#femininity is a blood stained grace

[lumioluna]

everything is okay and all is fine today. my uterus is chomping on itself from the inside. i got teary on my way home. everything's groovy.

[misswynters]

Fighting fire

vi x fighter!reader

synopsis. Reigning from the depths of noxus, you were known for your quick reflexes and heavy punches. But on the outside you were the opposite, who knew you would crumble for zauns gaunlet fighter.

warnings. heavy kissing, touching, grinding (changed by the dialogue because apparently it’s too cringey…)

Chains hung from the ceiling, and the faint scent of sweat and blood lingered. The underground fighting ring in Zaun was alive with energy, a cacophony of roaring spectators, the clinking of glasses, and the heavy bass of music vibrating through the air. The ring itself was lit harshly, casting long shadows over the surrounding stands.

You stood in the center of it all, your body practically gleaming under the lights. The crowd erupted as the announcer bellowed your name, their cheers a testament to your reputation. A fighter from Noxus, famed for your ruthless precision and surprising elegance in battle. Your crimson wraps and black leather gloves were stained with traces of past victories, your feminine features at odds with the dangerous gleam in your eyes.

Across from you, Vi leaned casually against the ropes, a grin tugging at her lips. Her vibrant pink hair was damp from her earlier match, her toned arms crossed over her chest. She looked completely at ease, like this was just another brawl in a long string of fights.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you, sweetheart?” Vi called, her voice dripping with cocky bravado.

You smirked, adjusting the wraps on your wrists. “You talk big for someone about to eat the my fist.” The crowd roared as the bell clanged, signaling the start of the match.

The fight was intense. Vi’s punches came in heavy and fast, each swing of her fists a calculated attempt to knock you off balance. But you were quicker, ducking and weaving around her attacks with a grace that belied your power.

“You’re fast,” Vi grunted as you slipped past her jab, landing a swift kick to her side.

“Oh please, you’re predictable,” you shot back, your voice edged with amusement.

Vi laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine despite the situation. “You’ve got a mouth on you. I like it.”

The fight raged on, sweat dripping down your brow as the crowd screamed for blood. Every hit you landed made the crowd gasp; every blow Vi blocked sent cheers ringing through the arena. It was a clash of two forces, your elegant but deadly style against her raw, unrelenting power. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw your opening. Vi hesitated for a split second, just enough for you to sweep her legs out from under her. She hit the mat hard, and before she could recover, you pinned her down, your knee pressing into her chest. The crowd erupted into chaos as the announcer declared you the winner.

Vi groaned beneath you, her chest rising and falling heavily. “Alright, you’ve got me,” she said, a crooked grin spreading across her face. “Didn’t think a pretty thing like you could take me down.”

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “You've underestimated me, big mistake.” Not even five minutes later, you and Vi were in the back corridor, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The adrenaline from the fight still thrummed through your veins, making every touch, every glance feel electric.

Vi leaned against the cold, metal wall, her gaze fixed on you. There was something primal in her eyes, a hunger that mirrored the heat coursing through your body. “You are truly something else,” she murmured, her voice low and rough.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against her jawline. “You’re not too bad yourself.” Before you could say anything more, Vi grabbed your wrist, pulling you flush against her. Her lips crashed against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through her hair as your bodies pressed together. Her hands found your waist, gripping tightly as if she was afraid you’d slip away.

“Vi,” you whispered agaisnt her lips, your hands trailing down her chest. You could feel her ab muscles beneath her shirt. She growled softly, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re gonna drive me insane, you know that?”

You smirked, pulling her back up to meet your gaze. “Good.”

The corridor felt too small, the air too thick as the two of you lost yourselves in each other. Vi’s hands were everywhere—on your hips, your back, the curve of your thighs. She kissed you like she was trying to devour you, her touch rough but careful, like she couldn’t get enough.

“You’re trouble,” she muttered against your lips, her hands slipping under your shirt to brush against your bare skin.

“And you love it,” you shot back, your voice a mix of teasing and desire.

Vi chuckled, the sound low and vibrating through your chest. “Damn right I do.”

Her lips curved into a slight smirk, her hands drifting down your sides, pulling you closer. Her touch was like fire against your skin, sending shivers through you. As you kissed again, slow this time, you could feel the walls around both of you begin to crumble. There was no more hesitation, no more fighting the connection that had always been there.

She took your hand and led you towards the bathroom, her touch still fierce and demanding, but there was something else there, something softer now. When the door clicked shut behind you, the world outside seemed to disappear. All that existed was the two of you in that tiny, dimly lit space. Its only light coming from a small overhead fixture that cast long shadows across the tiled walls. The air was thick with the scent of your shared adrenaline from the fight just moments ago, and the sound of your hurried breaths was the only noise that filled the room. The world outside the bathroom felt miles away, as if you and Vi were in your own little bubble, cocooned from everything else.

Vi stood before you, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her face flushed with exertion, her blue eyes darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. She wasn't the type to show weakness, but in the silence between you both, you could feel her yearning, the hunger in the way she looked at you.

Her hands moved slowly at first, cautiously as if unsure of how to proceed. Then, without warning, she pressed herself into you, her body flush against yours as she kissed you with an urgency that made your heart race. There was nothing tentative about it— her lips were fierce, demanding, yet soft as they moved against yours. You gasped, feeling the heat of her body seeping through your clothes, her hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer, the contact sending a spark through every inch of your body.

Her breath was hot against your lips as she pulled away just enough to speak. "You're driving me insane," she muttered, her voice rough but filled with an undeniable tenderness. "You're so damn beautiful."

You could hardly breathe, the way she was looking at you, the way her touch was both possessive and gentle, it was enough to leave you trembling. You didn't know if it was the heat of the moment, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, or the way Vi had always made you feel so alive, but every inch of you was drawn to her like a magnet.

"I-Vi..." you barely managed to say, but before you could finish, she was kissing you again, her lips moving with desperation as she pressed you harder into the sink behind you. The cool porcelain of the sink contrasted sharply with the warmth of her body, and you let out a shaky breath as she deepened the kiss, her hand moving to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair to hold you firmly in place. Her other hand slid to your waist, gripping it tightly, almost as if she were trying to hold you together as she kissed you breathless.

When she finally pulled away again, it was only to speak, her voice hushed but commanding. "Turn around," she murmured, the soft command making your pulse quicken. There was something in her tone that left no room for argument, and you obeyed without hesitation, turning towards the dirty bathroom mirror.

Vi's hands were on your waist again, her fingertips tracing the curve of your hips before pulling you back against her with a gentle force. Her chest pressed against your back, the heat of her body surrounding you. She kissed the back of your neck slowly, savoring the way your skin shivered beneath her touch, before her lips moved to your earlobe, biting it softly. You gasped at the sensation, your body already burning with desire, and you could feel Vi's smirk against your skin.

She kissed her way down your neck, her lips leaving a trail of warmth that sent jolts of pleasure straight through you. Her hands moved, pulling you tighter against her, her body solid and unyielding behind you, trapping you against the sink. The feeling of her hips pressed flush against yours made your breath catch in your throat, your hands gripping the cold edge of the sink, your knuckles turning white from the pleasure as you fought to keep yourself steady.

"Oh, the things you do to me," Vi muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, but the raw hunger in her tone sent a ripple through you. You could barely think straight, her kisses driving you wild. Each soft press of her lips, each subtle movement of her hands against your body, pushed you further into a haze of longing. She started to grind her hips against yours pushing you deeper towards the sink. You bit your lip to suppress the whimpers that wanted to escape, but Vi seemed to sense your restraint, her hand moving to your waist, urging you to relax, to give in. Thinking that this might leave bruises on your hips after this.

"You don't have to hold back," she whispered against your skin, her voice like velvet but laced with a demand. "Let go."

The command in her voice was enough to break the final threads of resistance you had left. You let your body lean back into hers, your fingers slipping from the sink to grip her arm as she continued her slow, heated assault on your neck. The connection between you both felt electric, undeniable. "I've wanted this y’know," you whispered, barely able to form the words between the heat of her kisses. "I've wanted you."

Vi's lips paused for just a moment, her breath hot against your skin. She pulled back just enough to look at you in the mirror, her eyes intense, the soft flicker of vulnerability shining through her usual tough demeanor. "Yeah?" she said, her voice quiet, but the sincerity in it made your heart skip.

"You have no idea how much l've wanted you too." The two of you stood there, breaths mingling, bodies pressed together in a delicate, fragile moment that was almost too perfect to be real. It was raw, it was real, and it was all-consuming. Vi, with her usual bravado, was suddenly laid bare before you, and it only made you want her more.

Later, as the two of you finally stepped out of the bathroom and back into the lively chaos of the fighting ring, the crowd seemed to part around you. Some people stared, their gazes lingering on the two of you. Others smirked knowingly, exchanging whispers.

Vi slipped her arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re gonna get me into trouble,” she said, though there was no trace of regret in her voice.

“Good,” you replied, resting your head against her shoulder.

The night stretched on, the fight long forgotten in the wake of what had come after. You’d never imagined finding someone like Vi—a woman who could match your strength, your fire. Someone who made you feel seen, wanted, loved.

And as you walked through the ring together, the roar of the crowd fading into the background, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

banner: @anitalenia

[blushlambs]

telling best friend!patrick that he’s easy. you’ve seen how he acts around a pretty woman, how many girls he has hooked up with at parties this summer alone. you aren’t shaming him—just telling the truth.

but patrick insists that he’s not. girls flock to him and it’s not his fault.

so you bet him you can make him fold, which, ironically, makes his cock twitch. what are you talking about, you’re his best friend. he can acknowledge that you’re gorgeous, but he’s never really seen you in a sexual way.

until you start wearing short shorts and even shorter skirts. string bikinis with thong bottoms that have stains from the cherry popsicles you suck by his pool.

he lasts three days before he’s begging to fuck you.

(patrick having a girl best friend just makes so much sense)

you never meant to seduce patrick; it wasn’t in your character to torment a man, let alone your best friend, for your own pleasure. yet, in a fit of competitive spirit, you had made a bet with yourself that you could make him crave you, scratch the primal itch in his brain to prove he wanted to fuck you. was it a crime for a sweet girl to be curious?

this newfound desire had manifested while you were both sprawled across your bed one night. he was spending the week at your house while attending a nearby tennis camp, insisted it was much closer to your place than his. you lay flat on your stomach, legs kicking in the air rhythmically as you twirled your hair. you were very stereotypically feminine, yet patrick had always treated you like a boy. he spoke to you as if you were one too, constantly updating you on the girls he had fucked or was planning on fucking. that drove you insane.

“be honest, patrick. you know you’re a slut, a textbook manwhore.” you tease, nudging his side playfully. he gives you a feigned pout, clutching his chest dramatically. “bite me.” you grimace at his theatrics. “as if. i’d probably catch something, you’d fuck anything that breathes.”

“that’s not true. i wouldn’t fuck you,” he retorted with a smirk, leaning in closer to gauge your reaction. he anticipated another biting remark, a sharp retort to rile him up. that’s what he hoped for. yet, you remained serene, a subtle smile gracing your lips as you locked eyes with him, a playful glint igniting within your gaze. he knew his confidence was faltering when he felt his cock twitch. you were going to make him eat his words, and eat his words, he did. you made his life a living nightmare. once the challenge was set, it became a game for you, a test of your own abilities and his resistance.

it began innocently, with you waking up in nothing but his t-shirt that morning, the very one he planned to wear to camp that day - how coincidental! throughout the day, he couldn't escape the lingering scent of your sweet perfume, mixed with the natural pheromones that had infused the fabric. the image of you from the previous night with your doe-eyed stare and smug smile was imprinted in his mind. you were responsible for his weak game that day, the reason why his coach pulled him off the court for being distracted.

things only escalated further after camp when he found you lounging by your pool, sun-kissed tits oiled up in a delicate, frilled bikini. his blood ran cold when he caught sight of you licking a cherry ice pop, the juice dripping from chin onto your chest. he understood the game you were playing, and with each encounter, each strategically placed temptation, the tension between you intensified. you knew he was falling for your devices when he tactically avoided your invitation to join you.

you presume he finds your teasing uncomfortable, feel cruel for subjecting him to temptation. that is until you hear him groaning into his pillow that night, combined with the slick sound of his saliva as he coats his cock erratically. he wrestles with conflicting emotions, feeling perverted for preying on his best friend. yet, it’s your fault for provoking him. it’s your fault that he’s stroking himself raw to the sight in those little shorts that you have provided for him, from above his air mattress. it’s your fault patrick zweig wants to shove his cock inside the only girl he cared about enough not to fuck.

the final breaking point came on the last day of camp, when you appeared at his final match, sitting in the front row clad in a tiny skirt. it was too small for you, hugging your curves tightly under the blistering sun, causing you to fidget restlessly throughout the game. you found yourself crossing and uncrossing your legs frequently, much to patrick's annoyance as he catching glimpses between your thighs. you came to his game wearing no. fucking. panties.

it’s safe to say patrick lost miserably, which put him in an awful mood. before you can console him for his loss, he grabs your wrists and forces you into a corner of the locker room. “are you done whoring yourself out yet? whatever point you’re trying to prove to yourself has been proven.” you felt a surge of adrenaline mixed with unease at his sudden aggression. “and what would that be, patrick? that you want to fuck me?” you smirk cautiously, tilting your head to meet his intense gaze.

"you think this is some kind of game?" he growls, his voice low and raspy. you don’t falter, maintaining your defiant smirk. "isn't it? you've been playing your part perfectly."

“where did this little attitude come from, huh? you know you’ve been driving me crazy all week and now you’re acting like you don’t want me.”

“i made a stupid bet with myself, patrick. it doesn’t mean i actually want you to fuck me.”

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [8]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - 4.8k words

Your hunter isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.  

He’s not subtle, when his blackened lids droop heavy over his burrowing glare, shifting from disdain to a dark hunger; potent enough to taste, hot and salty. When he adjusts his position in his seat, mammoth thighs spread in egotism, as he bucks his pelvis and leans back to find greater comfort while he indulges in the sight of you. When he sucks his teeth in feigned contempt at your proposition, masquerading as a stoic hunter only interested in the kill – and not the kind that plays with his food.  

The atmosphere between his body and yours has suddenly become heavy. Warm and dense. Weighed down by some mutual cognisance, the sudden awareness that you can read the animal instinct that runs through his mind, and he yours. You feel it in your chest. 

It was a quick and sore distraction, at least, from the revelation of your husband’s true nature. You knew of his tendencies, you caught wind of his exploits. Had some vague understanding that it was illegal, that it operated in the shadows – but you had convinced yourself his money was plucked from deserving pockets. That his industry only stained white collars.  

You’ve been blind. Too focused on the only little world he granted you, your glittering snowglobe, uncaring and uninterested in what he had to do to afford you. But, to give yourself grace, what could you have done?  

Your husband was a smart man. Shrewd. Cunning. There were no feminine wiles you could have employed, no means to mould nor manipulate him, beyond a request for a newer sports-car or a softer mink coat. There was a prescribed window within which you could operate, only a few strings you could pull. To venture outside would have been to seek dire punishment.  

And now he’s dead. Not smart enough to avoid that, was he?  

Whatever love you once felt for him, whatever twisted desperation you had mistaken as affection, has soured into bile. Any fond memory now mutated into some depraved reproduction, ugly and horrid.  

Now, you’re forced to face whatever pitiful life might await you. You’re forced to wonder whether or not he wrote you into his will, left anything in your name for you to survive on – and after his tirade of bitter abuses leading up to his unceremonious death, you sincerely doubt it.  

What is there left for you? 

You truly, truly, have nothing. Not even the faint optimism that you have at least experienced love and luxury in your short and bitter life. All has been tainted. Nothing sacred remains.  

So what now is there left to do but to entertain your abductors? To oblige whatever use they have for you? The only alternative is to give up and await your execution. If it gets to that, you hope it’s quick.  

Not ready to die yet, though, you decide to entertain him.  

“What use, then,” you utter, barely louder than a whisper.  

He leers at you through the shadowed pits of his mask. Dark eyes sharper than piercing bullets, they fire at you, warm the areas of your body that they linger on. Clouded and distant, plainly distracted. 

You know what he’s distracted by. You could see, feel him undressing you through his glare alone. 

He bounces his knee, crosses his arms. Impatient, is he?  

Maybe he just needs you to offer one more time. Give him one more excuse.  

Why are you considering it so heavily? 

“Do you want to go home, Mia?” There’s a thickness in his tone. Not a sincere offer. You foretell a catch.  

The image slithers back to you of that convulsing sentry, choking on his own foaming blood, pleading wordlessly for you to put him down. Just as vivid and squelching as when you had been confronted by it in the bowels of your mansion.  

“There’s too much blood to clean up,” you breathe, staring absently into the floor. 

“To England,” he clarifies through his jaw, “back to Nottingham.” 

Your heart skips. Rush of air escapes your lungs. He notices, quickly, he tilts his head as though to analyse your reaction.  

“You’d like that, eh?”  

Tongue is too heavy. Thoughts indecipherable. Fly through your mind in a blinding, strobing picture show. You hadn’t been home since you were a teenager. Can’t even remember the name of the street you lived on, wouldn’t want to if you could.  

“I…” you hesitate, “I don’t have a passport.” 

“We can get you a passport.” 

Through teeth. “How.” 

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grumbles, a slight roll of his eyes. “We can.” 

You bite the gummy inside of your lip, hoping you split the flesh; suckling at it for some comfort, maybe to pacify yourself for a moment of jittery contemplation. 

“For what,” you ask eventually, voice shaky. 

Fingers interwoven apathetically; he seems to ponder for a moment before he speaks.  

“You’re an asset,” he grunts, tone cold. “A valuable one.”   

You clench your jaw. “What, is it Victor’s money you want?” 

He almost chuckles at that, a huff of disdain. “No. I want the man who helped him get it.”  

“Who?” 

He pauses, tense and fuming, leans forward.  

“Vladimir Makarov.”  

Him again.  

The blood in your swollen head drains out through your neck at his mention. Fills your lungs, thick and dark, plugs your trachea and prevents you from sucking down another breath.  

Ever-observant, he sees that, too. “Familiar, is he?” 

A slow nod is the only answer you muster.  

“How familiar?”  

“Enough,” you croak.  

He squints, dissatisfied. Leans back in his seat. “Gonna need more than that.”  

“You already know who he is. You already know what he does.” You spit, but the quiver in your voice betrays you.  

“There's only so much intel we can get by drone or spy,” he disputes, a severity woven through his words. You can see his fuse burning short. “You know him personally, don’t you?”  

A second to breathe. Two. His questioning, his presence, is suffocating. You stare knives into the floor, wrestling with an amorphous terror that you fail to conceal behind your cracking veneer of bravery.  

He shifts forward slowly, a prowl. Hunting. “Don’t you?”  

“I don’t... I don’t know him well,” you breathe. “He worked with Victor. That’s all I know.”  

“Careful, Mia,” he murmurs, bitter and aggravated. “Don’t lie to me.” 

 You swallow quietly. “He, um. He visited the house a lot.”  

“For what.”  

“Victor would have him over for, for meetings. Not just Vladimir, other men too. But he, uh, he made himself at home. I think he worked more closely with Victor than the others, though. Victor didn’t like him.”  

“They didn’t get on?”  

Cautiously shaking your head, you keep your eyes glued to him. “They were professional. I don’t... I don’t know the details. Victor never said so, um, but I could tell. He would always be in a shittier mood when they had to work together.”  

Riley licks his teeth, crosses his arms as he chews on his next question. “What about you,” he grumbles. “What did you think of him.”  

“He...” you hesitate, glower darting away from him, you stare into the fluorescent bar above him. “I didn’t like him either.”  

“You spoken to him?”  

He must be able to see your shakiness, your jittery disposition, as you bite words out like they’re too thick to fit in your mouth, burn your tongue. “I avoided it.”  

“But you did.”  

An anxious sigh escapes you. “Yes.”  

“Civil?”  

“I was polite,” you murmured. “I was always polite. I had to be.”  

“What’d he think of you?”  

You chew your tongue. Pick at your fingernails almost viciously enough to draw blood. “I don’t think he thought of me at all.”  

Again, he bounces his knee. Fuse burns shorter. “Am I going to have to show you what happens when you lie, Mia?”  

“No–” you squeak, hands landing flat on your knees as if you had been called to attention. “I – I’m sorry. I... he, uh. As far as I could tell he didn’t dislike me. He – he would’ve... he would’ve made it known if he disliked me.”  

“How so?”  

“He has a... a short temper.”  

“He would’ve hurt you?” 

Your jaw tightens, stare at him not breaking. “What do you want me to do,” you utter through your teeth. “Why are you asking me about him.”  

He tilts his head, as though in thought. “I want a quid pro quo.”  

“What’s the quo,” you shiver. 

“You’re going to host your husband’s wake,” he insists, stern as if reminding you that you have no say in your fate. “And you’re going to invite him. All of them.”  

You fall silent. Fall still. Heart thunders in your chest, it aches hot with exertion. You shake your head cautiously, a reflex. “No.”  

Refusal hurtles from your throat with an intensity that startles you; by turn a plea and an avowal.  

“No?” He snarls, a quirk of his head – you’re yet unsure if you had surprised him or infuriated him.  

“No – I – I can’t,” you stammer, vigorously shaking your head in dispute. “I can’t.”  

He scoffs. “You don’t have a choice.”  

Hands grip the edge of the mattress you sit on, bunching the foam in claws, white knuckles, you hyperventilate so vigorously that you feel yourself spinning. “I can’t. They – you don’t understand. They’re–” 

“You know what’ll happen to you,” He growls, suddenly seethingly aggravated. “If you don’t cooperate.” 

Through sore tears you scowl, lips curling, betraying the thunderstorm of turmoil behind them – terror, anguish, fury.  

“There is nothing, nothing you can do to me that could be worse than what they will do. Nothing,” you seethe, enervated voice shaky and pitiful. “They... without Victor, they’ll...” 

“Think you’ll be spared anything here?”  

Through a laboured breath, flared nostrils, a tear trickles into the corner of your mouth, salty on your tongue. “You’re not the one I’m scared of.”  

“That’s a mistake,” he fumes, as he stands up from his seat – stalks towards you slow. Threatening. “I don’t keep prisoners, Mia. If you’re not useful, you’re deadweight.”  

Looking down on you menacingly, he hangs his burly arms by his side. They twitch, he stretches out his fingers before clenching them into fists; a warning. A reminder of how they can hurt you. “I’ll kill you myself.”  

Steadfast, you don’t shift as you glare up at him; boring into those dark eyes, pools of black tar in the darkness cast by his shadow.  

“Then kill me,” you croak. “I’d be better off dead.”  

Ghost lights himself a cigarette the second he barges out of your cell, catching glimpse of you through the miniscule steel-mesh window in the door. You lie down on the deteriorated mattress, curl up, face the wall like you can hide there.  

Better off dead.  

Maybe you’re right.  

He’s well aware of what fate will befall you if he doesn’t put a bullet in your head. Even honourable soldiers will inevitably seek the warmth and comfort they can take from you. Will use you to sate their hunger after weeks, months, of fighting in the barren snow and washing off the indelible blood.  

You think you’re safer here, cooped up in a locked cell, out of reach; than back in the anarchy of your Russian circle of warlords. Here you’re surrounded by the gun-wielding puppets of powerful governments. But their laws won’t protect you. Not here. Nothing will.  

He’ll give you time to think it over. Let you come to your senses.  

Because he’d prefer not to kill you. Not out of any particular compassion, he tells himself, not because he would find it difficult to do so. No, instead, because he had been the one to suggest your abduction at all. The others would have left you amongst the strewed corpses of your guards. Would’ve shot you dead if you screamed too loud. That likely would’ve been the more altruistic approach, but Ghost knew you were not an innocent bystander. Knew you’d serve a valuable purpose.  

Now your value is running thin.  

Yet as he saunters down the empty hallway, to the beating echoes of his boots on vinyl-coated concrete, the image of you persists in tormenting him. The glint of your lips, the sheen of your cheeks, damp with fear and sweat. The strain of the fine tendons in your neck as you draw in your careful breaths. The lilt of your depleted voice, hoarse, pleading.  

Still he stares ahead as if he can see you there, standing winsomely in the tunnel; still he glowers at you with a ravening appetite, far beyond his control. 

Could you read his mind?  

He had seen you shift edgily. Lips part in apprehension. Knees press together. Fingernails dig into your thighs and inflict little red moons in their wake.  

Could you feel his hunger?  

He hopes you couldn’t. Hopes you can’t. Hates you for having any sway on him, for coaxing out whatever fucking animal sits behind his teeth and leers at you so shamelessly. Hates himself for losing his grip.  

Swirling the bitter smoke in his empty mouth, letting it pour from his nostrils, he marches to the gear room to grab his Goretex snow jacket. Needs to get some air. Needs the winter dawn to cool the burning heat that swells in the back of his neck.  

He’s out there for an hour. Silently thankful nobody bothers him, as he tucks himself against a wall near the back of the maze-like concrete compound. He sucks down three Russian cigarettes in his solitude, exerting every effort to focus on the war, the objectives, the strategies, the orders – and not you.  

After a long while, once the encroaching sun licks the sky a deep shade of lilac from behind the black horizon, he eventually cools off. Whatever flare had overwhelmed him finally settling into a simmer he can for now keep a handle on.  

So he heads to the Captain.  

Not sure yet what he’ll report to him. Admit that he has failed to convince you? That the very thought of you has infected him like some encephalitic disease, eating away at his mind from the inside out? 

He pushes down the rattling door handle and storms into Price’s makeshift office without knocking. Ghost doesn’t knock. He enters with impatience.  

“Fuck – Simon,” Price barks, startled by the Lieutenant’s arrival. He stands at his desk, leaning over a fraying map. “Y’really are a fuckin’ ghost, eh?”  

“She refused,” Ghost declares in a growl, curt and frustrated.  

“’Course she did,” the Captain dismisses uninterestedly, turning to lean on the edge of the desk.  

Crossing arms over his chest, Ghost licks his teeth. “She’ll change her mind,” he shrugs. “Give ‘er a couple days o’ this place, she’ll change it.”  

“We don’t have days, Simon.”  

“Then what’s your suggestion.”  

Price lets out a crude chuckle. “Graves had a couple.”  

Ghost grits his teeth. “What?”  

“Y’know the yanks,” the Captain snorts, “definitely their area of expertise.”  

“The fuck are you talking about.”  

“He said he could convince her,” he shrugs.  

Jaw clenches to the point of ache. “You know what that fuckin’ means, don’t you.”  

Price curls his lips into a thin line under the shadow of his beard. The same sort of expression that always betrays his own reluctance to do what he calls the dirty work. To the Captain it’s rational. Any cruelty is allowed when the ends justify the means. Pretends he’s too moral for filth even when he finds such humour in it. No, he can orchestrate the savagery, shift the pawns around on the board, so long as he needn’t witness it.   

“Frankly, Simon, I don’t give a shit what it means,” he grumbles, “if we get a spy out of her, doesn’t matter to me what it takes.” 

“Not like you to abide rape and torture, captain,” Ghost seethes, venom slick and pointed in his throat. 

“Mh, well, you made sure we had no other option when you shot her fucking husband.”  

“Piss off. He wasn’t gonna give us anything and you know it.” 

“You got cocky, Simon, that’s what happened,” the Captain chides, irritation flushing warm in his once jovial cheeks. “Happy to pull the trigger on our VIP but haven’t got the balls to beat some sense into his goddamn hooker.”  

“She knows shit all about the Konnis,” Ghost protested, rage only burning hotter. “Torturing her is a waste of time.”  

“Fuck’s gotten into you?” Price spits, “This sort of business is your M.O.”  

“My M.O. is getting the fuckin’ job done without collateral. Graves is a dog. He’ll only make a fuckin’ mess.”  

Price rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Then go clean it up.”  

Ghost straightens his back, knuckles straining, fists trembling. “He’s got her now?”  

“Yes, Jesus. We’re on a fucking deadline, remember?”  

“Fuck’s sake,” Ghost snarls, immediately swivelling on his boot and ramming open the door with his forearm.  

“You’d better have a backup plan, Simon.” Price barks after him, but his hoarse command is cut short but the deafening bang of the slamming door.   

~

Cement melts beneath his boots as he thunders through the intestines of the compound. Wool of his balaclava traps the steam that he exhales with each ragged breath.  

Stalks like a wolf. Dark red of shuddering blood pulses thick and hot into his vision; encroaches his periphery until the remaining pinpricks of acute sight turn to crosshairs. Knows his target, can smell him from here.  

Can hear him, too. Hears that blustering, cocksure laughter reverberating through the clinical halls, muffled by the thick door that keeps you trapped at his leisure.  

Ghost’s fury is rational. It always is. There’s always some detached, intellectual justification for his explosive reaction to whatever it is, slight or significant, that inflames him. This time, it’s imprudence. Stupidity. Arrogance. The stupid fucking privateer will lay ruin the meticulously considered strategy Ghost has been weaving since he caught you.  

There won’t be even a dream of coerced espionage if you’re covered in bruises and bleeding from flesh wounds and violated orifices. If you’re too shaken to even utter a sensical word to the very men you’ll be wringing information from.  

But Graves has no sense of subtlety. Blindly follows his depraved impulse like a spoiled little boy. The kind of disturbed kid that picked the legs off insects, would throw kittens into firepits just to hear them howl. He’d happily drop nuclear bombs on an entire city if it meant a confirmed kill of a single target. Ghost finds himself sordidly repulsed that Price is growing desperate enough to give the fucking dog a bone. To embolden him by allowing him to experiment with your suffering.  

Can hear your noises now, too.  

Not quite screaming, broken cries as though holes had been torn in your throat. Sore and wet. He sees the door to your cell, painted muted teal and chipping around the handle, scratches where keys had cut through the varnish.  

His handgun now nestled in his palm, didn’t consciously notice that he had pulled it from where he had left it tucked in the back of his trousers. Par for the course that the dumb fuck had left the door unlocked. Done Ghost the favour of letting him hurl his boot into the door and kicking it open in a single blow.  

You let out an anguished squeal following the thunderous whack of the door, as it flies open and slams into the cinderblock wall. Not the crashing door that made you scream, though – instead, the closed fist that had just been thrown into your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. Loud and vicious enough to be heard amongst the commotion, the tender crack of bone hitting bone.  

His flaming eyes land on you. 

In the centre of the cell, the arches of your bare feet graze the floor as you’re hung by a fist around your hair; held in a ponytail tight against your scalp, you dangle from it. Too close to the ground to stand on your own feet, too high to kneel. The red welts of your scratches scour the forearm of the man that suspends you, where you’ve tried to hold yourself up to spare your scalp from being torn from your skull like Velcro.  

It’s not Graves that dangles you. Too tall. No, instead, it’s one of his shadows. A myrmidon, muscle to no doubt prevent you from kicking the Commander in the fucking head again. Too much of a pussy to be by himself in the same room as you. Even as he tortures you. Pathetic fuck.  

The bootlicker that carries you is expendable. Disposable. Not Ghost’s comrade. It’s instinct as Ghost raises his gun. It’s reflex as he pulls the trigger, iron sights unconsciously aligned with the skull of the mercenary in black. He seizes before he drops, hot blood spitting in a geyser from the hole that the single bullet tore through his forehead.  

You tumble down with him, erupt out a bonechilling scream of terror as you hold your arms over your head to protect yourself. You scurry, slipping in the blood as you attempt to crawl to the corner of the cell. Only then does he notice your cruel nudity, the rags of your soft negligée left in pink confetti where it had evidently been cut from you.  

Ghost’s fury is quickly redirected to the Commander, then, who merely gawks in the moments it takes him to register the sudden series of events that had erupted before him. The consequences of his actions.  

“What the fuck!” He roars, gesturing with open palms in confused horror at the twitching corpse of his henchman.  

Ghost points the end of his gun at him, jutting it; not to aim, but to emphasise his anger. “You’re a reckless fucking idiot, you know that?”   

“Jesus – what the fuck is wrong with you?” Graves rages, shaking out the fist he had used to pummel you, before wiping his forehead as though he had overexerted himself. “I was following your captain’s orders.”  

“Yeah? Did the captain order you to fuckin’ strip her?”  

“Oh fuck off, you know the playbook, Riley,” he barks, a furious vein bulging in his forehead as he spits out his curses. “You’re not some champion of morality because you leave her fucking clothes on.”  

Therein lies the opportunity that Ghost savours so fondly. One that has him foaming at the mouth. An excuse. An excuse to lunge at the American mercenary, to hurl the butt of his handgun into the side of his head with a crack. Graves narrowly dodges the worst of the blow, instead the metal leaves a brutal scrape in his forehead.  

So Ghost follows it with a launch of his calloused fist into his cheekbone, an uppercut under his ribs, a roundhouse into his ear. God, he missed it. Sure, he’s thrown a punch or two in his uniform, wearing those padded gloves, impeded by a bulky helmet and a painfully cumbersome tactical vest. But why bother, how can one justify old-fashioned combat when they’re holding a heaving automatic rifle? 

It’s this he missed. Back to square one. He likes it raw. Meat hitting meat. Bone hitting bone. Bare, bruised knuckles pulverising rippling skin pulled tight over flesh, over and over, over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud.  

Gun cast aside, he doesn’t care where it had vanished to. Nothing but a red blur as the two men entangled into a bloody, fuming knot on the floor of the cell. A flurry of fists and elbows and boots; Graves landed his fare share, no dismissing that MARSOC training. But he didn’t have the decades of resilience that Ghost had built, layer by layer, fractured bone by fractured bone. No, Ghost can eat strikes to the head like fucking pudding.  

One final blow to Graves’s pig head ricochets the back of his skull off the solid floor with a whack, and he is swiftly decommissioned. Splutters blood from between his teeth and blinks vaguely at the ceiling. Ghost could keep going, fantasises about it – he’d find an abundance of pleasure in beating him to death. But, unfortunately, they need the Commander and his army of over-armed shadows. And, despite how much he yearned to, killing him over the abuse of a single prisoner would be, frankly – humiliating. An overreaction. A reflection of his lack of control.  

But Ghost has control. Tightens his leash, fastens his muzzle, as he pushes himself to stand with an aching hand on his knee. Maintains a violent glower down his nose at the American on the floor, who takes his time to recover. The beaten man grimaces, holding the back of his fist to his nose, smearing the dark blood that had poured from it.  

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he grunts; Ghost fights the urge to throw a kick into his ribcage.  

But instead he rolls his head to relieve the tension, hears the vertebrae in his neck crack with the stretch. With a clench of his jaw, a wipe of his brow, he returns his menacing glare to the American. Through a growl, he orders; “Get out.”  

Watches in huffing silence as he takes his time to stand, using the wall to get himself up and leaving a bloody print on the white paint. Once up, though, he does his best to conceal his injury. Elbows past Ghost as he marches towards the cell door, hurling it open and storming into the hall.  

“Oi–” Ghost barks, as he lurches towards the corpse of the shadow bundled in the centre of the cell. Hoists it up, heavy and dense, he heaves it over his shoulder. Feels the hot blood poor from its bullet hole down his back. “Don’t forget this.”  

With a crude throw he tosses the cadaver into the hallway – it skids across the linoleum, leaving slippery smears of blood along the speckled blue vinyl before it bumps into the furthest wall.  

He grunts as he slams the heavy door, it crashes closed with an obnoxiously loud bang; before he’s left in the throbbing, hot silence. He takes a second to collect himself, to soften his ravaging breathing, to let the blood and sweat dry on his burning skin.  

As he turns, though, he notices the black pile of wool on the floor, amongst the splatters of blood and black skids of rubber bootsoles.  

His mask. Must’ve lost it in the fight.  

And then he hears a click, and a quiet, squeaking breath – from you. In the frenzy he had almost forgotten you were there, a spectator to all of it, the catalyst of his savagery. There you are. Back pressed up against the walls, knees tucked tightly to your bare chest.  

In your velvet hands sits his gun.  

You barely wrap your fingers around the handle, instead holding it like it’s a small animal, like you might coo at it to pacify it. It’s as if you hadn’t noticed him, your dripping eyes fixated keenly on the cold metal, balanced in your shaky grip.   

He can’t explain, nor justify, nor understand his confidence that you won’t aim the weapon at him. Instead, he concernedly anticipates that you might turn it on yourself. He steps towards you, languid but assertive, until he is standing over you.  

Holds out a careful hand, gestures with his fingers. “Give me the gun.”  

Your head raises only slightly, level with his knees, you stare blankly with a pained grimace as if you had forgotten who he was. Not as though you knew him at all, did you?  

But your red eyes trail up his figure, meticulously inspecting, until they eventually land on his face.  

And your features soften.  

That worried strain, the tense muscles of your face ease, brows curling into some sort of pitying daze. He can’t read anything beyond that, can’t tell what you might be thinking as your eyes flit between his features like you’re scanning him, hunting for some realisation or deeper understanding.  

But you won’t find anything, little thing. There’s nothing there.  

His face is just as hardened and scarred, just as obscuring, just as frightening as the skull-painted mask that has long annexed his jaded identity.  

You blink at him, one of your pretty eyes nearly swallowed by the mauve swell resulting from a fist to the socket. You reach upward, gun in hand, you present it to him. Clever girl.  

He takes it, tucks it into the back of his trousers. Chews on words he feels compelled to say to you, they’re dense and swollen in his mouth. Thank you. I’m sorry. Let me get you some clothes.  

But he swallows them. Goes to pluck his mask off the floor, flicking off the dust, before he tugs it over his head. Adjusts the thick wool over his nose, tucks it under his jaw.  

Your stare returns to the floor. You wrap your arms around your shins.  

“I’ll get you some water,” he grunts, short and murmuring, as he turns towards the door and leaves in bitter silence. 

He locks it behind him.  

[iniziare]

Little Kafka™ Things (or a fair attempt at 'little'). I used to write lists with little random tidbits about my characters, which I came to realize tonight that I sorely missed making. So let's throw a little thing together for Kafka, as I've been hooked up to a salt IV about her, and I need some sanity. Some of these may be old news to oldie mutuals, but it's a new blog, so here we are. Time to start over, and start with basics. I'll elaborate on some in later posts.

The best way to describe Kafka, in my opinion, is a woman from a bygone era. While a beautiful mix of the olden days and the new, she very much oozes the former more than the latter. She is refined, sophisticated, cultured, and archaic in her tastes. Her fashion preferences (what she wears or what we know she has in her possession) include overcoats and velvet coats, both quite vintage, or rather "old-school". A shirt/blouse with ruffled cuffs? Quite an ode to an age long past (Victorian), even choosing to wear gloves outside of formal occasions/positions is quite the unusual choice. Outside of that, the katana is the samurai's blade, an ancient choice, it's not really utilized anymore, at least not in the same capacities, or with the same weight. The classical music? It's no longer really listened to. I once saw her referenced as foreign. Perfect.

Age-wise, she sits comfortably in the earlier half of the 30s, not a year younger.

Yes, it is noted (though mind you, by Silver Wolf) that she likes the occasional 'fabulous' thing, which hints at her having a bit of a refined palate, but that does not make her materialistic. It simply needs to fit in with #1. I mean look, a pearl earring, an ensemble of silver jewelry without a speck of gold (except on her default overcoat).

On that note, she's also very specific in perfumes, her signature would be Yves Saint Laurent's "Black Opium". Something that just like her, 'promises without unraveling, and tells without really telling, making it the perfect expression of femininity and grace.'

She is cleanly, and does not enjoy a mess, in her surroundings or on her person, but especially the latter. I will never budge on this, as her trailer empowers the thought and nothing has countered it since. Do we remember how she was fixing up her cuffs in the prologue after having engaged in combat? Yes, I know it's a little things, welcome, they arguably mean the most. A stain anywhere, blood? Absolutely not. As for her surroundings, please imagine her lifting an empty pizza box or whatever has been munched on from the sofa with a groan of "How many times will you leave these laying around, Silver Wolf?" Is it that much to ask that you clean up after yourself? And to return to the last point for one more moment, I swear, if anyone gets even a drop of blood on her coat or shirt, or sheets, she's not thrilled. Dry cleaning bill goes to you.

She gets bored incredibly easily. And while she has quite the manners to fit her overall 'essence', you might come across her attention having deviated a bit, granted, usually this will only be after you've been made aware of it. But this is to say, she will not get along with just about everyone. She's also not 'one of the young ones', she does not have the same interests, and though she'll find herself oddly enjoying a game of Origami Bird Clash, it's really because of Silver Wolf. All in all, if you can intrigue her, poke her curiosity, or you have a mind that interests her, then you're good. But you, and not what you can do, need to be interesting. Remember, the following quote is incredibly important for her character across the board: "She must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost."

The order in which I believe she gets along with the Stellaron Hunters most, based on what canon has given and shown us so far, is as follows: Blade and Elio (in both vastly different ways), Silver Wolf, and then Firefly.

Kafka has an incredibly interesting view of destiny, and while this is something that warrants an entirely separate meta, I want to iterate the following so that no assumptions are made. As much as she speaks of 'The future is like a labyrinth: every divergence is merely an inducement. There is only one real path." And similar quotes, it is also incredibly important that (alongside another very interesting way of answering an earlier 'Is the future predetermined?', with specifically: "No, but what is predetermined is the future that has value.') this was a fundamental moment in her SQ that needed a great cost to obtain:

Trailblazer: Is destiny predetermined? Kafka: ... (If Kafka says the truth) Kafka: No (If Kafka says the lie) Kafka: Yes

[therainingkingofithaca]

Image: Digital fanart. Three playing cards, the middle one face up, the other two face down. The background is dark green. The card facing up is a bloodstained king of hearts, but with Grace Chastity. The top version of her is wearing her og outfit (pink feminine bowtie, blue sweater vest, white collared shirt, pink hairclips), a cross necklace, and holding her pointer finger up with closed eyes and a righteous smile. The bottom version of her is upside down and wearing her outfit from the end of the show (blue dress with floofy neckline, blue hairclips), and has one eye closed and the other eye partially open, but her iris is a glowing green. She is smiling still, but the smile is wider and her teeth are pointy. She is holding up a blood-stained book. The lyrics on top are "The captain lives by the sword," and the lyrics on the bottom are "The captain dies by the sword." One the other two cards (which are dark red) are the lyrics, "Screaming out mayday!"

Fun fact, the king of hearts is also known as the suicide king :3

Lyrics are from "Mayday!" by Sparkbird (but I messed them up a little😭)

[cursed-spectre]

Fine Print

Ai was walking around The Cube when her sensors picked up sounds of glass cracking and flesh squelching. Her eyelights hollowed, shaking. Her pace quickened as the noises became louder, and groans were added to the mix. Her core began beating in her chest as she raised a hand shakily, knocking on the shut metal door, where the noise was at its loudest.

"Cassidy?" she stuttered.

Silence.

"Cassidy, are you in there? Are you okay?" Her voice was quivering.

A low groan graced the young drone's auditory sensors, and were met with a gulp in return. Once more, she opened her mouth to speak.

“...go away,” came a gruff, feminine voice.

“Cassidy, wha—”

“I said go away!” the voice shouted.

Ai stepped back with a gasp, eyes widened. What did she do? Her body began shaking in its entirety, as her core felt like it was going to burst out from her chest. Time froze, and she took a couple breaths.

With her eyes furrowed and fist clenched, she stepped up to the door, and pressed the button on the wall beside it. Instantly, hydraulics hissed as the door was raised up, allowing her to see inside.

Immediately, her hand moved to cover her mouth as she took in the sight. The bed was stained by mixtures of oil and blood, shattered glass and chunks of flesh scattered among the poolings. In the middle of the bed, a disheveled drone sat crouched forward on her knees. Long black hair that was normally straight was now messy, its texture matted. Her eye was a piercing red, but currently closed on the one half of her visor not covered by bandages. A stained and very faded yellow shirt was all that covered her body.

“Why are you here?” she asked, large intakes of air separating each word. “I told you to”— a hand was placed over her mouth, before a large amount of oil spewed from it, causing the drone to hack and cough—“I told you to leave. You shouldn't see this.”

Ai clenched her shirt, hand covering where her core would be seen. Any semblance of determination or bravery had become as shattered as the various glass casings on the ground.

Her voice stuttered a lot. “What is this?”

Cassidy coughed more, expelling the rest of the oil in her throat. “Something I have to do sometimes.”

“But”—she looked down at her shaking chassis—“it looks like you're… eating drone cores.”

Ai looked into the eye of her sister, and when Cassidy responded by narrowing her eye and turning away, she felt her core drop.

“Why? I-I know solver drones and disassembly drones need to ingest oil, but cores?”

Cassidy, using any strength she could muster, turned back to face Ai, and her eye hollowed when she saw the way the young drone looked at her, several lines forming under it.

She choked on her words as she spoke. “I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen this. Please.” Digital tears began to prick her frowning face. “Please, just leave.”

The world was frozen. She couldn't hear a thing over the sound of her own core trying to burst out her chassis, yet despite this, every drop of oil off the sheets and onto the ground was deafening. It was like her processors were overclocked, and her cooling didn't seem like it could keep up. Memories, thoughts, feelings. It all raced through her consciousness. Times spent with Cassidy. With her sister. The sister hunched in front of her right now, coughing up oil and blood. That's right. They were family, and she knew Cassidy. She knew the drone she called family, or, did she? No, she couldn't think that.

Core beating at unbearable speeds, she asked her sister, “How can I help?”

Said sister's eye widened as some of the lines vanished and her lip quivered. “What?”

“How can I help you, Cassie? I'm sure you have a reason for”—Ai covers her mouth to stop a rush of simulated nausea—“this. You may be rough sometimes, but you aren't a bad person. So let me ask again.” She cleared her throat, her core’s beating slowed, and her green eyes looked into Cassidy's red one. “What can I do to help you?”

Cassidy stared at the drone she called a sister. She stared for what felt like an eternity, only to turn her gaze downwards and sigh.

In a somber voice, she replied, “I don’t know.”

[adventuratiempo]

Who, if I cried out, would hear me amongst the angels order?

Even when overwhelmed with their infinite compassion and wisdom, I'd willingly let my spirit surrender to these eternal eyes of pure truth

For Beauty is the terror we endure on our quest for true love and geniune connection, and while we stand in wonder, observing in pure bewilderment and awe of the divine grace of the feminine spirit,

While we stand there gazing upon the warmth of the infinite cosmos and delight in the never-ending song and dance of pure and unconditional love and romance

We look down at the snow in the complete horror, realizing the pain and suffering that all of humanity, and that these divine angels especially have suffered to lead them to exhibiting this quality of everlasting grace

And knowing that staring down at the blood stained snow is unbearable on the heart

And realizing that staring completely into the cosmos, separates you from empathizing with the suffering of the many

You have no were else to turn

Except into those very same eyes of truth

And by surrendering and shedding your preconceptions of men, women, race, appearance all being separators that divide us

You realize in an ironic beauty that we are all one divine spirit, and that the dualism of embracing and balancing both masculine and feminine energy, is what will lead to pure love, compassion, understanding, and truth

I am loving awareness, and I want to love, understand, and connect with everyone, and pay it forward to that special angel that saw beyond my physical construct, and brought me back to the light

I will always love you rainey; thank you for everything you brought to my life

We may never meet again, but the connection we share is divine; and you may not see yourself as an angel, and that's ok as well. My love for you is unconditional and will never waver regardless

"Rememeber loves our only mission. This is a journey of the soul"

[xx-blueboy-xx]

Day One: Liminal | Suptober 2023

CW: Horror Elements, Psychological Torture (?) + Minor Injury

Words: 696

White. Everything was white, endless, spiraling hallways. The doors were white and so were the floors, hell most of the time it was hard to tell there was even a difference between where one wall ended and another began. Everything blended together in blurs of purity that made him sick. He slammed his fist against a door, hoping to stain it with his blood - anything to get rid of this void around him. Nothing happened though as he struck it, only feeling fiery pain shoot up through his knuckles. Slowly, the archangel took in labored breaths, his chest heaving with effort. This is exactly the kind of trick he would pull on someone. 

Gabriel is sure the irony isn't lost on Naomi. He grits his teeth. He has no idea how long he has been here. Running around in circles, hoping to find an exit. It didn't seem to matter which way he turned, or where he went. Not once did he encounter a dead end, as the hallways seemed to merely sprawl further and further. Infinite. Everytime he opened a door they never led to a new room, only more hallways. He shakes his head and he glares up at the ceiling where the only sound breaking the suffocating silence (even the air felt still): was the buzzing white-lights above him. He crosses his arms over his chest. For all he knows, he could have been locked here for days already. It doesn’t matter. 

“You really think this is enough to break me? You must be getting senile Naomi! I’m a fucking archangel! A trickster archangel! This,” he gestures to the sprawling maze around him. “Won’t do a damn thing.” 

“You’re right.” a cold feminine voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere at once. Gabriel hates how much relief hearing another’s voice rattles through him. He was starting to go a little mad having nothing but his thoughts. What little grace he has left in his body isn’t helping matters, simply a cruel reminder that at one point - he could have snapped his fingers and blown this illusion to smithereens. Free himself of this prison. “I know that this little maze isn’t enough to break you. But - I know what will. I took time studying your mind…” 

Her voice faded away and before the blonde could sneer out another cheeky commnet, a voice echoed from down the hallway. 

“Gabriel!” came the youngest Wincheter’s voice, filled with joy and it was clearly calling to him. 

His entire body went stiff, his unseen wings rattled at the sound. Half with joy and another with icy cold fear. He swallows, feeling as if his mouth is filling with sand. Before he takes a deep slow breath. It’s not real. He shakes his head and Gabriel leans against the nearest wall. 

“Seriously? A fake Sam?” something inside of his heart pulls though. His brows furrowed a bit, breaking the smirk he had plastered across his face. What if she did bring Sam here? Would she be willing to earn the ire of Castiel and Dean? He wanted to shake off the possibility entirely, knowing this is what she wanted. To run him in circles until he was begging to be released. Until he ‘manned up’ and took the throne of Heaven, became a proper archangel again. Like Hell that would happen, he likes candy and sex too much. 

“Gabriel..?” this time Sam’s voice seems to come down from the other side of the hallway, he turns his head a bit. He swears he catches a glimpse of the man flicking through a doorway. He closes his eyes, taking a forced, steady breath. It isn’t real, he reminds himself. 

There is a long moment of silence before, an almost ear piercing scream of his name rings out. 

“Gabri-” Sam doesn't even get to finish his name before it is cut off. His eyes snap open and his heart clenches inside of his chest, he takes a shuddery breath. The next second, all he hears is not words but a gut-wrenching scream of agony. 

His feet start to move towards the sound before he realizes it, driving himself deeper into the swirling white-madness. 

[jdtrashman]

Countdown To Dawntrail Week 2: Ishgard

Week 2 of @voidsentprinces' prompt series.

Rhea Bosco had a simple life in Ishgard. Work at the Astrologicum, buy groceries, work on her latest novel in her spare time, rinse and repeat. As the only Viera in town, and one whose appearance would make her stand out even if that weren't the case, she had expected the past few years to have been more interesting. Not that she was complaining, honestly. Between fleeing Garlemald as a child and traveling for over a decade before finally settling in Ishgard, the young Viera had had her fill of "interesting".

But as she would discover tonight, "interesting" had not had its fill of her.

Feeling a bit cooped up in her one-bedroom walkup apartment, Rhea decided that an evening constitutional through The Vigil would be the solution to her problems. For a city that had been locked in a forever war for the past thousand years, Ishgard was an obscenely beautiful city. Even the poor and destitute lived in slums that the slum-dwellers of other cities could only dream of. The cold, gothic architecture contrasted beautifully with the glow of the street lamps. This late at night, there were few, if any people on the street besides her and the occasional guard on the evening beat.

Which, of course, made the sound she heard next ring all the louder.

CLANG!

Rhea stopped and gasped, as the familiar ring echoed through her entire being. Like a great dull bell being rung against a rock wall. A sound she knew well. "Fray?" she asked, whipping her head around. Fray was the most fascinating thing to ever happen to her in the time she had lived in Ishgard. A dark knight and an outlaw, she had carried on a summer romance with him (well as much of a "summer" romance one can have in a city determined to be tit-tighteningly cold every day of the year) but it had been stained with the mutual knowledge that it couldn't ever last. Last she had heard, he had died to a temple knight who got in a lucky shot.

Her legs moved before she could consciously command them to do so. Another sharp CLANG rang out from alley after alley, and it did not take her long to start having to carefully jump and step over the corpses of temple knights. A trail of blood and sinew and broken steel, that eventually led her to a church. "Gods, Fray, no..." she whispered under her breath, hearing fighting going on past the broken down door. As she approached, a young elezen woman, her clothes torn to pieces, sped past her with tears streaming down her cheeks. And with that, Rhea's sympathy for the men inside and on the way here withered and died on the vine. Rumors abounded about what the priests and temple knights got up to when no one was looking, which is to say when they were in The Brume. The people of The Brume were to either be ignored or exploited by the aristocrats who all but owned them like cattle. Rhea drew her star globe, her aether activating the intricate mechanisms to unfold all the parts and keep the globe shape suspended in mid-air, and went in.

What she found inside was not what she had been expecting in the least. At the end of the rows of broken pews and equally broken knights, standing over a priest begging for his life as he lie on his back, was not Fray. Instead, it was a young midlander hyur woman wielding a bloodsoaked greatsword. Her clothes seemed to be a Black Mage's robe, but with the robe torn and hanging loose off of her petite body, with the pants and sleeveless t-shirt underneath left bare. Her hair, red as the torch fire and blood that surrounded her, hung from her hair with all the grace of a freshly hunted rabbit.

"What you were going to do to that girl..." the woman said, her voice feminine, yet Rhea could almost make out Fray's signature velvety baritone beneath.

"I...I am a man of Halone!" the priest choked out. His arm was missing, and there was a distinct and disgusting red stain between his legs that made Rhea's stomach churn.

"Then I shall send you to her, so you can explain." with that, the woman raised her halberd up, the tip pointing down, and ran it into the screaming priest's torso hard enough to split his entire body in half horizontally. The woman turned to leave, and instead her eyes met Rhea's. Rhea could only imagine how she looked to her, long black hair blowing in the evening wind, her heavily tattooed body silhouetted against the doorway.

Then, the woman - whom she would come to know as Allie Shepard - spoke. With Fray's voice. "Hello, Rhea."

[oceanlipgloss]

TILL DEATH DO US PART

SATAN.

+ warnings: angst, mentions of blood, violence and murder.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

As a candle stained in red she hopes to appear, upon her a prism of nine gazes falling—jade, ruby, sapphire, amber, violet, gold, verdant and tangerine.

But in vile ebony irises, memory that pierces her heart is all she sees, his lingering warmth all she feels.

Adoring fingers weaving through her hair, sweet breaths flames pouring into her ears.

Golden candlelight flickers, static sparks shimmering in the warm atmosphere.

Back pressed to his chest, lying on his bed, together with him she falls into a tale.

His heartbeat is heaven, melody dancing against her own, with her own, however.

Beloved laughter graces the air above. He places a soft kiss atop her head, blonde locks playful butterflies upon her rosy skin.

Music unlike any other is his voice; suave enchantment and true paradise, as though a harmony of rich chocolate and sweet spice.

She shakes her head, leaning closer against her dear prince.

A fiery touch on her cheek, a tender kiss to her lips.

The book in his hold lies on the whispering sheets.

In the silent warmth, a dance can be heard; slow kisses, passionate lips and melting fire.

Honey gazes up at emerald in prayer, taking in all there is; the path of light through wild golden hair, pink dust and the glow of art on a handsome face.

"They'll say that our love isn't like theirs," against her lips he whispers, "it's everything they'll keep wishing for but never receive. I swear upon you and upon our love that I will never leave your side and love you forever. Because in our story, not even death can do us part."

However, fading into the dying light, he disappears—his smile and touch, but not her tears.

Their fate wished for disaster, and their story, too, isn't destined to end with "Happily Ever After," it seems.

For she prayed to meet the devil, yet before her stands a human, his darkness screaming to devour the remains of her ragged soul.

Mere man, pure evil; he charred hearts and tore them apart.

Crimson burns mist.

A blade—the sword of tragedy and pain, the curse of two broken lovers—sears its way through tender flesh, through a barren chest and into a well of grime.

With pain dripping down her glossy lips and a smile she leans, only to whisper into the trembling monster's ear, “till death do us part, my dear.”

+ MASTERLIST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[floralparadise]

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡,

𝐌𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫,

𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝,

𝐎𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧,

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧,

𝐀𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

                        ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

A woman of many desires, one to feed, one to reign against the odds and take prickled thrones such as that of Persephone and her playground of the underworld. The royal blood trickled against that of a soul if she had even had one.

DID SHE EVEN EVER HAVE ONE?

It had been torn apart long ago. She hadn't cared anymore, especially as the moonlight had graced her in new life, the cycle of death lingering at your fingertips as crimson stained whatever it was. The power was lovely even if it didn't gain much at all besides a sense of dominance over herself. Play the game, and you shall stride against the odds, little one.

Monstrous fragrant intentions sprouted from pink-tinged vined flesh as they made their vows against livestock. Wrapping around the throat of prey. Venom struck deep into layers of putrid and sinful skin.

Why was this one picked from the bunch? A male, a buck of the sorts that had a sense of control.

PATHETIC MEAT PUPPET.

Leaning inwards, she placed a kiss of bitter-sweet death against his lips with a delightful snicker.

"Not so big now, are you? Oh... How divine. I always love it when you cute little things tremble in fear. You know, it makes it that much more appealing."

With swift movement, sharp-toothed blooms struck the sides of the warm body as it trembled in fear of death. A spat of carmine leaving one's foul mouth as feminine grins fell with utter satisfaction. The hunt was limited, but the delicate nature of the wolf in fawn appearance made it worthwhile.

FEAST ON THY PAIN. You earned it, buttercup.

                        ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[frostbounddevotion]

@ofxcrimsonxedge

ofxcrimsonxedge asked: ❝ not one person is more important to me than you. ❞ [ From Sukuna :3 ]

        Eight concubines float around the room. All beautiful in their own right. Apple round cheeks, thin noses, and narrow eyes greet Sukuna. Bright rose petal lips drawn over their natural pouty mouths smeared themselves along Sukuna’s neck and body. Heavy rice powder painted all of their faces and necks. Silk robes adorned their curvy figures while they served their honored guest hand and foot. Ebony hair of various lengths, the longest being ending at the ankles, were as black the stains used for their teeth. 

         A banquet was served half an hour ago. It filled their bellies with fish and pheasant, accompanied by pickled vegetables, polished rice, hearty soups and rice cakes. All participants washed down their meals with sake through the night, and Sukuna, as per usual, hedonistically overindulged. 

        Two women sat on either side of Sukuna’s lap. One stroked his chest, the other caressed his arm.  Despite the sexual attention, Sukuna looked over a woman’s shoulder to meet eyes with Uraume. With mildly slurred words, he says: ❝ not one person is more important to me than you. ❞

       Uraume closed their eyes. An sturdy, regal strength radiated through their posture. They offered Sukuna a masterful, deep, bow and gentle smile. Uraume, now glowing with pride, responds, “Thank you, Master Sukuna. The sentiment is mutual.”

         The concubines giggle in unison. Some visibly rolled their eyes. Others discretely scrunch their nose in disgust.

------

        That evening Uraume walks through the halls to prepare Sukuna’s evening bath. They overhear the concubines in their room and something catches their interest. Uraume’s zori halts by the door and they decide to take a listen.         “-Important? How?” One asks. This voice was bright and soaring.

        “Uraume IS his assistant,” answers a graceful one.         A rich, feminine voice decides to chime in. “Still. Who wants to look at that ugly thing? That haircut. Eww.”

        “Right? Is Uraume a man or a woman? They lack breasts and their jawline is too strong for a woman. And as a man-” adds the bright female.         A fuller, more sultry voice insults Uraume. “Man?!?” One laughs, “Uraume is tiny! Their arms are too slender! Their voice is too soft.  He/she/it would make a sorry excuse for a man. Did Sukuna cut its dick off or something?”           Uraume pushes open the door with all their strength. Hot pink eyes glow with deep seeded rage. Rational thought falls by the wayside, allowing their emotions to take complete control.           “Ugly?” Uraume retorts. “I lack breasts, my jawline is too strong, my body is too small…” Their voice grows darker with every word, with each syllable becoming more sinister. “And you speak of my genitalia as though I owe you an explanation.” Their breath becomes chilly enough to be visible in the room. They hand cups in front of their lips.  “Disgusting cum rags you all are, and disgusting cums rags you shall ever be.” 

            They blow an icy mist that engulfs all four walls. Blood curdling, piercing screams echo down the halls. Desperation lay thick within the confines of their room. Uraume’s ice freezes the sheer terror onto the women’s faces. A wall of jagged ice pillars pierce through their bodies. Wet cracking and snapping brings a sadistic smile to Uraume’s lips. Profound depraved pleasure rises to the surface when warm blood intermittently splatters on Uraume. The lives Uraume stole was ridiculed by the chilling, lifeless sculptures Uraume left behind. If ice was the canvas, blood was the ink, and Uraume was ready to bask in its euphoric color.  

[deadxlv]

Far Away Soul, White Cold Star 💫

Chapter: 12 “A Mystery, A Sickness, What..Am..I?!”

Shriveled the world felt, a trauma never heard of before could be settled by one's soft kiss of misfortune- a blessing? Trees still sang their songs of life by the wind blowing past their leaves, Far off from the small hint of seawater from far away..carried in the wind travels. Yet, in my amazement, she stood there..although unsure, what's a saving grace needed when white beady dead eyes watch your every move. Is this place truly what it seems? Could we have been wrong in our doings.. wish only for the travels ahead to grace us with peace at last..for we have already paid the ultimate price. Death.. and Resurrection...

The smell of mahogany, the taste of blood in my mouth, and the pressure on my cheek.. wait, where am I?! Thought Hijìn as he slowly awoke after being brutally pounded into the ground as if he was a mosquito who got a taste of your blood in your arm. A strong planting of his hands on the ground made the noise buzzing around his dizzy head stop amidst his slow rise, the weight lifted, Hijìn would rub his eyes from all the dirt and dust..not noticing the dried dirty blood stains under his eyes at all. Dazed at all he could see, Hijìn would fall back against a tree only to feel two small hands touch his chest and pulse a strange warm feeling into him, his eyesight recovered and his scratches mended he would smile and mutter. "Thsank.. yo.. Kÿr'u..". He got no response from the same voice he's heard the whole time, the feeling stopped and as he moved his hair from his eyes all he saw was this strange entity with their hands on his body.

A shout of shock and fear rumbled the forest causing small animals to fly off into the distance, their wings making soft puttering noises as they passed overhead, but on the other hand- Hijìn was nearly halfway up a tree panting like a madman who has just seen Jesus. "H-hey hey.. I Uhm.. I don't mean any harm I just.. healed you.." said the feminine figure slightly smiling as she watched the tall human cower in a tree. Hijìn had dug his whole hand into the tree to not fall down quickly looking around in a panic to try and find Kÿr, he was about to shout before he turned to his right and saw the cat crouched down on his shoulder looking at him with an unsurprised face. "Dude you can relax she poses no real threat.." Kÿr said with a thumbs up to the feminine entity below. "Come down.. let's just talk- and don't worry if anything would've happened I could've been blasted her to a green and strawberry swirl.." Kÿr said with a cocky smirk nudging the human to get a move on.

Thud and Red leaves tossed into the air the Human landed in front of the strange feminine being staring down at her with a slightly bothered face, he stood a solid two and a half feet taller than she did, but in that regard, by seeing his tone she would cross her arms and plant her foot down. "Let's get to know each other before we start getting violent.. or else I'm gonna have to do what I did earlier to your face again- I just won't be so sparing and I'll make sure you stay down" she said as she blew a falling leaf away from her face while still looking up at the human. "Okay okay let's not get too sassy.. we were hit first- so please.. can you tell us your name so we can have some common ground around these endless trees n crap.." Kÿr exclaimed, approaching the other two while eating a small red berry he found at the top of the tree Hijìn climbed. Although he was still incredibly bothered and had a feeling of perverse behavior on the entity's part he still agreed, stepping back and putting his hands to his sides with a less serious demeanor.

"Okay..Heh awkward.." she would clear her throat a few times while wiping her sweaty hands on her sash. "I am Hèr' Lã (Hera) it's a pleasure to meet you two boys.." a soft smile spreads across her rose-colored lips to them. Kÿr's tail would curl in on itself from the response and to have some level of respect he placed a hand on his chest to say, but he was promptly cut off by her- "I.. Kÿr and Hijìn? Correct? Sorry ehehh.. little weird of me but I already knew your names.. it's not a problem right?". Kÿr stopped and looked at his friend then move his hand off his chest, shrugging not seeing any issue, but with the pieces of dry blood falling off his cheeks Hijìn would step back in questioning. "Who told..". He beckoned, having such growing reasons of discomfort growing in him, like a strange new feeling in his gut telling him to stay away. The scratching he hears in his head has gone silent, just now the endless cramping of his organs by some strange item in him making him feel some sort of way..

Kÿr tapped his friend with his knuckle to sign that it wasn't appropriate only to hear Hèr' La say. "Actually he's right to ask such a thing.. Kÿr your young and not much guidance in the early stages of your species development, but Hijìn seems like his father taught him just enough basic skills and practices to keep him mostly out of trouble". Hearing such a mention Hijìn would step forward in a sense of desperation and childlike fear for his family he made Hèr' La get spooked and jump back. "Rnow Aba?!" Hijìn questioned thinking that somehow in some sort of way this strange woman could have known his father and if maybe just maybe.. if he's still alright. Kÿr grabbed onto Hijìn's leg trying to hold him back thinking he'd get violent, grunting in trying to hold the big human back.

Out of Fear and panic Hèr' La would plant her whole palm on Hijìn's chest in defense, the moment her whole palm planted itself down his body began to rapidly change into strange things. Hijìn in shock would try to scream out, but his body was rapidly changing into different organisms, plants, to even things never before seen. Kÿr felt a strange sensation in his grasp only to look up and see the boy's leg turning into multiple strange things at the same time and he screamed out in fear. "What the FUCK?!!!". Falling back from the shock he crawled back rapidly, Hèr' La, on the other hand, moved her face back to face the human only to see she has done the unthinkable and used her abilities against a mortal. She jerked her hand back and the transformations stopped, turning Hijìn back to his normal human self and promptly collapsing on the ground unconscious, she jolted back from the thud and immediately came down to his rescue. "I-I'm so Sorry! I.. I didn't mean to..". She stopped as she heard the click of a switch, turning to her right and facing the barrel of a large blaster- Kÿr eyed her down with a face of disgust. "What the fuck..did you do to him..". He said with a deep serious tone in his voice, confused and worried this was the only thing he knew what to do- resort to violence..

Just as Hèr' La was about to respond a large dark figure came from the heavens and stomped Kÿr down into the ground, a shine from underneath its hood and deep mechanical hissing as it pushed its foot down on the cat who was now taken out. Hijìn's eyes would flutter as he attempted to awaken, getting to see nothing but the figure looming above them wielding a strange weapon on its back. In an attempt to speak Hèr' La would put a finger on his lips as she stared up at the figure, she was crouched by them and could only do nothing but stare.

The dark hooded figure solely watched this mishap from who knows where- stepping down from the small cat they would see Kÿr's blaster and with ease crush it beneath their feet. It turned to Hijìn and Hèr' La, leaning its head to the right as it approached them. "N-no! Stay back..don't do this- T-th-they've done nothing wrong it was me! Believe me..". Hèr' La was slapped across the face by the figure getting knocked to the ground, Hijìn who saw this tried to get up.. his body felt even more alien than before and his mind was all over the place. Yet, the moment he arose all he could see was the Figure turning to face him and full force-punching him in the face, making it all go dark.

Hours Later..

It was now evening, the dark trees would sway softly in the wind, the smell of charred roots filled your lungs. Soft wet patting on your cheek was all you could feel- your body was so out of shape it felt as if you had a mountain of weight on your shoulders. Opening your eyes slowly, all you could see was that strange woman again.. she mended your wounds as best you could. The glow of fire in the background was the only illumination around- what could be seen in the sky were small pockets of stars in the dark heavens above, you gently move your hand to hold that of the woman in front of you and all she could do is move her hand away and sit back.

Hijìn rested in a new tree campsite, the ground below was too dangerous to stay upon- yet, someone was able to move him up here.. he felt a strange presence still lingering in the wind. Hèr' La watched the human rest against the soft bark of this old tree and all she could do is sigh in disappointment. "I'm sorry.. this was just one large misunderstanding- If I had known S- I mean It was stalking you I would've told you sooner". Hijìn stuttered in his breathing as he faced the woman back, raising his hand up and planting it on her head between her two horns.. softly petting her head.

Hèr' La although upset, was able to have a small smile from the gesture, only moving away when she heard a noise of groaning in the background. His eyes still a bit dimmed from the head trauma he received, Hijìn could barely make out she was helping someone else.. most likely Kÿr who at this point had been the one to receive the worst from that figure before. Hèr' La sprung into action at the sight of the cat who had a small cast around his neck and a sling for his arm, Kÿr groaned from the pain had got a digit of his spine dislocated and his arm fractured- the woman applying the small pads on her fingers to the site of the injuries to alleviatee the pain. "Everything is gonna be okay little Kÿr..as long as your with me.. I'll make sure that thing doesn't come back to hurt you..". Kÿr slightly smiled as he faced her direction. "Hhhehh.. Thanks- I appreciate it, but I gotta ask.. what the hell happened? It was all so fast..".

"Hmn.. we were ambushed- a hooded figure I couldn't make the out of attacked us for no reason.. h". Hèr' La said until she noticed something she hadn't seen before, Kÿr looked at her confused as to why she stopped until she went and touched two small earrings on both of Kÿr's large ears. "You have these too.." Kÿr looked off from this until Hèr' La moved her hair back and showed similar earrings, but instead on her large ears- they were connected to her horns. "You are Blessed?!.. and I think you have the earring of KùrSa.. which means you are one of strong wills". She exclaimed in intrigue, Kÿr smirked even in allot of pain and discomfort. "Well I was the one who shot at Kùdra.. gotta be ballsy enough to even try that". He said in a cocky tone of voice patting himself on the back for the single minor attempt he had at the goddess.

Conversations and laughter was all Hijìn could hear ringing in his ears, but his focus was on elsewhere. A small spot between the canopy above he could look out into the heavens above, the sister gas giants hovered over the world shimmering all in their beauty, even then that wasn't what he was looking at. His eyes slightly closing, Hijìn would softly smile as he saw one large star shining brighter than all the rest in the night sky..the only thing he could mutter before he went to sleep was.. "Aba..".

  Night fell upon those who are restless- the life of these woods seemed so present yet so mysterious. Where did she come from? Why is she helping us? If feels so cold within me.. am I actually alive? Feeling of those eyes is haunting my souls every step the further we go into these thickets.. I..Want..OUT! Let me back inside- you Can't keep HOLDING ME BACK FOREVER.. I will come back..just you wait..

[midwesterncowgirl]

“My Nails”

Fixedly, my vision solidifies onto their nimble embellished fingers

abstract acrylic motifs, dip tips, ultraviolet gel and acetone populate vibrant Mulberry St.

sidewalks are as bustling as the saturated designs that dance upon the delicate painted nail bed,  faultlessly, like a prima ballerina, a timeless emblem of elegance and femininity 

silver loops and ornaments swathe the digits and thin wrists, the accessories sparkling and bashfully pleading to return to Tiffany

they float and hover across the streets, centimeters above the grit and grime and garbage that surfaces the manhattan ground

I glance at my fingers

My nail polish always fails to linger

Instants following application

rifts and raptures surface in the pigment 

discoloration loud and discernible on the thinly stained skin

the crowns of my fingers coarse with cuticles torn

crimson juices secrete from the hemorrhaged epidermis, scabbing gapes threaten infection 

my hands coyly retreat into their pockets, concealing my sloppy manicure, a liability 

How do they maintain their effortless beauty?

inhabiting a continuous nonchalant demeanor that is so flawlessly admirable and instagrammable?  

my grace is tainted by my own vandalization 

and sometimes I do not feel like a I am proper girl 

once soft sheer smooth skin is now cut and cracked and cleft 

Maybe my hands were never made for color

the crests of my fingertips are frail and excessively mangled, unrecognizable 

decayed skin is peeled away in blood-stained transparent strips

augmented cuticles are meticulously extracted, unveiling several slight gashes and raw uneven cuts

i compulsively bite into my thumbs and indexes

my teeth penetrate the beige keratin ripping hangnail after hangnail

on tongue, the flakes of flesh did not seem to have any discernible taste 

but, the mutilation is appetizing 

From an exterior I appear like a starved predator

gnawing on my chafed digits with 

fervent consumption until blood is drawn 

a hunger uncontrollable and unleashed 

i monitor their hands persistently, hypnotized by the mirage of decorated hues

My nail polish always fails to linger

Maybe if I tear deep enough into myself, I can figure it out why. 

[sukirichi]

TOKREV BOYS AS MY HIGH SCHOOL CRUSHES.

☁︎ inui, draken, chifuyu, baji, hanma, sanzu, ran, izana, mitsuya

☁︎ unedited. suggestive in sanzu’s part. overall chaotic. i had so much crushes. if some parts sound too specific, that’s because these are real life events and they’re based on real life people i crushed on, sigh. warnings of drama and questionable behaviors. 

☁︎ not the bonten husband content everybody wants but i’m going thru a mild burnout so a lil comedy is all i can make ;)

♡ — INUI !

first crush vibes

he was in your dance class, two years older, and you looked forward to attending dance class every weekend just to see him

usually, other students would be happy to relax or go out on a Friday, but nope, you had dance classes and a certain someone to impress

he never noticed you though

he always had lots of girls flocking him and you hated how they were so comfortable around him and pushing him around, joking around that he was the best dancer in the class so why bother learning when you’ll never get on his level

inui doesn’t comment about it

he’s pretty quiet but he’s confident of himself

HE HAS THE PRETTIEST, SMOOTHEST SKIN

literally prettier than everybody else

is more feminine than you and he’s so graceful that you want to die in shame each time he shows off his moves

the dance coach doesn’t even know why he’s there when inui is probably more advanced than he is

you confessed to him by giving him a homemade meal until kokonoi shows up, and that’s when you learn that inui was actually gay

he’s pretty sweet though

he compliments your dance skills and thanks you for the food before kokonoi winks at you – koko knows he bagged a good one

honestly, you’re not even mad or heartbroken. you’re extremely happy for them

♡ — DRAKEN !

EVERYBODY KNOWS DRAKEN

yes the kid who is taller and bigger and more mature than everyone else

people don’t believe he’s in high school... he often gets mistaken for being a uni student but nope, he’s still in high school and he’s the same age as you are

he’s not the smartest in academics but he makes up for it with hard work and dedication

not the brightest either when it comes to book context... he’ll probably struggle in language class but the best thing about him is that he can admit when he needs help and he’s not shy to ask you to teach him when there’s something he doesn’t understand

draken gets confessed to by people from other years and classes on the often

he always turns them down. he’s not really interested tho he’s super nice about it

he isn’t aware how attractive or charming he is

everyone feels safe around him !! the class big brother and the dependable one everyone trusts

extremely good at comforting

he sees your school skirt stained with period blood and the other guys are staring in horror? he doesn’t blink at it. he’ll politely tell you about the situation and even get you pads or tampons from the school nurse himself + painkillers and a bar of chocolate you didn’t ask him to get

injured from gym class? no worries, he’ll carry you bridal style to the infirmary himself and won’t leave your side until you feel better

will carry your bag and wrap an arm around your shoulder to guide you while asking again and again if you’re okay

HE’S SO NICE YOUR HEART IS IN A MESS BECAUSE IS HE NICE BY DEFAULT OR IS HE NICER BECAUSE HE LIKES YOU

so of course you confess to him. and it’s one of those rushed, impulsive confessions where Draken is on his way home and you run after him, tugging at his uniform just to tell him you’ve always found him handsome and interesting and you want to get to know him better

he immediately knows what you mean

he’ll apologize he doesn’t feel the same way but that he’d like to be friends and hopes it won’t be awkward between the two of you

but of course it’s too awkward and even though you know he won’t be bothered by you texting, you never text him just because you don’t want to be just friends

turns out... he’s not interested in anyone because he’s always had a crush on someone else

he remains a great memory though <33 he most definitely wishes you well and congratulates you during graduation

you’re extremely proud of this boy for his kind heart

♡ — CHIFUYU !

chifuyu has been your best friend since middle school and your best friend crushed on him during that time

you shipped them until... you begin to realize... chifuyu’s pretty cute and funny and nice to be with?

still, it feels wrong so you don’t do anything about it. that’s when your friend tells you she and chifuyu don’t talk anymore and that she never wants to talk about him again (they were never close friends to begin with)

chifuyu knows your most embarrassing moments and vice versa

you used to date his best friend, baji, back in middle school and it was the most awkward thing ever but who cares, right? they were fun, innocent days but the more you grow up, chifuyu is the only one who stayed being friends with you because baji is now dating your other best friend

you and chifuyu are always the third wheel in dates. you accompany your couple friends while the both of you just join around in the background because your couple friends aren’t allowed to go out just the two of them alone

chifuyu is the sweetest. boy. ever.

he’s too precious to exist in this world

even when you jokingly placed gum in his seat and he stood up with neon blue gum stuck on his black jeans and everyone was turning red from trying not to laugh, he was never mad at you

he just laughed at himself

he retaliates with pranks that are harmless

the teachers hate it when you two sit next together because you’re both either always chatting or gossiping or close from ripping each other’s throat because chifuyu is stealing your snacks or you’re doodling on his hand

chifuyu is a really smart guy

you take advantage of the fact he can’t resist you so sometimes he does your homework just because it’s easier than teaching you over and over again

he never makes fun of you for not being good in math

you excel in everything but math... math is a no man’s land

but then chifuyu starts getting into sports and then he becomes more popular, more kids start befriending him and eventually he’s dating this super cute girl almost everyone is in love with

it pains you to not spend enough time with him anymore because he feels far away sometimes, but he lives his own life so you never stopped him

and it’s not like chifuyu spends less time with you on purpose

he just has a lot of friends and there’s nothing wrong with that !! you just miss him

eventually, chifuyu gets accepted into a school for the brightest kids so you’ve stopped talking to him because you’ve both gotten busy

but the good news is that even after all this time, chifuyu is still close friends with you

you never got to tell him how you feel and you’re glad you didn’t

he’s happy with his girlfriend now

he’s more like a brother to you at his point

you love him with all your heart and he feels the same way !! an iconic duo sharing the same braincell and you’re always there for each other no matter what

ON A SIDE NOTE

chifuyu has always been cute but he wasn’t always the most charismatic. he used to be awkward and shy around people until he had his glow up moment

it’s like crushing on him twice LMAO

♡ — BAJI !

UGHHH BAJI what do i even start with this

baji is... one rowdy boy

he’s always loud. he takes more frequent trips to the disciplinary office and principal’s office more times than he visits the bathroom

he acts like he’s a flirt but flirt back with him and he’ll be speechless for a whole minute then accidentally say “you’re not that cute ewww”

he’s fucking annoying. he’s handsome and he’s a great basketball player – a MENACE on the court – but he’s so annoying

baji is not smart... or so you think. he’s actually just lazy that’s why he’s always flunking his exams until you joke that he can’t answer a math equation and he uncaps the pen with his teeth, starts scribbling on the library tables and proudly presents the answer to you while leaning back on his seat

“how bout now, miss smarty?”

he got the answer right so now you’re forced to buy him snacks every after class

everyone knows baji has a crush on your best friend from the other class and you almost ship them until baji starts acting weird around you

when you invite him to go swimming with you and your other friends on a weekend, he almost chokes on his drink because of course his first thought is swimsuits

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? but it can’t just be the two of us, my mom is going to assume i’m dating somebody and she’ll whoop my ass”

“i invited the whole friend group, baji.”

“OHHHHH...”

baji isn’t the smoothest in his flirting game but he makes up for it with confidence and dedication. i’m talking about being cheesy by picking flowers on his way to school, flipping his hair back and winking at you as he hands you the flower

he’ll run in the hallways just to walk with you in class

he’ll playfully carry your bag for you because he doesn’t want ‘a pretty girl to carry such a heavy bag – are you carrying rocks in your bag? why is this so heavy?’

you sit next to baji and during exams, the teacher bonks the both of you because you’re not answering it at all

you’re just staring at each other with stupid smiles on your faces

“mr baji! ms y/n! what’re you staring at!!”

the whole class erupts into hoots and cheers until you’re turning away from each other because it’s embarrassing. fun fact: the teachers also find you both cute

baji kisses his fist and pumps it into the air when he wins a basketball game before pointing at you, banging his chest and shouting, DID YOU SEE THAT??

yes he was so adorable.... and he got jealous quick

you had a lot of guy friends and most of the guys in the class has a crush on you... so he’s really possessive and jealous

he’ll growl at anyone approaching you but then smile prettily at you when you cock a brow at him

he’s extremely immature

the type to moan in the middle of the class and make perverted jokes. he also laughs while slapping chifuyu’s thigh when the biology teacher mentions sexual organs

anyways, remember that best friend of yours he crushed on first? she ended up liking him too and the stupid you thought “best friends share” so you didn’t mind even though the whole school knew you and baji were a thing

until baji stopped talking to you...

the two of them started going out and you’re third wheeling along with a cringing chifuyu

you supported your best friend though (rip you)

but then they broke up and suddenly baji and your friend confesses that they never really liked each other that way and realized that she liked him out of curiosity and he liked her platonically... turns out the whole time he never got over you

so he proposed with a hair tie and tied it around your wrist

you guys have matching hair ties and it was your way of telling everyone ‘yes we’re together’

baji loves calling you late at night when everyone else is asleep because he wants your voice to be the last thing he hears before falling asleep

he proposed to you again a year later with duct tape that’s for your wrist again

he likes to insert himself in conversations about girl talk or horror stories even though he’s not invited just because he wants to be near you. he doesn’t understand what’s going on the whole time but he��ll nod enthusiastically

baji loves your hair. he learns how to style and tie it up for you but respects that you don’t like your hair being touched too much

baji has once tried to kiss you in a horror house after kabedoning you

the kiss never happened though... because you just ate cheese nachos and he had hotdogs.... it was pretty awkward but he came out the horror house pretty proud of himself

UNFORTUNATELY

you and baji are no longer in contact, but you sure do miss that sweet boy. it’s sad because you used to be best friends but you haven’t talked to him in years. last you heard from him was that he’s towering over everyone now and you found it pretty cute because you used to be taller than him in middle school

baji is now a physics genius

♡ — HANMA !

NO QUESTIONS ASKED, HANMA IS THE BOY YOU NEVER WANT YOUR PARENTS TO MEET

hanma is a walking red flag but he was also one of the sexiest and hottest people you’ve ever met

the best definition of a bad boy, good man. that’s corny as hell but it was true

hanma never shows up in class. when he does, the day is almost ending and the only thing he has in his bag is a water bottle and an umbrella

he never listens in class. he’s just sleeping all the time but somehow he’s awake each time his friends come in before he’s disappearing again

he isn’t really a playboy but he basks in the fact almost everyone drools for him

not the type to get drunk, although his friends are pretty notorious for smoking, getting drunk a lot, and clubbing

he doesn’t go clubbing, neither does he drink, tried smoking once but he’s actually pretty conscious of his health since he has a hidden condition he’s only ever opened up to you. yes you did cry when you heard about how he isn’t doing well and that sometimes he doesn’t go to school because he’s in the hospital

another basketball player

flirts with everybody. even teachers, but they’re more in a joking, “ma’am you’re very pretty” type of way

he almost cried once when a scary professor put him in the spot and he doesn’t know the right answer

the ONE time he paid attention in class was when your seatmate never sat next to you out of thinking you’re intimidating so hanma invites himself to be your new seatmate. voila, he has a pen and notebook now and he’s even participating in class!

meanwhile, you can’t understand a single thing because he’s too handsome and you’re so shy around him

hanma knows you like him

but for some reason, he never flirted with you. he opens doors for you, gets mad at the other boys who are disrespectful and will constantly ask you how you’re doing

he seems to be nice only to you

tells your friends he crushes on you but makes your friends promise they won’t ever tell you because his ex-girlfriend is hung up on him and the little miss thing will hate you if she finds out

hanma always smells nice

he only has two moods: replying in the speed of light or making you wait two business days before he replies with “sorry i fell asleep”

hanma is always LOUD. he’s the class clown and very charismatic, everyone wants to be his friend, though he is oddly quiet and blushes around you

when kisaki asks him if he’s shy because you’re there he’ll heftily defend himself

then mutter under his breath that you’re too pretty and he can’t look you in the eye because he’s scared

hanma gives the best, warmest hugs

hanma likes to flex his jewellery and shouted I LOVE YOU at the top of his lungs when you got him a Rolex watch as a gift

he’s introduced you to his mom as his “intelligent and kind classmate.” mama hanma thinks you’re pretty and he winked at you after that

hanma knows your favourite cake is no longer being served in your favourite cake shop for years now so he promised to learn to bake so he can recreate it for you someday

he’s also a great singer and a talented dancer !!

everyone called you the good girl bad boy trope and ofc your friends warned you about him that he was a walking red flag so they don’t want you with him

hanma is always secretly looking out for you

his friends think you’re cute together, but apparently you’re too “innocent” to be a good pair for him, and honestly he has shitty friends !! you trust him but never his friends so you don’t hang out with him a lot. in fact, you don’t hang out with him at all

hanma catches you looking at him during class because he’s also looking at you

hanma knows how to calm you down from panic attacks

he turns from rude to sweet in a split second every time you’re around

he’s the best listener, and you would’ve been great friends if you gave it a chance. sadly, because you don’t trust the people around him, you let him approach you first and he tells you all his secrets while you keep yours to himself

hanma is in a much better place now. he’s realized his friends are toxic and he’s on his way to become a great professor

have i mentioned hanma is extremely patient? because he is

a good soul through and through

♡ — SANZU !

sanzu is the most toxic boy in your life

he’s pretty and he knows it.

extremely popular in school because he came from a good family, he’s smart, he’s multilingual and had lots of talents up his sleeves

he was pretty humble about it too

sanzu likes surprising people with his skills and he’s good friends with everyone. the only problem about it is he already has everything in life so he’s not as ambitious as the rest and doesn’t work that hard

a gym rat

an athlete and martial artist

he’s the one who taught you to smoke but you didn’t like it so you stopped it after one huff. a bad influence in your life because he believed enjoying your youth meant doing stupid shit that is harmful

he has days where he’s sweet though... you can’t deny he cares about you and doesn’t want you getting too tired

he fell in love with you at a time you weren’t so happy with yourself because being a teenager was a difficult age, so you were in disbelief he found you so amazing when he could literally have anyone else (IT WAS A VERY TOUGH AGE)

sanzu is pretty quiet at first, but when you get to know him, he’s so fun and open minded

once, he snuck you out of school to take you out on a theatre date and he was feeding you his popcorn before you shyly asked to hold hands with him. he also tried on women’s clothing because he knows he looks good in it

he had the most gorgeous abs

your family is friends with his, so you both hung out a lot and your families didn’t question your friendship to be close to being romantic so you got away with anything

he has an extremely grandiose rooftop garden... you remember staying there with him while it was raining and you guys cuddled for warmth

once, you told him you were at a restaurant near his place and he nearly ran out just to hang out with you when you told him you were with his family and he immediately went back home

bought a car just because he wants to experience making out in a nice vehicle with chase atlantic and the 1975 playing in the background

your relationship with sanzu is complicated

you’re best friends and then you’re lovers and then you’re strangers and then best friends again

you have complimentary kinks

he has a strength difference kink and you have a size difference kink. he’s more than happy to indulge all your fantasies without judging you about it

sanzu also always smells good

you like cuddling in his jacket because he’s just so comfortable to be with

sanzu is never ashamed in telling the world how much he likes you. one time, you walked past him with a new skirt and he snorted milk out his nose. he even fake cried just because he was so overwhelmed

“you’ve always been beautiful but wtf, you’re a walking goddess can i kiss you”

to which you always respond with, “you can kiss me when we’re dating.”

but you never dated during those times because you were extremely busy with school and he was too busy rejecting everyone who crushed on him + he didn’t want to be tied down to anyone

sanzu knows you like the back of his hand

he’s saved you from creeps a hundred of times before. one time, when a creep in your class asked you to help him with his homework and you were obviously uncomfortable, sanzu swept in and helped the creep by himself so you wouldn’t have to be in that situation

sanzu is your go to red flag detector. he’s a red flag himself so he can smell a boy’s bullshit from a mile away and warn you beforehand if your new crush is a good person or not

although he doesn’t stop you from flirting or dating them

he kind of just gives you a heads up

when you come crying to him that they’d been shit, he doesn’t judge you for it. he understands your emotions and lets you cry as much as you want

his mom loves you

sanzu never asked you for anything in return

he hates it when you pay for your meals or anything. you tried paying for it once and he let you, but turns out he slipped in his own money inside your purse afterwards

sanzu is great with kids LMAO he’ll actually be a great dad

but for now, he is extremely toxic. he’ll never get over his first love and will still choose her no matter what. sometimes, when he’s so mad, he’ll end up calling his loved ones with hurtful insults and he makes promises he doesn’t keep

he has a toxic alpha male nature

one of his toxic traits is that he’ll judge someone when they dress up too provocatively or if he thinks a girl is dressing up for attention. you tell him multiple times people dress up for themselves but he won’t sway in his opinions

he’s both a good memory and a bad one

it’s like the more he ages, the more immature he becomes

deep down, sanzu is a lonely man craving for emotional intimacy. he pushes everyone away because he think nobody is good enough for him, then he suffers from loneliness

♡ — RAN !

it’s hard to date ran because he’ll love himself more than he loves you. and i don’t mean that in a self-respect way, i mean he’s so absorbed in himself that he has unrealistic standards and believe he’s above everyone

like yeah we get it he’s extremely hot and he’s a model but it won’t hurt him to be a little more humble

ran is filthy rich. he isn’t shy in flexing his family’s wealth and he comes to school with designer clothes, designer bags, expensive shoes, and limited edition wrist watches

he smells like Ferrari perfume

ran doesn’t care about personality. as long as you’re pretty and show a little bit of interest in him, that’s all he’ll go for

HE KNOWS HE’S HANDSOME

he actually sucks at sports but he’ll join games anyway just because the girls in the bleachers will scream for him

man can’t play to save his life although yea... it’s nice to have an eye candy on the court

you know he likes you when he asks you to be the one photographed instead of him

once, when the event you attended got too crowded and someone accidentally pushed him, he nearly fell on top of you. thankfully, you were in a corner and he had his arms around you to steady himself

one of the most embarrassing moments in your life because you’re sure he could hear your heartbeat

you’re one of the few girls who managed to make him shy for the first time in life

his fangirls are insane. you were eating out with your friends on a normal school day when his younger fangirls came and told you, “ran is never going to like you because he only notices girls who are pretty enough for him.”

you’re tired of their bullshit so you say with a straight face, “no wonder he never looked your way.”

high school is full of drama and petty people, so they ran up to him telling him you’d been mean so you cut off ties with him after that – not that you’d ever been friends

the only moments you had with him was when he’d randomly serenade you in public

or he’ll pester your friends asking you for social media but you don’t have any since you don’t trust people enough to have access to you. if they’re really desperate to be in contact, you’d give them your email, but he never got that

he thinks you’re a prude

he’s an ass, tbh

not a week later of giving you heart eyes and telling everyone how pretty you are, he starts dating someone else and he pretended like you didn’t exist

sanzu warned you about ran. he said ran isn’t really serious, he doesn’t even want to date because he likes his girlfriends, he just wants to brag that he’s in a relationship with a pretty girl

ran has nothing else going for him besides his pretty face and money

you regret not spilling water on him when you had a chance. it would’ve been nice to ruin his ‘designer sweater’

♡ — IZANA !

Izana is that mixed transferee student with a stick up his ass

he has a superiority complex because of his family background, which in this case let’s just say he’s his famous daddy’s son

he’s a genius

Izana is so academically smart it’s scary. you wonder how you’re in the same class as him when you don’t have the same capabilities because he can answer things that are way up for university level

he’s arrogant about it too

he mocks people for not knowing ‘basic, common knowledge’

Izana has heard about you liking him and he was so shocked about it he said, “ew.” then he threw away the keychain you got him as a gift from one of your vacations

he didn’t do it in front of you but he accepted it, said thank you, then when he thought you weren’t looking, he dumped it in the trash heartlessly

Izana broke your heart just by existing

you’ve never met someone so cold and cruel

he was also misogynistic. he believed women should stay at home and be obedient little housewives, claiming he was smart enough to make all the money

much to your displeasure, he looks really handsome when he’s focused on answering something

until he opens his mouth and you want to punch him

you never got to punch him but your best friend, takemitchy, managed to slap him once before running away squealing in fear

izana is now in a prestigious school somewhere

sometimes you think it must be tiring to be him because he has no time for himself. he’s hopping from school and cram schools every day, he always comes to school extremely pale and sleep deprived, but Izana will always say success is only earned through hard work

you want him to apologize to you for a whole year of him calling you ugly and dumb

♡ — MITSUYA !

MITSUYA IS THE MOST PRECIOUS PERSON TO EVER EXIST

you met mitsuya when talking to your friend in the hallway one morning when he goes out of his room, talking to his friend and looking effortlessly cute

in that moment, you were sure you fell in love

you made efforts to be friends with him. you built a study group and made your friend add him in the group where you all studied and shared the same interests

mitsuya was an artist and he’s the one who inspired you to learn how to draw

he’s also a huge fan of anime and manga

he has younger sisters who are just the cutest !! he was a walking malewife and he always spoke so softly, so sweet and overall being perfect

mitsuya had no flaw tbh. he had it all

he was smart, he was caring, he was respectful, he was hardworking, and he was cute

he was also easy to fluster because you were very straightforward in flirting with him, though he’s oblivious to that and thought you were just romantically friendly with everyone since you were also sweet to your other friends

mitsuya never thought that you dropping by to give him his favourite snacks every week meant that you liked him

he’s smart but DENSE

even when you constantly asked him to teach you how to draw and shared earphones with him, listening to songs he liked even when you weren’t a fan of it, he always believed your gestures to him were platonic

one of the reasons being he didn’t think there’d be any way you’d like him since he’s one of the quiet, geeky guys who girls didn’t talk to

and the other reason being that he had a crush on your closest friend sobs

you didn’t know he crushed on your friend by the time you confessed to him, which was through a group chat when you blurted out, “i like you, mitsuya. i have a crush on you and i admire you.” the whole chat burst into chaos and he was so nervous to approach you after that

three days later, he approached you asking if it was a joke or not

you told him it wasn’t a joke. he was surprised but then said thank you for even noticing me

YOU JUST WANT NOTHING MORE BUT TO HUG HIM

IF YOU COULD, IF HE LET YOU, YOU’D GIVE MITSUYA THE WORLD

but mitsuya confessed to your best friend, and she turned him down because she’s not interested in anyone who wasn’t jack frost

you cried for two hours straight after that

mitsuya remains a good friend until now <33