a bright light fills the room.

The Confessions of Buried Bones | @Joysprings-a03 Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,120 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Dean Winchester, Protective! Castiel, Hunt Gone Wrong, Curses, Blood and Injury, Worried!Sam, Worried!Castiel BAMF!Castiel, Trapped, Love Confessions, Case fic, Summary: On a case gone wrong, Dean is seriously injured while Cas is running low on grace. The two are trapped together and running out of time. Things come to light, feelings and desperation take place. ********** The cave rumbled again and a few loose rocks fell, which only served to raise Dean’s hackles even more. They’d definitely missed something. “There’s a catch to the curse! After it’s broken, the place it was protecting starts to self-destruct! You have to get out of there now!” Suddenly crystal clear, Sam’s words came through his phone just as the mouth of the cave popped into view. Time slowed, and Dean’s stomach plummeted as he realized what was happening. “Run!”

Take Enough Soul | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,450 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean/Human!Cas, Alternate Universe, summoning demons, Selling of Souls, Angst, Hurt/very little comfort, cock bulging, Bottom!Cas, slight body horror, Ambiguously Happy Ending, temporary major character death, rape/non-con Summary: Dean is summoned to an old cabin in the middle of the woods by a man who has lost his brother. After making sure Castiel's soul is worth the bargain, Dean goes in search of Castiel's brother only to find that he's not on Earth, but in Hell. Unfortunately for Castiel, deals are addictive and once he's made one, he finds he has Dean wrapped around his finger.

Entirely Unacceptable | @samanddean76 Rating: Mature Word Count: 10,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Modern Royalty, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Alpha Gabriel, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, BAMF's, BAMF John Winchester, Rescue, Revenge, Or Justice, First Time, Knotting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, True Mates, Love, Happy Ending, All The Bad Guys Get Punished, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Kneeling, Past Abuse, Mpreg, Dean Winchester Whump Summary: Alpha Castiel has unexpectedly acquired a very well-trained Omega Dean when he escorted his brother Gabriel to a public auction house. But the Omega he brought home harbors not only secrets, but enemies as well. Will they survive long enough to reach their happy ending? And can they really be true mates if neither is sure that they even believe in such a thing? Love, rescue, and some revenge in a modern-day A/B/O setting.

The Penitent | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17,832 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean, post apocalyptic AU, memory loss, temporary MCD (Sam), hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, whump!Dean, top!Castiel/bottom! Dean Summary: Ten years have passed since Demon! Dean murdered his brother Sam and devastated the land. His footprints have become almost untraceable by the angels, who've lost faith in and defeating the one in possession of the Mark of Cain. Everyone except Castiel, who after incessantly searching for a way to save Dean, finds one last hope. He must request something extraordinary from Heaven to heal the mark. block the demon, and recover Dean. Dean must reverse the events, bringing Sam back to life. To do this, he must use the Penitent's Ring, which had once belonged to Cain, and with it, he must defeat the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. Yet is Dean capable of such this? And can Castiel heal the darkness within Dean? This is a dystopian fic, based on canonverse, post 10x20 episode. Dean had lost his memories and he will be slowly recovering them. This will bring a lot of angst, and sad moments but Castiel will be there to comfort him. It's an angsty story with action, romance and a happy ending.

[f4nd0m-fun]

I keep coming up with cryptid!Batfam ideas, and @hallowsden is a very helpful coconspirator.

This is the Hell-touched AU

Constantine paused as the figure coalesced into a human shape, though his magic sight was privy to the multitude of eyes and shadows that stretched as far as he could see. "Bloody hell," he muttered, pulling out a cigarette, only to pause as several eyes bore into him, shadows slinking over, refusing to let him light the smoke.

"Perhaps I should have brought the swear jar." While the voice seemed normal at its most audible point, there was echoes and screeches buried beneath the words.

Before John could finish processing the jar comment, Batman stepped fourth and spoke in some language not of earth.

Constantine may have been magically versed in many languages but even he could only catch a few words, one of which angled somewhere towards 'caregiver'.

"Bats?"

"Not now, Clark." Part of his words dipped into the incomprehensible tongue, almost an overlay before he cleared his throat. "An issue has come up in Gotham, I am needed."

Gotham... somewhere the hellblazer refused to step foot in, the land reeking of sulfur and rotting magic, the air stagnant with pain and hopelessness, a city chained by greed and insanity.

The monstrosity's form layered over itself and Batman, before the two were gone with hardly a sound, no hint but the lingering scent and magic showcasing that they had ever stood in the room.

John shuddered and finally lit his cigarette. "Bloody Gothamites, the whole lot is cursed."

In this AU, Gotham is a part of hell, whether it was originally so and rose to the mortal realm, or because of the demon chained to its land - Lady Gotham. Whatever the reason, curses run rampant, and Lady was already weakened by being forced into the mortal realm. Because of this, she cannot do much, but nearly everyone in Gotham is demon-touched in some manner, but some also have inklings of being angrl-touched, some more than others.

The Waynes and Kanes are among the most hell-touched due to their long lineage in Gotham, but there are those Gotham tries to welcome with open arms and, in doing so, warps them to be more demonic than they should be as a newcomer. This does not always turn out well, as the chains on her limit her control

Some who are hell-touched have demonic traits, usually very minor and easy enough to excuse as meta traits if anyone ever asks. Others have much stronger traits, and there's the lucky ones who can morph their form, though they will never fully lose the traits of their demon-blood.

----------

Alfred seems the epitome of a normal butler from the outside, until you realize how unflappable he was towards Gotham's chaos, or hear his tales of being a veteran in years long gone. Perhaps he's yet another demon, right? But no, not even that fits him. And perhaps you'll never be privy to the full truth, but the Waynes and Gotham herself know. Alfred is no mere demon, he is eldritch, from before the world was even a speck in the Creator's eye. And while the children are physically fighting for Gotham, he is there for them, but he is also there for Gotham, spiritually untangling what he can from her.

Bruce Wayne's appearance doesn't seem to relay his ancestry as much as one might think, but his fangs and claws are clear for any to see, as well a his piercing blue eyes, glowing life sulfur flames amidst a backdrop of black sclera. Batman, on the other hand, has stiffly curving horns arcing over his head, leathery bat wings and a sturdy tail, with digitigrade legs and talons, perfect for scaring enemies or for carrying what appears to be his young.

Dick Grayson was never truly one of Gotham's. She certainly granted him care and consideration and treated him as kindly as her curses would let her, but he was never able to accept more than the slightest blessings, if they could be considered as such. He never learned to fly like Batman did, but he became faster and stronger, his only visible demonic traits being nails and teeth slightly sharpened. Even so, he put forth as much effort as the rest of the colony, doing his utmost to help anyone he could.

Barbara may have lost her ability to walk, but that doesn't mean she's defenseless. She still has her claws and horns, and a unique affinity for technology that she's worked hard to hone after what happened to her.

Jason Todd had wings too small for much more than gliding, but his autumn rich curls hid the beginnings of majestic horns, his pale blue eyes shining with a hope few in Gotham could muster. But Robin had augments to his wings, enabling short flight to follow his mentor, at least until his grounding. Gotham could not let go of him for long, and dragged him back herself, but failed to do so completely, watching him be whisked away by Talia. Red Hood never regained his wings, not fully, more bone than flesh, what few feathers left struggling not to fall off. Pain arcs through his body from time to time, but he has a duty to Gotham and her people, one he would willingly choose any day. As for his pit rage, it is the equivalent of eating something you cannot process, as his system already had its fill of demonic energy from Gotham.

Tim Drake was born in Gotham, but his family's adventures dragged him throughout the world until the tender preteens. Before that only, he had been loosely tutored on the travels, but now his parents had deemed public school of importance, and also thought he could help organize their collections when he was not learning. One night, while cleaning up a gallery, he found an artifact he apparently had not put away yet, a statue that Catwoman would find quite fascinating. Upon interacting with it, pain ricocheted through him. When it finally stopped, his form had been twisted. For anyone else the statue would have merely given one the abilities of a cat, perhaps a curse to go with them, but his supernatural features were malleable enough for the power to take advantage of, turning him into a human feline. Eventually, he went to join Batman as Stray, knowing he needed a Robin but not wishing to take the name on himself. Many rogues seemed to think him a child of Batman and Catwoman, and they oft went uncorrected. He likes to perch on his family.

Cassandra is demon-touched primarily through the league and proximity to the pits, but nothing strong enough to truly take root until Gotham welcomed her to her new home. While her features are limited to black sclera and not much else, she is strongest in the ability department, able to literally move through shadows and hide in them at will, though she cannot speak while doing so and it can be hard watching for a shadow signing. Due to her past and being hell-touched, she is a bit stronger than Dick, though not as physically strong as those who grew up in Gotham.

Duke is more angel-touched than the others are, resulting in the enhanced strength of his light abilities and visions. That doesn't mean there isn't demon in him though, it just showcases itself more quietly.

Stephanie may very well have the sharpest claws and fangs of the family, but her razor wit is one of her best attacks depending on who you ask. Her and Cass sometimes seem joined at the hip, and, while their styles are somewhat opposite, they work quite well together.

Damien was created with the blood of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul, grown in a Lazarus Womb. He looks like a tiefling, with skin dark like Talia but tinted the slightest bit red like his father, burning green eyes like Talia but black sclera like Bruce, and the very same Wayne horns and talons that dominate the generations. He does not have wings and it seems unlikely he will ever have them, but that does not stop him in his tracks.

[aziraphales-library]

hello sorry if this has been asked before but do you have any fics where aziraphale is a cat / owl ?thanks :)

Hi. We have some fics in which both Aziraphale and Crowley are cats here and fics in which they are various animals here. So here are some owl Aziraphale fics...

Well, Ain't This a Hoot? by ExtremeExhaustion (G)

Aziraphale isn't sure what's going on with his corporation and is anxious about anyone seeing him in such a state. Luckily Crowley has plenty of experience with shifting and finds his angel's half-animal form to be adorable.

Now and then, I want you to be there for me by krowtenretsnom (G)

Good Omens Reverse!AU where Aziraphale is the Demon Azazel and Crowley is the Angel Jophiel. Panic attacks and chaos ensue.

Oscillate Wildly by bongbuster420 (T)

Crowley blinked. An owl blinked back. There was an owl in Aziraphale's bookshop, perched on his armchair. It didn't seem threatened by his presence. The owl was an off-white colour and big. The ear tufts stood upright. Grey eyes that could have actually been a faded yellow or blue peered at him. "How did you even get in?" Crowley muttered, eyeing the jet black beak and claws. And how do I get you out? "Through the front door." Crowley almost screamed, flailing backwards. "You fucking talk?" The owl seemed amused. "Crowley, dear," said Aziraphale, fluttering his wings a little.

acting like an animal by sugarhullo (G)

Heaven had taught Aziraphale to be ashamed of shifting into his mindless, rude animal form. An angel who shifted forms was disrespectful, unloveable, and demonic. Unfortunately for Heaven, Crowley loved Aziraphale no matter his shape, and if it turned out to be as demonic as Heaven described, he didn’t at all mind.

Sulfuric eyes by SherezadeS (T)

Aziraphale is commanded to kill the Serpent still hiding in the Garden, but when Heaven discovers he gave his flaming sword away, angel and demon have to escape away from Eden together.

Let Me Fall Into Your Arms Again by Spirit_of_the_Stars (M)

After only a month as Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale falls from Heaven to a place so low no light could escape. Now Crowley must go and find him before hell drags him away again and Heaven goes on to bring the Second Coming into fruition. Only, what is he supposed to do when his angel can no longer even see his face?

- Mod D

[hexed-padlock]

“A New Type of Vampire”

AU/Headcanon where Tav was part of the party that killed Strahd.

Pairing: Hinted Astarion x Tav but mostly gen. Party & Tav

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks

Notes: A few people are mentioned, old party members of Tav: Alfvin (human wizard), Rägen (human rogue), and an unnamed Paladin.

Summary: After defeating the Orthon, Raphael upholds his end of the deal and reveals the information behind Astarion’s scars. The tale that’s unraveled reminds Tav of the mists.

————————

Yurgir put up much more of a fight than expected. Even with Karlach’s warnings, they had still been caught off guard with the Orthon’s fondness for explosives. One moment, Tav was clearing out a group of merregons, and the next they suddenly found themselves flung off an overhang with a defeaning boom. Shadowheart had to patch them up with a hasty Healing Word but couldn’t do much more as she was preoccupied with several more merregon.

Now, hours later, they were hurt and still so very sore from the whole ordeal. Shadowheart took the second most hits, while Gale was mildly scuffed up. Astarion, the bastard, somehow avoided getting hit until the end when an unexpected explosion sent him flying straight into the growling displacer beast. Needless to say, they were all happy to have that fight over with.

Tav sighed and dropped onto their bedroll with a low thud. Huntress, they’ve just about had it with fiends.

As if to spite them, the scent of sulfur began to waft through the old, stuffy air of Shar’s Gauntlet. Tav barely had a moment to clamber to their feet before a low orange glow signaled the arrival of Raphael. The rest of the party grabs their weapons as the cambion appears in a flash of brimstone and fire.

“Splendid! I should thank you for making quick work of Yurgir.” The devil was all smiles, fanged and hungry. He briefly mentioned his plans of re-educating Yurgir, which had Tav almost concerned for a moment, before swiftly turning to Astarion.

Raphael actually upholds his end of the deal and Astarion listens with rapt attention as the devil unveils what he learned. A contract, a ritual—between the Archdevil Mephistopheles and the vampire lord Cazador Szarr. Through this rite, Cazador would gain untold power and become a new type of vampire—The Vampire Ascendant. An evolution of sorts that will allow Cazador to gain untold levels of power, backed by an Archdevil of the Hells.

A dark power, a deal, and an all-powerful vampire lord, Raphael summarized.

Tav feels their hands go numb as a low ringing fills their ears. A pit forms in their stomach as a familiar fanged smile flashes through their mind.

The cambion continues speaking, Astarion giving him his full attention. Tav finds their eyes drifting over to Astarion’s and- Oh, gods. A familiar dread slowly crawl ls up their spine, the ringing growing ever louder, as Astarion’s eyes fill with fear… and hunger. Cold grips their insides and a soft caress of a familiar fog wraps around their limbs, clouds their eyes.

In an instant, Tav feels the mists around them- they wander aimlessly but there’s no way out. It’s blinding, disorienting—suffocating. A thick fog spans out in every direction, blanketing the Valley in an eternal gloom. They hear the distant howls of wolves, the eerie childish laughter, and the whispers. He was always watching, Tav knew. No matter where they went, it was never safe. It felt like a nightmare, and maybe it was—for what reality would allow such terror to exist alongside the living? All those souls lost in the pursuit of a monster’s hunger for power. Van Richten, Esmeralda-

Scenes flash through the mists, feeling all too real.

They hear The Huntress calling for them. They feel the Blood Spear echoing the land’s old magic, digging into Tav’s soul, empowering, hungering, thirsting-

They turn sharply in the mist and find a raven-haired human looking back at them, gripping onto a black dagger and clad in dark leathers. A friend. They were safe. Rägen. She was was as deaf as a rogue could be and as paranoid as a bat. Her heart was in the right place once you earn her trust. They’ve handled countless monsters together, having to rely on strangers, now family. Tav blinks and- They see her body, trapped within the amber- cold, cold, cold and alone-

“(Tav)?” … Alfvin? Alfvin. Their wizard, a brilliant arcane scholar and diabolist. A sharp mind and a trusted ally. Sharp brown eyes and black veins along the sclera, a scar running over the bridge of his nose, the familiar smell of sulfur and ash- His body hung from the gallows, the mists caressing a limp cat at his feet.

Raphael vanishes in another swirl of hellfire, descending once more into Avernus.

“Well, that was definitely something.”

Astarion’s lips feel dry as he processes the information Raphael provided. The Rite of Profane Ascension. A ritual that guarantees his death, but also untold potential. Power, freedom. He could keep himself safe, could keep Tav safe.

He expects some wry comment from Tav, but silence is all that greets him. He expected a quip or two about Raphael, maybe a seething comment about the ritual and infernal contracts- not silence.

He turns and finds the party all staring at a very much catatonic Tav. Their eyes are wide and empty, distant. They see something not there and their body shakes with subtle tremors as the air swiftly begins to cool. He flinches because it doesn’t make sense. Tav is bright and shining, someone laughs at danger and taunts fate itself. But this Tav was silent, staring but not seeing.

Astarion wants to reach out, to comfort, but the look on Tav’s face has him glued to the ground. A fear, horror, but of what?

It doesn’t take long for someone to approach Tav. Gale, sweet Gale, calls to Tav and shakes their shoulder.

—————

Someone shakes their shoulder and Tav flinches back, the tadpole responding and lashing out, overwhelmed with the sudden onslaught of memories.

Flashes of manic, chanting voices calling out. “He is the ancient, he is the land.”

A land cloaked in an eternal mist

trapped. trapped- no way out.

empty husks of people walking the streets

ravens crying out in warning

a flash- Blood red eyes, long raven hair

flames eating at a burning windmill. Ye Old Bonegrinder.

the stench of death and a lich’s grin

shadowed entities glinting within the amber that traps them

and a single man, sitting atop a throne, fangs glinting in the candlelight of Castle Ravenloft.

———

The party is flooded with flashes of memories- vivid, horrifying memories. A single name echoes above it all. Strahd.

The tadpoles grip onto the name and a final memory flashes. Strahd, astride his nightmare, plunges a black longsword through their- Tav’s- back. It’s a pain unlike any other. Shadows overwhelm them, darkness taking and taking. The Blood Spear’s tries desperately to stave off the dread plane’s magic as it takes and takes and takes.

A blinding light fills the room and Tav glances back to see a blade of radiant light pierced through Strahd’s middle. Behind him, their bloodied paladin, a Banite sent to conquer but one who’d chosen to instead save, smiles weakly.

Tav whispers, a voice unfamiliar to the party but still overwhelmingly Tav’s, “We’re free.”

They’re wretched from the visions as Tav seizes on the ground, clutching their middle the same way they had in the vision- the memory.

They blink up at the others, eyes wide, as they weakly mutter, “I can explain.”

“What in the Hells was that?!” Astarion screeches. He feels the horrible, pained cries. Sees the horror wrought by a single vampire’s will. Thousands of people, of souls, trapped in a demi-plane because of a single man’s selfish wish. He could practically taste Tav’s own fear, constant, all-consuming, as Strahd played with his new toys. Monsters clawed from the shadows as the dark gods laughed.

The whole party is shaken from the whispers in their heads.

Gale weakly pipes up. “I believe we saw some… interesting memories.” Definitely interesting. Dark magic unlike anything he’s ever seen should count as interesting.

Lae’zel hisses back, “Obviously.”

Shadowheart is silent as the memory quickly passes, echoes of a familiar shadow magic fading as the images vanish.

Wyll shudders as, for a moment, his limbs are frozen. He’s the Blade of Frontiers. He’s slain devils and monsters alike, but the power of a dread lord in his own plane was nothing like he’s experienced.

Karlach surges forward to hug Tav and moves to grab the rest of the party. There’s complaints and a lot of squirming, but they all settle into the hug.

Tav, suddenly surrounded by warmth, sobs. They’re safe.

They’ll explain another time, Tav thinks as they relax into the warmth of their party.

They all understood pain, they all shared their stories, and Tav supported them all with no judgement. They’ll wait. For now, it was time to return the favor.

(Bonus:

(Astarion very pointedly tries not to stare as the memory of sweet, darling Tav killing Strahd fills his mind. Seems like the gods finally answered his prayers.

The slayer of Strahd himself, now fighting to protect him and the rest of Faerün. His heart races at the thought and yep he’s definitely in love now.)

————————-

Hello! Sorry for taking a while to post the next reveal fic. I’m not sure how I feel about this one but it’s a scenario I had drafted up already. I tried my best bur writing really isn’t my strong suit lol.

Next fic is gonna be a lot sillier.

If anyone has some reveal ideas or prompts they have, feel free to reach out!

Tag list:

@writingmysanity @furblrwurblr

[misguidedasgardian]

The White Dragon (44)

44. The Great Council

MASTERLIST

Summary: you gather a council to decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms

Pairings: main Harwin Strong x Fem!Targaryen reader

Warnings: cursing, medieval and A song of ice and Fire AU customs, injury, burns, dragon fire, death, violence, armies, death, war and all that comes with it. Might miss some warnings but you know what this is about :) 

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.333 words like WHATTTT

Notes: UUFFFF THIS IS IT PEOPLE, THE LAST ONE, I MEAN THIS ONE AND THEN THE EPILOGUE! CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT

You let yourself move at the rhythm of the maid washing you with a rough sponge, the water of the tub had already had to be changes thrice for becoming black with the remains of the dragon blood in your body

The boiling dragon blood that bathed you as your dragon slayed Aegon

The maids took the good part of an hour and the help of members of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard to remove the melted armor from your body, and then the pieces of leather that melted into your skin

But you were unharmed and your skin untarnished

While you were inside the tub, your gaze was setted in some point on the wall, trying to fit into your head everything that went down in the last 12 hours…

You watching the capital being conquered by Aegon from above

“Please raise your arms your grace”, whispered the maid and you did, she scrapped the rests of melted fabrics from under them

The adrenaline that took a hold on your body when you fought for your life

You flinched when she pulled a piece of leather from your skin, the water again was black, dark black, the smell of smoke and sulfur almost making you dizzy

Finding soldiers and civilians alike dead in the steps to the Dragonpit

The maid signaled for you to reach with your leg out of the tub, your skin still smudged with dried dragon blood

Rhaenyra was dead, and Aegon was well

That made you stand up, and wait there for them to replace the filthy water for more clean one, they were quick in their labor and you didn’t have to wait more than five minutes, to sink again in the boiling water 

Finding out that Jacaerys and Joffrey were too

Another maid washed your hair, you watched as the dried blood melted back with the water, tainting it black once more

So much darkness

Oils with scents were placed in the waters this time, the last bath this was, after other four, finally you would get dress and abandon your chambers

The toll of all the deaths in your finally make you want to sink in the bathtub

As the sweet maids cleaned the last smudged from your body, you finally felt like you could breathe again, it hurt, but you could, and that was improvement, you believed, you wanted to believe 

You didn’t know what to do now, how to proceed, you had never taken a city before, you had never witnessed the death of two monarchs in front of your eyes, you had never witnessed the deaths of so many members of your family before

What now?

But for a second you forgot about all the people in the keep, in the capital, in the Realms, from the servants to the Heads of the most important families, everyone around you

They did now what to do

As you gazed upon the outfit the maids had chosen for you to wear

it was a dark black outfit, a loose skirt boots for underneath, and a leather vest over it, the sleeves seemed to be made of scales, and the details in black leather, and a red cape fixed to the suit in a silver chain with a head of the dragon to be placed in the right side of your chest 

An outfit to mourn, to rule, to conquer

They dressed you, they braided your hair in magnificent braids, and finally you were ready

And you were ready, as the sun fell over the horizon, also did the reigns of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Aegon the Usurper

Steffon was right outside your chamber, guarding you like he always did

For a second you thought you were sixteen again…

Only for a second

He smiled softly at you, he found another white armor, that tricked you for a second

“Aren’t you tired?”, you asked him as you began your walk back to the throne room

“A bit”, he whispered, “I bet you are”, you barely smiled, “lord Cregan Stark had taken many prisoners, from the houses that supported Aegon”, he started filling you in, “the ones that won’t bend the knee to you”, you raised your eyes to his in concern

You stakes a claim to the throne, and you had won

“Where are my nephews?”, you asked, and he knew what you meant

He took you there, to the hall at the side of the throne room 

You didn’t notice when you stormed the city, but Aegon’s damage was worse than you thought

A tear fell from your eye as you saw the silent sisters preparing Jacaerys and Joffrey’s bodies

Jacaerys was slain by Aegon’s treacherous guards,as he tried to fight back to defend Rhaenyra, and Joffrey had tried to take flight on Syrax to save his mother, and the golden beast shook him off of her mid flight, he fell to his death in the streets of King’s Landing. And in another table, you didn’t even dare to look, were the remains of your sister, an arm and part of the chest… 

This was the consequences of war 

Harwin was already there, by Jace’s side, you didn’t say anything, neither did him, but you stood by his side guarding the princes’ bodies for an unknown amount of time. Until Cregan came 

“They are ready for you”, whispered Cregan sadly by your side, you turned to look at him and barely nodded, wiping the tears off your eyes

They were your nephews

Harwin stayed in the chamber, mourning the loss of his first born child, you touched his shoulder as you passed by him, he barely nodded

You are going to let him mourn, but you have a Kingdom to rule now, or rather, see who was left to rule it…

A great council has been assembled to put in order who was going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, although you had claimed it when you decided to take the city, you still did not want to impose your rule on reluctant subjects, that was going to lead to nothing

Representatives of the great families, (the ones who were not incarcerated for treason) gathered in a huge table in the throne room, as well as Rhaenyra’s acting council and those most loyal to yours

They all stood when you walked in, and you nodded acknowledging them all

“We have been discussing the line of succession, your grace”, muttered one, and his title to refer to you meant nothing, everyone in the royal House were regarded as such

“Please continue, I would like to hear what your thoughts are”, you muttered, they nodded and resumed their discussions, you took seat in the head of the table 

“Rhaenyra was the true heir”, he sentenced, you nodded, knowing this, “we, as Tyrells, the Tullys, Starks, and Arryns sentence the Rule of Aegon as null and void, and is to be known as the Usurper, your eyes went to the representatives of the Lannisters, Baratheon and Hightowers, their eyes were on the table, ashamed, but nodded nonetheless.

The representatives were now the new heads of their house, being third of fourth sons, or far off cousins from the main string of the family, but those were the ones who were going to bend the knee, and that is all that matters now 

“I’m glad to hear it”, you said firmly

“Now, we follow the line of the succession from there”, continued the same Lord, from the House Bar Emmon, from the crownlands, serving master of laws for your sister, “sadly, King consort Daemon had perished, as well as her true born heirs, Aegon and Viserys”, you nodded, “there is only Prince Lucerys left”

“We can say it freely, Rhaenyra’s three first children are bastards, her legitimate children are gone”, said another Lord, and they all hummed accordingly. Lucerys was no true son of the late Ser Laenor Velaryon, but Corlys considered him as much, and that must have counted for something 

And you voiced that outloud

“Lord Corlys had named Lucerys his heir”, you said

“The boy as well as lord Corlys are on their way here”, said Cregan

“I will offer Driftmark to him”, you whispered, “he will want to say a last goodbye to his family”

Difficult days were upon you, but they supported what you just said 

“So, Queen Rhaenyra had left this world without issue to succeed her, then, is you”, said Cregan, “you are the second born daughter of the King Viserys Taragryen and Queen Aemma Arryn”, he continued

“Hear hear!”, said a lord, and all followed

“through the line of succession, and the right of conquest, the throne is your your grace”, said the old maester

“Right of conquest? And what is that?”, you asked out loud

“You made alliances, you took the city under your yoke, it is yours, My Queen”, said the maester, and everyone again agreed

“There is one more thing left to discuss”, said Lord Lannister, always having to have some sort of control on the situation, it came with blood you thought 

“And what would that be?”, you asked, already tired of him

“When and where would you like the coronation to take place?”, he asked with a sardonic smile

And then it hit you

You were now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

You dressed in black, with red capes all week

In mourning, and in representation of your house

Your children followed your lead, but as when they were children, Maekar dressed with a Green cape, Rhaegar with a blue one, and Aemma with a red, and walked together, signaling their father’s house

You buried your families under the stones of the great sept, one day, your sister Rhaenyra, and her sons Jace and Joffrey, and the next you held court for the first time

The first one brought to you was Queen Alicent

Aemond was standing by the foot of the throne with your children, but he walked towards her and held her while she presented herself in front of you

She asked for your forgiveness, for betraying your sister, and trying to put her son on the throne, even though Rhaenyra had forgiven her, you were the one that told Aemond to release her from her golden chains

“You were the love of my father that stood by his side trough his worst and his decease, and gave him sons and a beautiful daughter, you were my friend when we ruled together as protectors of the realm, and you gave me my half siblings, you are forgiven, and I will ask of you to remain in court, or go as you please, you are here free to do as you please”, she smiled, as she held onto Aemond, and Helaena that joined you when the city was secured

The next ones to appear where Corlys, Rhaenys and Lucerys, who had reached the capital for the funeral rites, but where now presenting his respects to you

They called you their Queen, and bowed, bending the knee to you, as Rhaenys smiled warmly at you 

Lord Corlys rejected your proposition, but Rhaenys didn’t, now she was the master of ships 

The next day, you let your family, Aemond, Helaena, her children, and Alicent, to have the funeral rites for Aegon, you did not participate, but send guard to held mourning and protect them, that mourn their son, brother and father, in the sept of the Red Keep, and later buried him under it

Like it or not he was your half brother.

Your daughter accompanied her husband, and brought them moral support

And you had decisions to make

You didn’t even wanted to decide where, when and how you were going to get crowned, but rather, you had to select your small council, you had to anoint your Queensguard

They were so many things yet to do

It was overwhelming

You constantly had supper with your family and lord who were still in the capital, and then sneaked into the library to read tomes about King Aegon and King Jahaerys, the decisions they made, the way they cared for their subjects…

It was too much

Harwin had come many times to collect you as you had fallen asleep in the library over the books

And carried you to your rooms

The rooms of a princess

The chambers of the King and Queen had been used by so many people in your family, that you felt strange sleeping in them.

But Steffon, besides finding men to be a part of the Queenguard, was organizing the redecoration of the chambers, to adapt them to you

it was going to be funny, but you were to take the chambers of the King and Harwin the ones of the Queen, or vice versa

But Harwin protested and said you had been sleeping together for 20 years and he was not going to start sleeping apart now, you had to agree

Now, the council

You named Cregan your hand, who promised who was going to stay in the capital for two years, as you named Sara, his bastard sister, legitimate and as so was acting as Lady of Winterfell.

Harwin was the commander of the city watch, as he was many years ago

Rhaenys was your master of ships

Tyland Lannister came back to court, and you named him master of coins

You named the maester from Dragonstone as Grand Maester Munkun

You named lord Bar Emmon as master of laws

Of course Lord Steffon was commander of the Queensguard 

You were lacking a master of whispers, but it was not mandatory to have one. But you thought it was necessary 

The first thing you had to do was unite back the Kingdoms, so you took the vows of all the Lords, and that took whole months

Lords of all the far corners of the Kingdom were to make the journey to the capital, and all of them, may of them

asked you the same question

Who was going to succeed you?

You had many children, but it was whispered in court that the next King or Queen had to be a full blooded Targaryen, to continue the stability to the realm.

Or that is what you thought 

Many advised you to name Maekar as your heir, so one day, after you were fairly settled, you called in your three eldest children

“I don’t want to be King”, Maekar said surely, “i want to be lord of Harrenhal… that was my fate”

“I’d argue that maybe fate is for you to be King one day”, you whispered, but he shook his head

“I’ll mary Helaena, her children are the ones of Aegon, I think is best for me to step down”, you then looked at Rhaegar, who shook his head

“my duty is to my wife, and winterfell now”, he said, taking her hand, they were soon to fly to Winterfell and wed under the eyes of the Old Gods, so then you looked at Aemond and Aemma, who had their hands intertwined, and looked at each other

It was settled 

Your children were Strong and even though they could change their name, there was someone else, a Targaryen, loyal to you, and worthy of the throne…

Aemond, and Aemma, they were going to rule together, they had the strength, you knew it. 

So you asked them to go and live in Dragonstone, as Prince and Princess of Dragonstone.

The coronation day was set, the day was approaching, you wanted to wait for the people to forget and for the capital to thrive after the horrible events that occurred, but it was necessary for you to make proclamations as Queen 

IN the meantime, it was Cregan who incarcerated all the traitors, and judged them accordingly, acting as your hand

Many called it “the hour of the wolf”

The first one to go, was the man from House Royce, who had rebelled against your cousin, the lady of the Vale

His head rolled first, and many followed, even Larys Strong

you Harwin dishonored him, didn’t even buried him with his family, he let them be buried in a common ditch

You understood him, he had murdered your father in law, and effectively helped the green took the throne

Even though Rhaenyra had cleaned the court of many of the traitors, happily for you who didn't want to bathe the Keep with blood

Even Tyland, acting master of coins, was put on trial, but was spared, as he had bent the knee to you. 

Lucerys was named heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the tides and was set to marry the Lady Rhaena Targaryen, as accorded 

And it came, the day of the coronation was tomorrow, and you found yourself sipping wine in the balcony of the chambers of the King

Harwin hugged you, kissing your shoulder softly

“My Queen” 

“My King consort”, you giggled, “what have I done?”, you asked out loud, looking at the horizon

“You are to be Queen, it was your destiny”

“Perhaps I forced it, perhaps if I had made different decisions…”

“But you didn’t”, he said firmly, “it happened what it had to happen”, you only nodded, “you are tomorrow to be named Queen, and you succeeded, you won this war”

“Daeron is still at large”

“the war is over”, he whispered, “he is on his way, Stark told me this evening”, you barely nodded, “now let's get you crowned before our oldest children bare sons and daughters out of wedlock”, you giggled 

“That’s true”, you whispered

“Let’s name you Queen”, he whispered, “but first, let me have my wife”

You giggled as he grunted, grabbed you roughly and threw you to the bed. You giggled, enjoying this side of him, and he climbed up your body, discarding your night shirt and dropping kisses everywhere he could find.

it was good to know some things may ever stay the same 

. . .

You didn’t let anybody see you that morning, not your council, nor your children, nor your husband, only Aemma and serving girls were allowed in 

thye bathed you and prepared you, Aemond smiled dreamily as she helped you get dressed. It was the most magnificent dress you had ever seen, with a black background and intricate designs in rubies and gold designs over.

And you decided to wear your hair loose, for the crown to be placed over your head with only a single braid to hold it.

“You are ready mother”, Aemma whispered as she pinned the white dragon on your dress, the one you gifted your father after your travels, the sight made you smiled

“Let’s take my crown”

It was like a dream, the throne room was decorated in its entirety for white flowers, giving it a feeling like you were in the heavens 

“I present to you, Queen (y/n), of House Targaryen, the White dragon, Queen of the Andals, the Roynar and the First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm”

Said Lord Steffon out loud, you walked slowly towards the throne as he claimed all your titles, and you said when he spoke the last one.

In the throne room you recognized all the members of your family, and all the most important lords of the realms

“I crown you with the crown of King Jahaerys the conciliator, hoping it will give you wisdom”, you looked ahead as he placed the golden crown in your head

“I give you the crown of the conqueror, to give you strength to unite back the seven Kingdoms under one rule”, he said then, placing the black, heavy crown on your lap, “and the Sword Blackfyre, to give you the power to protect the realm”, he said then, taking the sword front he maester and giving it to you, you placed it by your side

“HAIL THE QUEEN!”, they chanted all, and it ricocheted all over the room, and all over the capital. 

Taglist! ❤️

@tearsarcane @integra1127 @aestmilky @thanyatargaryen @tythaitie @lostinworldofdarkness @voodoogoul @wildmindedbeauty32 @lil-pudd @alicattx @electric-bloo @astaaan-lol @stargaryenx @kaitieskidmore1 @bregarc @lilpnd @jcpenneyyy @janelei @fexibau @ladyoakenshield157 @danielle-leah1997 @lady-ragnvindr @cecilyjmorgenstern @omgsuperstarg @bugheadskid @batprincess1013 @her-fandom-sanctum @holb32 @blue1006 @stargaryenx @grippleback-galaxy @mikariell95 @genesisliveson @mendes-bae @caspianobsessed @notmundane3000 @kamisunshine @just-someone11 @ietss @joliettes @whodis-26

[empressofkingfishers]

how the Bishops handled revival

while originally they could handle their injuries as Bishops, the same cannot be said when they're "mortal" and without their crowns.

Shamura: initially unconscious upon arrival and heavily bleeding. It’s only thanks to the quick work of Kallamar (who was on his feet by then) and the healers that prevented them from dying again. Upon coming out of a fragile state they're agitated, confused and aggressive; lashing out and hurting anyone who came near them, even their own siblings. Only Witness Allocer and Kallamar handled them. Eventually they settled, which happened much quicker with Narinder by their side. On bad days they tend to lash out or have episodes similar to dementia. That's thankfully happening less and less as time goes on. Sewing and knitting calms them so that's their job.

Kallamar: woke up and was unable to stand up straight and walk properly due to the damage to his ears. Eventually he succumbed to illness due to having a weakened immune system (he always had a weak one before the Blue Crown chose him.) Saleos mostly took care of him with Narinder helping. He had to be taught sign language for days when there's a lot of noise (think festivals). [Sign language is taught to many of the cultists. they may be a cult but they ARE inclusive!] Mostly avoids Narinder and tries not to catch Lamb's eye. Lives with Saleos (he was the youngest of Kallamar's disciples so he out lived Haborym and Baalzebub.) Will fall sick easily when there's sickness around, so as a healer he focuses his expertise on common colds (which he has an easier time shaking off) and physical injuries.

Heket: was choking on her blood when she awoke, would have died from blood loss had the healers not stepped in quick enough. Because of her ripped throat Heket was unable to eat food for several days, which was agony for her. All she could 'eat' was the water and thin broth the healers dripped into her mouth. Narinder and Leshy stayed by her side as she slowly recovered. Struggles to talk due to physical trauma so she had to be taught sign language to speak. She's a decent cook.

Leshy: was bleeding from his eyes but wasn't in any danger of dying. Was a pain in the ass for the healers however, he didn't make things easier with his wriggling and cursing. Once the pain eased, however, he calmed down and took his current situation well. It helped that Narinder kept him company. Occasionally uses a cane when there's crowds, more structures built, etc. Other than that he can get around just fine using the vibrations in the earth to help guide him. Is a farmer but does bartend on occasion.

TL;DR-

Shamura: where am I? i'm scared i'm angry i'm going to rip someone's arm off if they come near me where is my cat

Kallamar: oh my god i've been puking for five days straight and my head feels like it's spinning

Heket: (sad dying frog noises as her stomach growls)

Leshy: y'know I kinda like it here.

[kiwinatorwaffles]

private detective gem tasey - chapter 1: rotten eggs and letter threats

10 months of planning later, my hermitcraft detective au is has finally begun!

Genre: Mystery Chapter 1 word count: 3,905 Characters (in chapter): Gem, Pearl, Iskall, Stress, Keralis, Skizz, Xisuma, Evil X

Summary:

“Flooding in factories, arson, machinery breaking, and threatening letters to Mayor Goodwin written with a typewriter,” X explains as he lays out the correspondence before Gem. “And now, the sulfur you found. There is something happening in this city, yet the mayor won’t listen to me.” Picking up one letter in the stack of dozens, Gem skims through the writing and grimaces at the threats of overthrowing the mayor. “Is he simply ignoring these threats? Either he’s confident in his position, or he just doesn’t read these letters at all…” X nods solemnly. “It is both. The mayor is the type of person to not believe the rivers are polluted until they’ve turned black. And that is why, Detective, I need you to get to the bottom of this case.”

In which private detective Gem Tasey embarks on what starts as a normal small job, and it spirals into a case of codes, threats, and domestic terrorism. With a search full of red herrings and wild goose chases, cracking the mystery will be difficult — but at least she has her best friend Pearl Moon and the mayor’s secretary Sullivan Ximenes on her side!

[underratedcockblock769]

Submission - Zalgo!Shanx AU Mini Fic

Trigger Warning!!!: Religious subtext, possible dubcon/coersion, blood

My hands clenched tightly to one another in front of me, fingers threaded together so tight I had long lost circulation in them. My knees and legs ached, joints stiff and sore against the hard stone of the floor, my head bowed and forehead pressed to my folded hands. I could hear my own pitiful, strangled gasps echoing in my cell, bouncing off the cold walls right back into my ears. The Dark Ones voice shushed me, cooing softly as a white-hot talon dragged against the exposed skin of my back, carving deep into my flesh and scraping against bone. 

“𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦,” he whispered, his voice crawling across my skin and rumbling inside my skull. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

Sickly pride welled in my chest despite my agony, hot tears slipping down my cheeks. I clenched my jaw, nodding obediently and burying my face into the warm, clawed hand that came up to cradle my cheek. Again he moved his talon, and again I could hear my own whimpers echoing in the oppressive darkness. 

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.”

“I’ll be.. I’ll be of much use to you..” 

My mouth and throat were dry, my words clumsy on my tongue as I spoke, though to no will of my own. His talon curved down my back, stopping right where he had started with a satisfied sigh. His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping the tears from my face and watching them sizzle and evaporate against his being. I could hear him speaking, his words reverberating around the room and through every limb, his words foreign and long forgotten by mankind. 

The blood pooled beneath me and around my legs bubbled and blackened, and I could feel as it clung to my limbs and climbed my body, leaving trails of sin and agonizing sorrow as it made its way back to whence it came. It burned icy cold as it crept and slithered back into me, bile rising in my throat and goosebumps breaking out across my skin. I gagged, dry heaving and coughing at the feeling as The Dark Ones hand left my cheek, his eldritch words growing louder as my flesh stitched itself back together, the familiar itch almost comforting to me. 

A burning hand pressed flush against my healing wound as he fell silent, a scream ripping from my throat before it was forcefully closed, mouth slamming shut against my will. I could feel His presence, almost suffocating me in the confines of my tiny cell, and feel his prideful gaze on my new mark. I heard him shift, heat enveloping my body as he neared. He cooed gently, bloodied claws carefully brushing my hair from my face and wiping tears from my cheeks, streaking my skin with blood. My blood. He withdrew a hand, the other gently cradling my jaw in his palm. 

The sudden smell of sulfur overwhelmed me, a hand tilting my head back and my mouth opening. Liquid fire dripped from his palm, black as night and vile as sin, but I couldn’t stop myself as his hand pressed against my lips. My eyes rolled back into my skull, body melting into his as he pulled me closer, and I drank, shuddering and delirious in his hold with my hands still clasped tightly in front of me. Unconsciousness crept upon me with soft whispers, The Dark One pulling his palm from my lips. He seemed pleased, his burning gaze staring down at me in his hands. I was powerless. But I was His. He gently lowered me down, placing my head upon my torn shirt that lay discarded on the floor. His voice was low when he finally spoke again, but stronger now and gentle. 

“𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello everyone! Made another fic (obviously), but this one is an AU Fic for Shanx! I'm toying with an AU where he serves under Zalgo, and maybe I'll add on to that if you guys enjoy it! Just let me know! Love you guys!

[doublejango]

for @helluvaoutlaw for our post-Ghostf**kers AU. sorry for always being so dang slow, am working through my drafts, finally feels like progress has been made!

Being down in Wrath always left Blitz torn between feeling on edge and ridiculously cheerful. He knew he shouldn't love it here--the residents tended to be some of the most heavily armed in all of Hell, and were always more than ready to use those weapons, and their lifetimes of expertise--but still. There was just something about it down here that always felt good. Maybe it was the warmth in the air--weather really just couldn't get too hot for Blitz--or maybe it was the sweetness of the lava and the sulfur, how fresh they left everything smelling, but whatever it was? It was wonderful down here. He loved the rocks, the tumbleweeds, loved the horses, the beasts, loved the imps, loved all of it...

And having fought his way through three towns hundreds of miles apart to get here, to a town where it was rumored that Striker might, might be spending his evenings as of late? Blitz was in the highest spirits he'd had in a while. All of that violence, the risk, the danger, and the ultimate risk of coming face to face with that bastard of a badass? Whether or not Striker accepted the proposal Blitz was going to make almost didn't matter, because just being down here had been damn well enjoyable enough.

The saloon doors creaked as he pushed them open and the floorboards sounded brittle, old, and hollow as he walked over to the bar.

The bartender gave Blitz a brief looking over, taking in his physique and his clothes--he had dressed down for the occasion, in tattered old black clothing that fit him like a second damn skin--and the gleam of pleasure in his eyes, the bruises to his face, the split lip, and snorted in quiet derision as Blitz sat down.

"What?" Blitz asked. "Don't think I can handle him? I mean, I figure you all know who I'm here for. Word travels faster than strangers, right?"

"Him?" She chuckled, pouring Blitz a whiskey and sliding it over. "Darlin, if you come here to hurt one of our own, it ain't just Striker you'll have to reckon with. It'll be all of us. First one's on the house. Man deserves to be bought a drink if he's walkin' to his own death."

Blitz grinned, picking up the glass, and toasted her with it. "Guess it's a good thing I'm here to offer him a job, then."

The bartender just shook her head, unimpressed, and turned away to go clean a nonexistent spot a little farther on down the bar.

Blitz settled in to wait.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 7, 15 février 1902, Paris. No. 1. — Deux toilettes pour jeune femme et enfant. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Toilette élégante pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en drap satin soufre. Jupe plissée, cerclée au milieu par un entre-deux de grosse guipure, fileté d'un étroit velours noir. Corsage plissé; boléro de grosse guipure sur transparent blanc, souligné d'un velours noir. Manche courte, évasée en guipure sur la manche froncée dans un poignet de velours. Ceinture de velours. Le boléro est attaché devant par un pendentif de fantaisie.

(1) Elegant ensemble for young women or girls, in sulfur satin sheet. Pleated skirt, encircled in the middle by a thick guipure insert, threaded with narrow black velvet. Pleated bodice; Large guipure bolero on transparent white, highlighted with black velvet. Short sleeve, flared in guipure on the sleeve gathered in a velvet cuff. Velvet belt. The bolero is attached in front with a fancy pendant.

Matériaux: 5m,25 de drap; guipure en laize.

—

(2) Robe pour fillette de 5 à 6 ans, en lainage pieux rose; forme droite, plissée à plis piqués; boléro orné de piqûres, avec grand col de drap blanc rayé de petits velours alternés noirs et gris. Manche froncée dans un poignet de guipure; col rabattu en guipure.

(2) Dress for girls aged 5 to 6, in pink pious wool; straight shape, pleated with quilted pleats; bolero decorated with stitching, with large collar of white cloth striped with small alternating black and gray velvets. Sleeve gathered into a guipure cuff; guipure turn-down collar.

Matériaux: 2m,50 de lainage; 0m,20 de drap blanc.