#he only inspires boredom and anger in me

[nyapetaleijon]

i dont understand ronghao's motivations at all. like his shifu died and he was heartbroken. ok? grieve like a normal person. dont do genocide. i get the feeling that theyre trying to frame him as sympathetic to the audience but it is NOT WORKING.

[christinarowie332]

please me

matt sturniolo x reader . smut

requested by : @udonotknowme

warnings: smut . language . sub matt ,m!receiving only . shortish but possible multi part-er .

————————-

my wrists ache from how long i’ve been scrolling on my phone . the house is the quietest i think it’s ever been . nick and chris are out with friends , i decided to stay home to catch up on some things while matt’s upstairs doing the same . he was extra quiet this past week , only really texting me at night when we’re all in bed , opting to stay home , going to his room earlier .usually i sleep in his room but for some reason he asked for some space , so here i am in nicks room mindlessly scrolling through pinterest to try and get some inspiration to carry on with my work.

after ten minutes of this, i huff and throw my phone across nicks bed , boredom completely taking over and destroying the fraction of motivation i had . i roll off the silky bed and make my way downstairs, quietly sitting on the couch and deciding to journal instead . but it’s in matt’s room . fuck sake .

i make my way from the living room towards matt’s room and it’s almost silent, no music , no talking . nothing . except for quiet little noises , like whimpers and whispered “fucks” . is he crying?. i go to knock on the door after a second of contemplation but hault when i hear a groan and my name . oh. i lean against the door frame and listen in for a second . i know i shouldn’t but the tiny whines and whispered curses flood my ears , the only thing i am aware of is the arousal slowly pricking at my core . i open the door slowly . almost making it in undetected but a slight creak of the hinges makes his head lift and look towards me . instead of covering his body up he just continues his movements, his tattooed arm flexing with every pump of his dick , veined hand wrapped around his cock sliding up and down the shaft , his jaw dropped as his half lidded eyes fluttering each time his thumb grazes over his angered tip .

“matty what are you-“

“please help me- fuck” he cuts me off . his voice is strained, the vein in his neck protrudes out as a groan leaves his throat before a choked sob . i quickly make my way around to his bed and sit on the mattress. he watches me sit down and drops his hand , pulling the blanket over his stomach and looks up to me , raising his inner eyebrows tears brimming his water line . “i’m sorry” he says after a second of silence. i bring a hand to his face before speaking , my thumb stroking away the the tears resting under his eyes .

“hey it’s okay , talk to me what’s wrong” as much as this situation would be awkward for anybody else , it feels normal , he looks like he’s in pain and i care about him too much to make this awkward. i’ve had feelings for matt for a while now , he’s sweet , attractive, kind , patient and a thousand other great things .

“i can’t-“ he says before swallowing the lump growing in his throat and drops his head into the crook of my neck , speaking muffled sorrys into the material of my hoodie . i place a hand onto his neck and stroke soothingly up and down his neck . his bare back is all i can see , his shoulder blades shifting with every movement. “matt talk to me . what’s up . i can help you”

“i can’t cum , like at all , i’ve tried everything. it hurts y/n , fuck it hurts”

“do u want me to-“

“please , please i’ll literally do anything, y/n please” he cuts me off , grabbing my face and getting onto his knees on the bed . i was thrown aback for a second , searching in each of his cloudy eyes for for a moment, before eventually peeling the blanket back . he was right , his tip was painted red and white , pre cum leaking down onto his skin , veins from the base trailing up to the head making his dick look fake , like a painting . i got up from the bed and stripped down to my bra and pants , he watched me and slowly stroked his cock while getting situated against the headboard of his bed .his nostrils are flared and bottom lip is harshly trapped under his teeth . “stop doing that matthew” i say walking over to him , his eyebrows furrow but he stop’s nonetheless. “but-i thought-“ he says but i cut him off as i sit back down to my original position, taking his dick in my hands slowly .

“i meant what i said baby , but i’m gonna do it my way okay ?” he frantically nods at my words . watching my hands move up and down his shaft . his head throws back into his pillow holding him up against his head board . i stop my movements making him look back at me and i continue my stroking but slightly faster as he looks at me . “i heard you saying my name matt . what were u imagining , spit” i say and he spits into my hand that i brought to his face before answering. “mmh, fuck i- i was imagining this” he whimpers as i roll my thumb over his tip , his hips shuddering slightly.

i stroke painfully slow, knowing he’s dying to release but the quiet whimpers and shakey breaths take me into a trance as i hold eye contact with him . that is until his eyes betray him and he keeps his eyes on my clothed tits , my bra holding them up perfectly ,so each stroke cause the goose bumped skin on my chest to shake. “use your words matty what do u want” i ask tilting my head slightly, watching his eyes meet mine again , silently pleading with me as his inner corners of his eyebrows curl upwards , his eyes wet and glistening with need . “mmgh fuck can i”he cuts him self off with a soft highlighted whine as he lifts himself by his hips to get more friction , looking down at my hand wrapped around him. “matt” i say making his eyes shoot to mine , i continue moving my hand over his dick as he reply’s , his voice shakey with pleasure. “mmh please , let me see your tits . let me t-take it off” i smile at his reply and un clasp my bra , letting the straps hand off my shoulders. he frantically reaches up to my shoulders , sliding the straps down my arms and immediately attaching his lips to the skin on my chest . he moans against my skin , the vibrations traveling through my nerves and straight to my nipples ,hardening them . my strokes become sloppy as he makes his way to my neck , biting down every time my hand moves towards his tip . his soft noises echo in my ear at the closeness .

“you sound so pretty pretty baby , do u want me to use my mouth-“

“YES FUCK” he cuts me off breathless .his head throwing back once again .

“no manners?” i reply slowing my movements , making him whine and thrust up into my hand yet again , i smile at his neediness and lean down to his neck placing soft kisses to his neck as i speed up my stroking again , feeling his blood pump under my hand and his soft skin roll over my palm . he lets out a breath and relaxes, places a finger under my chin bringing my face up to his . he looks into my eyes for a second and i can see the way i look at him for a second , they flick to my lips and up again , before he slowly attaches his lips onto mine . i’m taken aback by the feeling and stop stroking , trying to match his pace against my lips . he brings one hand to the side of my face and the other to my hand around his dick , slowly guiding my hand up and down again. i smile into the kiss and he does , our roles slipping for a second as he moves the hair out of my face and pins it behind my ear . i pull away from the kiss and lower my self to his pelvis .

my lips inch closer to his dick before i take him in my mouth , my tongue swirling over his tip collecting the mix of his pre cum and spit . he shudders and lets out a small whine , his hand flying to the bed sheets as i take his entire dick in my mouth.

“please , please ,fuck ,please” he begs as his hand makes its way into my hair , twisting it into a pony tail and pushing my head down further. i gag slightly as his tip touches my throat , the vibrations making a lewd moan fall from his lips , along with a tiny twitch in my mouth . “y/n fuck, please . i’m so close FUCK” at this i speed my movements, bringing a hand to his torso dragging my nails along his skin in a attempt not to gag at the deep penetration of my throat . a train of whimpers and whispers pleads later i feel a string of cum hit the back of my throat , i pull ways from his dick , swallowing the warmth in my mouth and attach my hand to his dick , slowly stroking before his hand grabs my wrist and pulls it away . i smile at him and he lets out a breathy laugh before pulling me by the hand around my wrist making me fall onto his chest in a giggle . my head hits the skin of his chest , my skin sticking to his with the sweat resting on his rising sternum. i raise my head to him and smile , tears plastered against my cheeks . he brings his head down to mine and places a soft kiss to my lips .

“thank you y/n” he says as we pull away from eachother , his lips plump and pink .hair sticks to his forehead before i move it away from his face , making his eyes close and lean back along with my touch .

“anytime matt”

“next time it’s all about you hm?”

————

this kid fucking soaked my panties 😝💯

(i’m sorry)

-🍼

taglist:

@mangosrar @querenciasturniolo @recklesssturniolo @ermdontmindthisaccount @udonotknowme @urmyslxt @iheart2021chris @its-jennarose @oversturn @paper-crab @strniohoeee @slut4chr1s @daddyslilchickenfingers @freshlovehacker @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @kvtie444 @lustfulslxt @lunarsturniolo @lovingsturniolo @chrisenthusiast @chrisolivia4l @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @mattslolita @mattsbratt @kitaysworld @fredswh0re

[cece693]

Pain (Lestat de Lioncourt x Male Vamp. Reader)

This small fic came to me while looking through Pinterest. You know those little 'aesthetic' quotes? Well, it came from this one specifically: 'I loved you even when it hurt.' This fic includes things from both the movie and TV show, so no specific Lestat was used for inspiration. Enjoy.

Summary: On the anniversary of his transformation, m/r can't help but remember his past: one that includes his ex-lover and sire, Lestat de Lioncourt.

M/n was tired. Though his outward appearance betrayed no signs of aging—no wrinkles, no gray hair, no creaking bones—the weight of centuries bore down on him. As he gazed at the midnight sun, a harbinger of his impending retreat to his coffin, m/n decided to indulge himself and spend more time out in the open. After all, this was the only time he could enjoy the new wonders of the world, yet this was not just any ordinary day. Tonight marked the anniversary of m/n's transformation into one of the undead.

Reflecting on the past, m/n reminisced about the persuasive allure of Lestat, the vampire who had sweet-talked his way around rationality, promising a life brimming with pleasure and abundance. In the initial decades, it was a splendid existence.

Lestat had a way of making m/n feel truly special. The once mundane aspects of mortal life were now elevated to extraordinary heights in the vampiric realm, and Lestat made sure m/n felt the full extent of his newfound powers.

There were moonlit strolls through shadowy alleyways, where Lestat shared the secrets of their immortal world. He spoke of the intoxicating thrill of the hunt, the taste of forbidden blood, and the freedom that came with transcending the limitations of mortality. Lestat created a world where every moment felt like an eternity of bliss. However, m/n should've known his novelty would wear off.

Lestat was a man driven by desire and ambition, wanting to taste the newest and finest things in life. What would m/n offer to such a monster who had already taken everything? So when Lestat's attention was redirected to another human named Louis, m/n felt pain.

He was angry at Lestat for casting him aside, yet the blame couldn't be placed on him alone—m/n should've known that a creature such as Lestat could never be tied down, despite how much he proclaimed to love you. So, when the ethereally beautiful vampire introduced Louis as his newest creation, a realization dawned on m/n. Lestat wasn't his anymore.

And Louis, the unwitting figure in their love triangle, bore no blame for his and Lestat's fallout. M/n grappled with conflicting emotions, attempting to cultivate hatred towards the vampire who seemed to have stolen Lestat away. Yet, against his own efforts, all he could muster was pity. For as much as Louis and Lestat showcased their 'love' through tender kisses and clandestine touches, m/n saw through the facade.

In the quiet moments when Lestat thought no one was watching, m/n observed the flickers of longing and boredom in the vampire's blue eyes. It became evident that the passion between Louis and him, while palpable, was also marred by perpetual restlessness. Not even months into Louis' stay did the cracks in their relationship begin to manifest themselves.

"Out with Antoinette?" Louis would hiss, the accusatory tone hanging heavy in the air, ensuing another argument between the two. As the discord between Louis and Lestat escalated, M/n found himself unwittingly becoming a refuge for Lestat. The vampire, seeking solace in the familiar, turned to M/n whenever the storms of conflict raged with Louis. In those moments of anger, Lestat was M/n's again, yet it also drove him to the brink of madness and unhappiness.

He had days, if lucky, where things would go back to how they were—a semblance of the love they once shared. But whenever the storms settled between Louis and Lestat, m/n would be relegated to loneliness once more. One day, unable to bear the emotional rollercoaster any longer, he confronted Lestat. The air was thick with tension as they stood facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

"You can't keep doing this, Lestat." M/n pleaded, the frustration and anguish evident in his voice. "Keep me here when you clearly love Louis. How would you like it if I were to do the same?"

M/n regretted saying anything as Lestat's eyes darkened, and a snarl emerged on the vampire's lips. In a sudden, swift motion, Lestat pinned m/n to the wall, his grip firm and possessive. The room seemed to close in as Lestat hissed, "You belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone." M/n retorted, anger engulfing his body.

Lestat laughed coldly in his face, grip tightening, he smirked. "That's where you're wrong, love," he taunted, his voice dripping with both amusement and cruelty. "I own you…"

The possessive declaration sent a chill down m/n's spine, his anger giving way to a growing sense of unease. Lestat's dark laughter reverberated in the confined space, echoing the shifting power dynamics between them. Trapped against the wall, m/n felt the weight of Lestat's control, a dominance that left him conflicted and vulnerable.

Lestat's smirk widened, his gaze predatory as he continued, "You're mine to protect, mine to control. I've tasted your blood, felt your heartbeat sync with mine. You're bound to me in ways you can't comprehend."

M/n, trapped against the wall, felt a cold chill run down his spine at Lestat's words. The once cherished intimacy between them now felt like chains, binding M/n to a fate he hadn't fully understood.

In a moment of intense emotion, Lestat, fueled by the strange dance of power and desire, leaned in, capturing m/n's lips in a possessive kiss. The meeting of their mouths was both a declaration of dominance and a desperate attempt of Lestat's to re-establish his control over m/n.

Perhaps, in his pursuit of novelty and excitement, he had unknowingly neglected his first creation in favor of the alluring Louis. However, what neither m/n nor Louis knew was that, hidden beneath the layers of Lestat's charismatic exterior, there existed a capacity for love.

As Lestat's lips sought dominance in the heated kiss, there was an intricate play of emotions beneath the surface.

The neglect that m/n had felt wasn't an absence of love but rather a reflection of Lestat's internal struggle to navigate the complexities of immortal relationships. Lestat, a vampire with a history of numerous lovers, had reveled in the pleasures of passion without feeling a deep emotional connection—until m/n entered the picture. Even his intense relationship with Louis didn't compare to the profound connection he shared with m/n.

As the intensity of their heated kiss began to wane, Lestat pulled away, his eyes fixed on m/n with a mixture of possessiveness and intensity. "If you dare to run away," Lestat whispered, "Know that I'll drag you back to my side. And that's a promise."

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Flowers on the Grave

Sebastian Sallow x MC Word count: 1,508 Rating: G Themes: loss, sorrow, love, friendship

Summary: After Anne's death, MC reflects on how far they and Sebastian have come since their fifth year. Notes: This is just a short songfic inspired by "Flowers on the Grave" by The Maine. Lyrics are italicized. (Is it annoying when people insert lyrics into fics? I can't decide. Tell me.) Definitely recommend listening to the song to feel the vibe. Not sure if I'll post this to my AO3; just kind of wrote it from boredom.

Despite the heaviness of the moment, the breeze comforted Sebastian Sallow. It reminded him of the person he was mourning because it was just like her – gentle yet assertive. It was a quiet, peaceful morning on the outskirts of Feldcroft. Though Sebastian preferred to stay away from his former hamlet, only one thing could bring him back.

“She loved daisies.”

Sebastian’s gaze remained on the newly erected gravestone but his eyes didn’t register any information to his brain. His mind felt incapable of any thinking, a stark contrast from his usual state of mind.

“She loved daisies,” he repeated. He didn’t know why the sentence was worth repeating, but it comforted him. Probably because it was a fond memory of her.

You lifted your head to offer Sebastian a small, encouraging smile. That was the first time he’d spoken that morning.

Feel the moment all around you. And the quiet that surrounds you. The time you have is sacred. Don't wait around and waste it. They can't take that away from you.

The pain that had seized Sebastian’s body and mind for the previous two days had subsided, leaving him with a new kind of numbness. This was goodbye and he wasn’t prepared for the finality of it all, but somewhere, deep inside the both of you, was a selfish sense of relief.

Anne Sallow was no longer in pain. She passed peacefully in her sleep two nights ago, leaving Sebastian as the sole member of the Sallow family and leaving you and Ominis Gaunt to be his support system just before the start of your seventh year at Hogwarts.

The three of you stood solemnly after Anne’s burial. Her grave site smelled of freshly dug Earth as you laid a bundle of daisies on top of the mound of dirt. The hush that settled over the three of you wasn’t new – you often sat in comfortable silence together – but it felt different. Sebastian felt different. 

Over the past two nights, Sebastian’s grief took many forms. At first he cried in anguish over his dead sister. Then his sorrow shifted to anger, something you were all too familiar with. Finally, he went quiet, which actually scared you more than his previous expressions of grief.

So you handled him the best way you knew how – with gentle kindness, but tough resistance when his words became too cruel or his actions too selfish. You held him as he slept and made it clear you had no intention of ever leaving him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” Sebastian finally whispered, his eyes still on Anne’s gravestone that the two of you transfigured together.

“You don’t need to know right now,” you said. “You just need to know that it’ll all be OK.”

Everything is temporary, even the sorrow that you carry. So tell me, are you OK? You say you are OK. I'm OK now I'm with you.

You reached for Sebastian’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, unsure if the gesture even registered with him. It didn’t appear to, but you knew better than to be offended. This was bigger than you.

This was a teenage boy who was forced to grow up far too quickly. He’d been pushed to make tough decisions, some of them impossible and some of them terrible. He’d seen things that many seasoned wizards will never witness. He’d committed the ultimate crime, a sin so terrible, he’d nearly lost everyone and everything for it. Now, he’d lost his twin sister and the only part of his past worth keeping.

You also had suffered loss in the past two years, but none as great as this. Though you had grown to love Anne like a sister, you could never understand a loss like this.

But Sebastian’s hand twitched in yours, a sign of life and a rush of relief. It was his way of saying he was still present with you. He didn’t want you to worry.

'Cause you don't plan life, you live it. You don't take love, you give it. You can't change what is written, so when fate cries, you listen.

“I’m glad she’s no longer hurting,” Sebastian said quietly. You and Ominis nodded, both encouraged by his willingness to speak. “And I’m glad she forgave me. I can’t change what happened and I can’t bring her back, but I can spend the rest of my life trying to make her proud.”

“She loved you,” you pointed out. “Even if her forgiveness took time, she never stopped loving you.”

“It was unconditional,” Ominis added.

And finally, Sebastian’s gaze met yours as you shared a knowing glance.

“I understand,” he said. 

And flowers on the grave of the child that I used to be.

Sebastian’s feelings for you didn’t come to fruition until your sixth year. Of course, he knew they were there. He’d anguished and fought himself over them since the day the two of you took down that troll. But you two spent your fifth year fighting something even bigger, so any feelings beyond your adventures to help Anne and to save wizardkind from Ranrok went undisturbed.

But once the dust of Solomon’s death settled and Ominis and Anne forgave Sebastian, you became focused on returning to a normal teenage life free of death, ravenous acromantulas and goblin rebellions. The only excitement you wanted was solving an occasional Merlin trial or dueling a worthy opponent in Crossed Wands.

Anne’s love for her brother may have been unconditional, but her forgiveness wasn’t. She made Sebastian vow to drop his pursuit in finding a cure for her. You watched him agonize over the agreement but his need to be on speaking terms with his twin prevailed and soon, Sebastian also returned to life as an everyday student.

That’s when Sebastian found life was becoming increasingly difficult around you. Not that he didn’t want you around – he wanted you around all the time, constantly, and that was the problem. His former thoughts of curing his sister were replaced with the constant thought of you.

Soon, he began fighting with the other boys who were vying for your attention until it all came to a head during Potions class when Garreth Weasley asked you to Hogsmeade. Sebastian sent him to the hospital wing covered in boils and when you scolded him, he declared that no one deserved you. You mistook the meaning of his words and during his panicked attempts to clarify his intent, Sebastian kissed you. That was the end of your reign as partners in crime and the start of your journey as two people who needed to be together.

It was summer when you told me that you loved me by the old creek. My ears had never heard that, tongue forgot the words and feet forgot the earth, it's true.

If Sebastian ever needed to conjure a patronus, his happiest memory was the day by the babbling brook. It was early summer before seventh year and he lay with the back of his head in your lap, reading a book as you gazed peacefully at the water.

You glanced downward at the boy in your lap, and though he couldn’t see it with his sight shielded by the book, you smiled. 

“I love you,” you blurted out.

The book snapped shut immediately and went forgotten at Sebastian’s side as his eyes darted upward toward yours.

“What?” he managed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. How very typical. Ever since Sebastian had made amends with Anne and stopped obsessing over a cure for her, the boyish sides of his personality surfaced. Sure, you’d loved him through his dark intensities when all he could think of was his twin, and when revenge against those goblins had driven him toward dark magic. But his silly, often sarcastic and bemused side had become so endearing to you, you vowed to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to keep him away from that darkness.

'Cause you don't plan life, you live it. You don't take love, you give it. You can't change what is written, so when fate cries, you listen.

“I said I love you, you daft troll,” you repeated.

He grinned stupidly up at you, shifting upward to support his weight back on his elbows. 

“I heard you,” he said. “I just wanted to hear it twice.”

And then he scurried away as you tried to smack him with his own book.

“By the way,” he later told you, after you’d managed to catch up to him and shove him in the water. “I love you, too.”

And flowers on the grave of the child that I used to be.

That moment felt like ages ago, though it’d only been months. Now, that happy memory was temporarily replaced with grief for Anne, but as you stood over her grave to say your final goodbyes, Sebastian’s eyes told you he was no longer driven by darkness.

I was on the verge of breaking down, then you came around.

[euhla]

LET THE FEAR YOU HAVE FALL AWAY, I'VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU

ׄ     ׅ  ★̶̲ ITOSHI SAE X READER

ׄ     ׅ  ★̶̲ CONTAINS : ooc sae, pet names, hurt/comfort, fluff, soft!itoshi sae, angst, readers can draw

ׄ     ׅ  ★̶̲ A/N : this is inspired from Yes To Heaven - Lana Del Rey and please forgive me if there are mistakes. If there is, you can tell me so I can fix it.

A loud slap sounded and succeeded in making the room quiet. "Know your place! Sae is only dating you out of boredom." The words came out easily without thinking about your feelings at that time. You hold your cheek that was slapped. While your heart is filled with anger. but he didn't stop there, hurtful words kept coming out of her mouth, "You've never been good at anything, I wonder why Sae chose you over me. You can only draw. Can drawing really make your life happy? Success? This world doesn't need such talent. Which means, you are useless and so is your existence."

The woman left you speechless. She also closed the door with a bang. While you just sat limp in the chair. “Is this talent of mine useless… ? Am I really that useless?" No matter how hard you try, even if you give up your health, people will never be satisfied with the results you give. They keep making fun of your hard work without seeing and helping your struggle. "If so, do I deserve to be happy and have Sae?"

If I'm useless, then I don't deserve to be happy. Such thoughts keep running through your mind, until you don't realize that you are pushing yourself too much. And of course your actions are realized by Sae.

"Hey, what's wrong, babe? Are you okay?" You show a surprised expression. You notice me. "Of course I'm fine." Sae let out a sigh. "I don't like it when you lie to me. Honestly, are you in trouble?"

"No? Who dares to find trouble with me who is Itoshi Sae's lover?" You said proudly. "You're right. But your recent changes say otherwise. You always skip your meals and choose to continue with work. I also often see you staying up late or until the morning for work. And I also rarely see you draw, usually you always draw something that's around you. I won't be mad, maybe I can help you."

You just stay silent and stare at Sae without expression. "That means there really is a problem, huh?" Sae sat next to you. His hands cupped your face and played with your cheeks. "Tell me. Please?" "Promise you won't be angry?" "Uh.. yes?"

You took a deep breath before recounting the incident from the beginning. Without you realizing it, tears keep falling from your eyes as long as you tell it. Until finally forming a puddle on the floor. Your voice broke from holding back sobs. Sae's hand is now stroking your back to calm you down, and you know Sae very well. He couldn't calm anyone down and didn't know what to do. So when he does that, you feel touched and appreciate Sae's efforts.

"Sae, do I... deserve to be happy? I can do nothing but draw. I can't help you or anyone else either. All I do is mess up. And also... do you really love me and not kidding? This keeps haunting me when I'm going to sleep. I want to be the best for you and othe—" your words stopped because Sae kissed you suddenly.

"My love, I'm glad that you are willing to tell me all this when it is so excruciating. Let your fear go by telling me everything. you deserve to be happy And don't let that fear take away your happiness. It's okay even if your only talent is drawing. Every painting you make is meaningful to you and to me. Your talent makes many hearts move and gives peace to anyone who sees it. I am at this point because of your presence, your smile, and your paintings which always make me calm. I will always love you; anywhere, anytime, and even if it means giving up my life just to be able to meet you and be with you forever. And wherever I am, whether I'm in a crowd of people, my eyes will always be on you."

"You are a precious person for me. You are a star for my moon that is always together. If you want, I can give you many reasons why I love you so much." Your tears broke again. Now are not tears of sadness, but are tears of joy. You are truly grateful for having Sae. Every action and word he does to you always manages to make you fall in love with him again and again. Makes you even more reluctant to let other people take him from you.

"I love you," Your hug is getting tighter. "I love you more."

"By the way, my love. What's that person's name?"

"Why?"

"Just curious."

[writingdevil]

Death [Hermittober24 Day Twenty Seven]

(Prompt list created by @collierose1 )

Warning-Violence,blood,death,body horror

Grian sighed,letting the cold air be visible for a split second,as he and Scar walked home together,the stars twinkling above them.The only sound that could be heard was the hooting of an owl,and the echoing tap of Scar's cane against the pavement.

They were walking home from work,and the only thing Grian wanted was to get to his warm house as quickly as possible,and order take-out.

Despite the fact that the harsh cold would not help Scar with his joints,he still took his sweet time, gazing up at the stars in fondness.Grian would have to keep yanking him forward by his elbow when he started to trail behind.

"Scar,c'mon,I want to make it home by tonight,if you don't mind."

"I do too Grian,but I don't take a lot of nighttime strolls,and I want to appreciate it all."

"Why?"Grian asked,as they turned the corner, coming up on a stoplight.

Scar shrugged."It might give me inspiration for a new project."

Grian barked a laugh out,rubbing his hands together for warmth."Scar,you're in charge of redesigning the local park.What do you need inspiration for?"

"You never know.Maybe Pearl might want me to design her office."

"She's fully capable of making her own dream work space,Scar.You know that."

At this point,they had made it to the stoplight,and Grian pressed the button,shivering as one car flew past them,making a wave of ice cold air hit him.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes,and Grian saw Scar lean forward to look down each end of the dark street,and before he could say anything, Grian went,"No."

"Why not,G?I don't see any cars."

"You know what you're like,Scar.Just wait for the light,and then we'll go."

Scar waved him off,then proceeded to walk out onto the street,humming a tune all the while,even tapping his cane to the beat whenever he could. Grian didn't move from his spot.

Scar was halfway across the street when he looked over his shoulder and noticed that Grian hadn't followed him.He motioned him forward with a smile."C'mon,G!I thought you were the one that was dying to go home!"

"I am,but-"

-But before Grian could continue-a car appeared, seemingly out of the shadows,and crashed into Scar.

Grian froze,as his friend's body went flying across the street,and he heard the sickening cracks of his bones in the once peaceful night.Grian couldn't take his eyes off where Scar had been,and was instead replaced with a dented car,and a cursing driver inside.

Slowly,he turned to look at Scar's body,and knew he was dead.

"Oh,you idiot!"Grian screamed,balling his hands into fists as he glared at Scar's corpse,blazing annoyance coursing through him.He marched up to him,standing in front of Scar,who's neck was now the wrong way,and put his hands on his hips.

"What did I say?What did I say,Scar?"Grian snapped,as blood inched closer to his shoes."I told you to wait,because I knew this would happen and I know whenever you feel like tempting death,you absolute fool."

The sound of a car door opening was the only thing to rip Grian's attention and anger away from Scar, but the sight of the pale and guilty driver was just too much to deal with right now.

Grian was tired,and cold,and hungry,and it was all Scar's fault.

Grian just sighed tiredly,putting a hand over his face as he gestured for the driver to go away."Go, just-go.I'll deal with this."

"Oh my God,I'm so sorry-"

"It doesn't matter.Just keep driving."

"But I-"

"Leave.Now."

He looked away as the driver gave in,and he just stared at the night sky,hoping that would calm him down,as he heard the driver continue on their journey.

It was a good few minutes of waiting,and by then, Grian's anger had lessened a smidge,and he heard the first crack.

He stared down at Scar's shaking body in boredom, as his body began to snap itself back into position. A leg was twisted to face the correct way again. Fingers were quickly crackling loudly as they put themselves out of their bent position.

"You know,I'd be warm in bed right now if it weren't for you,"Grian stated,as he saw the way life began to return to Scar's emerald eyes,and then his hands suddenly shot to his neck,and Grian rolled his eyes as Scar grinned up at him as if he had been successful.

"Sorry about that,G,"Scar said,chuckling nervously as he swiftly twisted his head back to front.

Grian held his cane out for him to take as Scar shakily got to his feet."You can make it up to me by buying dinner tonight."

"Fair enough.Let's go before death catches me again!"

[loosingmoreletters]

inspired by that one post about WWX actually being more into torturing demonic cultivators than JC. anyway, WWX is resurrected early AU.

The man held his bleeding side with one hand while the other grasped a hurriedly drawn talisman. His bots squelched when they stepped into freshly-spilled blood. The scent of war lingered, the corpses lined the pitiful shack like puppets.

“Don’t come any closer!” the man shouted. “If you do, I’ll summon hell itself upon you! Worse than Wei Wuxian ever could’ve done.”

His attacker stopped, the silver bell at his belt chiming softly. He raised a brow before leaning closer still. “And what hell do you think you’re capable of bringing forth? You’ve dealt enough hurt.”

“Fucking Jiang!” the man shouted and activated the talisman. “Damn your sect leader! Did he send you after me? Will you drag me in front of his Lotus throne!?”

The resentment rose and pooled around their ankles like an abyss waiting to drag them down to drown. Anger poured from the assembled corpses, a steady waterfall of overwhelming grief and rage, screaming for another’s suffering.

The Jiang cultivator only shook his head with a soft laugh. “This is really beneath his notice.”

He set aside his sword and watched the resentment snarl, bloodied teeth glinting in the flickering moonlight.

A sigh broke through the noise. “This is really beyond my notice too,” the Jiang cultivator said and clapped, just once, freezing the resentment in place. He took a look around the shack, categorizing most of his findings with boredom. Only the corpses he regarded with sympathy.

��It’s my nephew’s birthday in two days,” the Jiang cultivator pointed out as though the other man should’ve known. “I have to be in Lanling by then, and your actions not only hurt these people, they’re also keeping me from my nephew.”

The man tried to take another step back, but only found himself stumbling into the mud. “You—you! How dare you act on the behalf on the Jiang when resorting to wicked tricks?”

The Jiang cultivator only scoffed. “You think you can do worse than Wei Wuxian and think of this as a wicked trick? Jiang Cheng was right, this mess needs cleaning up.”

The man opened his mouth again, perhaps to protest or shout another accusation of Jiang hypocrisy, dressing a disciple in embellished senior disciple robes when he commended the anger of the dead so easily, but his voice died in his throat as a hand curled around his throat.

He turned his head, slowly, and found himself staring into the face of a beautiful woman, her hair done up in bridal braids as blood dripped from her throat.

“Let’s show him what hell Wei Wuxian can summon,” the Jiang cultivator said and turned around, leaving his bride in red to bring forth the revenge of the dead.

[weaveandwood]

Weave and Woods Chapter 13: Heartless

Gale/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Angst | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Auroria deals with the realities of the Shadow Cursed Lands, pushing everyone away in the meantime.

She stared at the tear in the rug again, remaining silent. She had never seen him so upset with her. Her breathing picked up, shallow breaths coming in rapid succession yet she couldn’t get enough air. She felt like she was at a fork in the road. Should she meet his anger with her own, or should she fight and try to reclaim the small portion of her soul that wasn’t weighed down by guilt and grief? She looked back up at him just in time to see him nod and start to walk out of her tent flap.

AN: Canon-typical violence described, suggestive sexual language

“Let go of me!” Auroria screamed as she felt arms wrap around her waist. She shrugged them off and kept stabbing. 

And stabbing. And stabbing. 

“Ora he’s dead! Please!” She heard the desperate pleas from Gale, but ignored them. 

This man was a Thorm. He was responsible. 

She stabbed again, screaming as the blade pierced the flesh of the overgrown barkeeper over and over and over, blood coating the knife, her hands, her armor. 

Arms wrapped around her waist again. 

“I said let go!” she yelled, raising her dagger to plunge it into the corpse yet again, but these arms were stronger, not the same ones as before - she couldn’t shrug them off as easily as she had with the wizard. Karlach gave a good tug and yanked her off the body, practically tossing her halfway across the room, her dagger knocked out of her hand as she came to a halt. She reached for the blade, only for Astarion to place his boot on top of it, blocking her. 

She panted, her chest rising and falling heavily as she glared at each of her companions. Did they not feel the same rage she did? Were they only so concerned about their own lives that what they saw in these lands did not affect them? The corpses, the skeletons, the death everywhere?

They were selfish. 

She stood up, glancing at Astarion, still standing on her dagger. “Keep it,” she said coldly before marching out of the tavern, if you could still even call it that, and back on the path toward the mausoleum. 

******

Gale watched Auroria storm out of the tavern and furrowed his brow. Despite all of her reassurances, she was clearly still affected by what they saw on their way to Moonrise Towers the previous day - all of the tiefling refugees, murdered. He had spoken with Jaheira when they returned and she dispatched a group of Harpers to bury the poor victims, hoping that would bring Ora some peace. After the events just now, he could see that his actions were unsuccessful. He had never seen her like that, and could see his concern mirrored on their friends’ faces. 

“I’ve never seen Ora go completely mad like that,” Karlach whispered, breaking the silence. “It was a little frightening.”

Astarion bent down to pick up the dagger, investigating the dark, sticky blood that now coated the blade before making a disgusted face. He toed the corpse of Thisobald Thorm. “Well I for one was inspired. She should mutilate corpses more often,” he smiled, his words downplaying the worry that was showing at the corners of his eyes. 

Gale felt the sting of tears but blinked them away and cleared his throat. “Yes, well. We should probably catch up to her, I’m not sure she should be left alone at the moment.”

They left the tavern and started to walk the path toward where the mausoleum should be. The faint sound of muttering met their ears as they neared the end of the building. It had to be Ora. Gale looked at Astarion to ask if he and Karlach wouldn’t mind waiting, but Astarion beat him to it. 

“Go check on her, but don’t take long. I’m ready to get this over with,” Astarion said with an air of boredom before going with Karlach to the monument at the center of the road, tossing Ora’s dagger in the air and catching it by the handle as he walked. Rogues . 

Gale turned the corner of the building and saw her leaning against the wall, looking at her hands that were now shaking and coated in drying blood. He tentatively stepped forward, trying his best to be careful and quiet so as not to disturb her. A twig snapped under his foot, causing her to jolt and look right at him before quickly looking away. He sighed. Every time - where are all these twigs coming from? She attempted to wipe tears away with a relatively clean section of the back of her arm, still managing to smear blood across her beautiful face, the remnants of her savagery from earlier at odds with her bright features. He stepped closer to her, still giving her plenty of space.

“What do you want, Gale?” she asked, her voice flat. 

“I came to check on you - we heard you from the road. Are you…alright, my love?” He asked softly. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, comfort her, tell her everything was going to be okay. 

“I’m fine. Great. Wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically. “I think the blood all over my body speaks for itself.” She used the toe of her boot to kick around some dust, exhaling loudly. “This place is all death and dust. I never thought I’d say I’d rather go back to the goblin camp or the Grymforge.” 

She squinted, looking at the color of the grey sky, though it was of no use - the sky never changed as the day passed. “We should go, we’re wasting time here,” she said as she pushed off the wall of the building. He followed as she met up with Astarion and Karlach with a quick nod before leading them on their way.

They walked for a time in silence, Gale watching Ora from the rear of the party, noticing her take in every skeleton, every reminder that Reithwin wasn’t always ruined. He saw her hands clench the closer they got to the Thorm mausoleum and the amount of skeletons increased exponentially.

A familiar face appeared as they got close to the entrance of the mausoleum - Raphael. Astarion rushed to the front of the group, eager to make a deal with him - they would kill his old enemy in exchange for Raphael translating the infernal scars on Astarion’s back. While Ora agreed to it, it was another delay to the mission at hand, another delay to finding the Absolute, another delay in freeing this land of the Shadow Curse. For Gale, it was another delay to speaking with Ora, to see how he could help unburden her before the darkness of these Shadow Cursed Lands took root in her heart - her bright heart that was closer to sunshine than anything he had felt in a long time. That heart that warmed him, that made him want to live, and made him want to forsake Mystra. He wasn’t sure everything would be fine, really. But he would try his best to make it that way. For her. 

******

Yurgir was dead and the party was exhausted. Yurgir was dead and they were no closer to finding the relic Ketheric Thorm so desperately needed. Yurgir was dead and they’d make no further progress today.

She crouched down, her head in her hands, staring at a small tear on the rug she used to cover the dirty ground when she heard a throat clear outside her tent. She ignored it.

What had her mother always reminded her to do when she got frustrated? Focus on the positives, even if the day didn’t go your way. Yurgir was dead and Astarion was closer to finding out what the scars on his back meant. Yurgir was dead and that cleared out a wing of the mausoleum. Yurgir was dead and the rest of the party was on their way to meet them at their makeshift campsite now that the area in the western wing was secure. 

It felt empty. Hollow. Just like she felt without rage burning inside her. She traced the weaving on the rug with her eyes, following the threads over the warp and weft as it created patterns, hoping she’d reach an epiphany about something. Anything. 

“Ora? May I enter?” Gale. He sounded so tentative, so unlike him. She didn’t answer. He entered anyway. “What is it about the rug that has you so utterly fascinated?” She could hear the forced jovial tone in his voice, trying to lighten her mood as he sat next to her. She jumped as she felt his hand gingerly touch her back. He pulled it away instantly. Did the tent feel colder? Usually Gale’s presence brought warmth and light to her tent. 

Minutes passed in silence. Ora kept staring at the rug. Her mind raced, jumping from thought to thought, scenario to scenario - all with bad outcomes, more death, more loss, more guilt. 

“Talk to me. Please,” Gale finally whispered as he looked at her. 

“What do you want me to say?” She replied, her own voice still as flat as before as she continued her study of the rug. 

“Anything!” He raised his voice slightly.  “Tell me what you’re thinking about, tell me what is bothering you! I can’t help you if you’re silent - we’ve been through this before. We promised to talk to each other, no matter what.”

She nodded. He was right. She had laid into him when he had avoided her for five days, she couldn’t do the same.

“Is this still about the tieflings?” 

She saw red as her head snapped to look at him. 

“ Still ? Gale, we saw them less than a day ago. Yes, it’s still about the tieflings! How can you move on so quickly from people we knew being murdered senselessly? Helpless people being slaughtered looking for safety, laying out there exposed, dead, forgotten while we were celebrating , while we carried on as if everything was normal, while we blissfully spent the night together. Does it not impact you? Do you not feel endless guilt?” 

“Of course it does! You truly think me so heartless? After everything? After the other night?” His voice was hurt, incredulous at the suggestion.

She paused. The hesitation spoke volumes. “I -”

“No, I think you’ve made yourself quite clear.” He nodded, standing up. “I don’t know if the Shadow Curse is starting to get to you, but you are losing yourself here, Ora. I thought you were being fierce and brave, but something is changing in you, and not for the better. Surely you’ve seen death and destruction before, you were a High Forest Scout for crying out loud!” 

She stared at the tear in the rug again, remaining silent. She had never seen him so upset with her. Her breathing picked up, shallow breaths coming in rapid succession yet she couldn’t get enough air. She felt like she was at a fork in the road. Should she meet his anger with her own, or should she fight and try to reclaim the small portion of her soul that wasn’t weighed down by guilt and grief? She looked back up at him just in time to see him nod and start to walk out of her tent flap. 

“Well, this has been enlightening. Have a good night Or-”

“Wait. Please,” she said, her voice starting to waver. “Don’t go. I…” she trailed off, unsure how to articulate her thoughts.

He paused, and she saw his shoulders drop. “You what?” He asked, not turning to face her. 

She bit her lip. “I…I can’t get the death and desolation out of my head. Arabella’s parents. The dead tieflings. All the notes between lovers we’ve found next to corpses. All of the skeletons we’ve seen, just laying out in the open, forgotten, with nothing to remember them by.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “The barren landscape, the lack of life…it’s affecting me but not as much as this guilt I feel so deeply inside me. This pressure I feel to make sure we do this right. The endless strategies and scenarios I run through my head morning and night, trying to figure out how we come out of this alive.”

She saw the briefest flash in his eyes as he turned to face her, knowing instantly what he was thinking. The orb. 

“How all of us come out of this alive,” she clarified, unwilling to even entertain the idea. “And yes, I have seen death and destruction before, but not on this grand, organized scale. Gale, this land has been cursed for one hundred years. One hundred years and no one has been able to cure this land, and yet we’re supposed to lift the curse and take down the Absolute?” She laughed a cold, humorless laugh. 

“How can we do all this? We are a vampire spawn, a cleric with memory issues who’s own goddess tortures her, a tiefling with a heart that could give out at any time, a son of a Duke in a pact with a cambion, a githyanki soldier going through her own crisis of belief, a wizard who, while talented, tends to lean towards self sacrifice, and a ranger with no gift for magic. Every plan I’ve made, each strategy I’ve devised has had to weigh who will die. Who is unimportant enough to die. Have you ever had to make that choice?”

Gale stepped back into the tent, sitting across from her. “I have not.”

“It chips away at you each time, slowly taking the best parts of you. Soon I will have no heart left at the rate this is going. Seeing those tieflings murdered broke me, Gale. It took all this pressure that has been building in me since the day the nautiloid crashed to its boiling point. I can’t see our way out of this. I can’t see anything besides rage, guilt, my inadequacies, and the desire to give in to the whispers the tadpole is sending me to utilize its power since I have barely any of my own. I must admit, it gets more and more tempting as each hour passes.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, lacing his warm fingers through hers. “Ora, do you even hear yourself? You say you won’t have a heart, yet all you’ve demonstrated is exactly how big yours is. Each plan, each strategy you’ve implemented - it’s shown us all what it is we’re fighting for. Yes, we each have our own personal reasons for fighting, but we also see the bigger picture. I see the bigger picture, and it’s only because you’ve shown it to me. I know every decision you make has been weighed heavily by you and I trust you. Wholeheartedly” 

“How can you have so much faith in me? How can you love me when I can’t hold a candle to your powers? I can’t even conjure beginner level spells without difficulty and hours of agonizing work, and you have to train me like a child,” she whispered, staring at their joined hands like this act of care was an anchor holding her to herself, holding her to him. 

“You say you have no power, but you have never been more wrong. Your love for those who cannot help themselves, for this world we are in...it’s part of the reason I fell in love with you. That is your power, Ora. You make people believe in good. In the impossible. You made me believe I would live through this, Ora, the most impossible belief of them all.  It’s the reason I refuse to give up on you, and refuse to let you go down this spiraling path of guilt and insecurity. Believe me, I’ve been there,” he said as he lifted their hands, placing a kiss onto her knuckles. “I am here to pull you back, as I promised.” 

“How?” She whispered, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against hers. She felt the darkness in her recoil - of course he would be so arrogant to think that his kiss would cure her, would rid her of her turmoil. The tadpole whispered to push him away, he could not help her, only it could. It could help her take down any obstacle as long as she listened to it. The darkness within her clung to that. A surefire way to save everyone.

She brought her hands to his chest, aiming to push him away, to break contact, but a small voice inside her whispered, a flicker of warmth on the edge of her consciousness that gave her pause. No. It was a surefire way to save everyone but lose herself. The tadpole lied. It only craved power. 

The darkness shouted back, spilling into her consciousness like an inky, oily wave. The only way to get through this was power. The only way to get power was the tadpole. It wouldn’t be difficult to find others to ingest surrounded by so many True Souls. This was the only way. 

Gale’s hands settled on top of hers. Another anchor connecting them together. 

The small voice got louder. A brightness began to glow within her, chipping away ever so slightly at the darkness. Here was a man who loved her, desperately trying to save her just as she was desperately trying to save them all. Cling to him, cling to his hope. Let him love you as you love him.

Visions within her mind warred for dominance. Skeletons. Grass and flowers. A letter to a loved one, splattered in blood. Warm sunshine on a cloudless day. The murdered tieflings. Gale lovingly placing individual stars in the sky for her. 

Her hands clutched at his shirt. Rather than pushing him away, she pulled him to her, parting her lips for him as he kissed her deeply. She would listen to the small voice, the part of her that still believed they could do this. They could beat the Absolute. They could end the Shadow Curse. They would save as many people as they could, and mourn deeply for the ones they couldn’t when everything was over. 

The darkness within her was still there, clawing at the light, desperate to take over once more. Maybe it would. Maybe she would never be free of it, and the unyielding agony and bright hope within her would ebb and flow like the tides on the beaches she used to train near with her mother. 

As Gale kissed her neck, whispering “I love you, please come back to me” in her ear, Auroria knew she would cling to this feeling as tightly as she could. 

As they both undressed and she climbed into his lap, lowering herself slowly onto him as he held onto her tightly and slowly thrust into her as she rocked against him, she knew he would keep his promise to pull her out of the darkness every time. 

As they both cried out softly with their releases, she knew she was not alone. She would never be alone. It was not all on her to carry.

He smiled as he looked into her eyes, recognizing something returning in them that had faded out. “There you are, my love,” he whispered.

“Here I am. You brought me back,” she whispered and looked into his warm brown eyes as relief washed over his face. “I love you. I’m sorry,” she said as she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his, a hand on his cheek. 

The brightness within her was shining strongly now, bolstering her for the days that lay ahead. 

She had hope again. 

[panzershrike-pretz]

MICHAEL WOLF

Source: x x x | x x x | x x x -> song: Come Along

We'll be here when the world slows down And the sunbeams fade away Keeping time by a pendulum As the fabric starts to fray There's no such thing as time to kill Nor time to throw away So once for the bright sky Twice for the pig sty Thrice for another day Come, come, come, come, come along now Run away from the hum-drum We'll go to a place that is safe from Greed, anger and boredom We'll dance and sing 'til sundown And feast with abandon We'll sleep when the morning comes And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs

- About;

- Michael Lyall Wolf - he/him (trans ftm)

Michael's name comes from the Be More Chill's character, Michael Mell. At the time I changed his name to that, I was deeply in love with that musical (not that I ever stopped being in love with it) and, just as I did with Jeremy, decided that I needed a character with that name. It means "gift from God" and, well, he truly is a gift from God (or better yet, the child of one xD)

Micah, his nickname, comes from a typo that decided to stick with me every time I'd write his name, so I kept it.

Lyall is the middle name of Remus Lupin, the werewolf character from Harry Potter's story (which is also who inspired me to make Micah be a lycanthrope). It means wolf and faithful, which I guess really goes well with Micah's whole deal KEKEKEK

Finally, Wolf. Well that is self-explanatory enough

Michael Wolf Wolf 👍

- Cook

Michael's position in the ship is of great value; besides being responsible for keeping the crew well fed, Micah is in charge of keeping track of rations and maintaining storage.

Tho Micah was not initially good at cooking, he was able to make end's meet and eventually grew more fond of the kitchen - well, enough so his skills grew and now his food is one of the favorite's in the ship, just behind Theodore's (tho that's a given, since the man has a dregree in gastronomy).

Micah was not always well liked between people, mainly for his lycanthrope illness, so he endured many hardships involving food - that was enough to traumatize him. He swore to never let anyone in his care feel hunger at all. This led to him getting in a lot of troubles for sneaking food to his crewmates.

- God of Time, the Moon and Love

Michael was one of the first Gods to exist, direct son of Ozymandias and Imbatwa. He originally only represented time, but as the universe grew and forms of lufe beegan evolving, he took the roles of Love and Moon God as well. Being one of thes first Gods granted him some more powers than usual, tho not so useful as he'd want.

Michael is able to feel people's emotions and somewhat affect them if he wants too - that does mean he can make people fall in love, but he learned from many mistakes and refrains from doing that at all. With that, he can also make hisbtouch calm people down if needed and hypnotize them momentarily with his eyes. He hates it.

Can create portals that travel back or forth in tome by some hours, but it's incredibly dangerous to him and his health. Unlike time-loops, those portals are not stable and can easily collapse, which means he can get trapped in the Void, between dxeath and life. Useful? Maybe. Does he use it? Not at all.

He's able to turn into a wolf, tho he doesn't really enjoy it since he's been bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon, he has a painful transformation and becomes a menace to everyone around him - the simple thought of turning into a wolf out of that time sends shivers down his spine. When not transformed, his bite can still cause nausea and infections, as well as some signs of a not-full Lycanthropy (just intense need for raw meat, angryness, sensitivity to light, sounds and smells, foaming at the mouth). He's considered a highly dangerous individual and that has messed up with his views upon himself. This is not a power, it's a curse and he hates every bit of it.

So, in short, Michael doesn't use any of his powers because he fears them and himself.

- Personality

Michael is a very kind man, who'll not hesitate in helping others first and above all else. He hates what he is and how people view him and his kind, so he does his best in trying to make up for his curse even if that means he gets a bad time. He's a people pleaser who can't say no to most things - well, yeah, people can easily take advantage and manipulate him.

Michael is a total lovebug. He dreams and lives for romance; he never thought it'd be possible for him to have that and constantly fears that one day he'll wake up and be alone once more (it won't happen, but he's paranoid).

An excellent listener, who just has a way of atrracting people. He's a calm and gentle soul wsho believes the world can be a better place eventually; a hopeful little guy.

He's very prone to panic attacks and get's easily overwhelmed. Poor autistic guy. Anyway I torture him way too much :]

- Funfact: Michael is utterly addicted to chocolate. Any kind of chocolate. He goes insane over it and it's just a good way of calming him down. He smells of chocolate, books and spices. ALSO, sometimes he howls when he's happy.

- Relationship: Sirius and Jeremy

Oh no! Who is that I spy? The little boy. He has lil' teef :3 and heterochromia :3

[burgertaco6]

It is me again, once more but much more detailed in writing. If you are easily queasy with your imagination i advise you not to continue reading. This happened earlier today, which sadly sent me home early, and i still quite toil about it for that means i shall not earn much gold in my pocket.

So, it all started during the car ride to work. I put my shoes on while my dad was driving, as i dont have my own car and today is that time of the month where my body rejects unused anatomy of fertility for a new refreshing batch of horomones. When this feeling, aching in my body begins to chew its way through my large intestine. I think "Ah.. Just cramps, i had a loose stool before leaving home and when i woke up, surely it is nothing." but surely it meant doom i was in denial of.

Stepping out of the car i get this wave of not being able to control my body heat, making my way to clock in thus confirming i am working, then getting to actual work with wiping everything down to pass the time until we clean theaters. Its always quite dirty, but i make sure its not with adhd boredom inspiring me to get every nook and cranny making stuff look good as new.

Thats when it truly hit me, alike the trucks on freeways over bridges carrying tons of cargo. "You need to throw up." My body told me, the tingling of sulfuric on the base of my throat. "But surely not, i've eaten and taken pain relief! We must keep going, we only work two days this week, it will be worth it-" When i am interrupted with "No. You need to throw up, N O W."

I hurried as fast i could so not to expel on the floor, which was not very fast, doing some kind of unnatural clench to my stomach while keeping composure around the customers, looking sickly may disturb them. As i go to the third stall its like if i had gone blank, all i remember is spewing up. The first time was chunky as it was my breakfast that'd just come up, slightly foamy with a horrible smell. After the first i was dizzy, all of that digesting energy was gone as my body couldn't' find anything to get nutrients from, the first day in the morning is always a cleanser. The gripping feeling of hunger triggered me to barf once again, this second time more horrible than the last. Its complete liquid with little to no food, digestive acids having been forced up from my small intestine to replace the emptied stomach. It was like a disgusting mucus as it had gone up my nose on its way out.

Lightheaded, about to pass out from lack of vitamins and nutritions, i flushed and stumbled my way towards the sink. I make sure to clean VERY well of my face to remove anything that may be left upon my lips or nostrils, next were hands for that is customary rule of employee.

Entering the room of two heads who were on their managerial duty for the day, printing end times and writing out papers, they look at me with concern. Im asked "Whats up?" and i go "I just threw up twice, and im in great pain. I am so very sorry." They do not ask further question, there is not anger in their eyes. They say "Go. Go home." I cheer internally, 'OORAH!!!', but cannot crack a relieved smile from the oncoming feeling of thousands of knives in my innards down towards my legs. Worried coworkers look on with anguish of me when i entered the break room, typically i rarely leave early unless its assisting another getting more hours, grabbing my bag and drink i intended for dunch. Calling my father from the cellular device in tears and shakey breath he arrives within a few minutes (work is not much far from home). Im given the magical pink foam such dubbed "Pepto Bismol" to help as i go acquire comfortable loose clothing to prevent struggling in removal incase of another tragedy, so i pass out in my plastic furs safety. Waking, i stay in the warmth with less barfy tipsy, reading the rest of which i borrowed from the library. My feline companion is curled up with me, for the room was quite cold with a pleasant sunbeam on the foot.

To say i regret leaving work is true, but to say i wished to stay in my condition is a honest denial. I wish those who were there with me a peaceful but eventful day, hopefully i am not looked at differently by the powerful ones such as those managers from my moment of weakness, i quite love my duties with passion but to have so little days and so little guidance on chores is making me rethink. But i continue to push on.

That is all of the tragedy from which happened today, not much else of event besides an angry old lady and small child with metallic plastic helium friend on a string. Live on my worms, remember to stay hydrated and active.

[ode-of-odr-archive]

@dalishflame

// I mentioned this starter forever ago, but here it is! This song cover is what inspired me

The problem with godhood? Over the long drawn out decades emotions start to dull and apathy takes hold. Raserei often wondered if that was why the cosmos just spat new gods out every so often. Sends them hurling into existence with no clue where they were to fit in in the grand scheme, while the ever present primordial pillars watch on.  

However, on the flip side of this younger gods had all this power and their emotions had yet to calm or be dulled by boredom. Making them just as much a problem. 

He looked out over the river of souls; his eyes black like voids, nothing reflecting, no sign that something was housed inside him. He warned Demeter. Though the situation surrounding how Atreion had come into his life was unfortunate. It was clear the two found a bond in the trickery. And if she was truly upset, she would take her anger out on Venus. But his words fell on deaf ears. And the might of earth can crush many things, like the curse from a spited goddess of love. 

Raserei did all he could to settle this; telling her to listen to her nephew. But she had lost her daughter to a ruler of the dead, so she was was not to lose another family member to those who rule under the world. Children of Nyx and Death. Atreion’s cries and protests thundered still in his ears. How long had his lover been removed from his halls? He wasn’t counting because he was plotting. 

He warned; he was not her brother Hades, or shared in the calm demeanor many gods of death held. The world below was not just calm, quiet and cold. There was fire and molten rock. How close death and life walk hand and hand. So he said if Atreion did not return, should he want to, and was denied he would raze her fields, rot her forests. Death would rock the mortal realm so hard she would learn, that at the end of all things; he would be there. He was certainty. Death was a promise.

“Raserei, for centuries mortals have suffered because of celestial egos. Do not do this. We can find another way to get him back.” Nyx stood next to him. Her form barely keeping shape but when it did it was like looking at the night sky, only a robe made of starlight gave away her form. 

“Maybe. Maybe they need to be reminded. We are the powerful ones. Death may sit below, but we come for all things. All can be touched by us. Zeus when the Greek gods were coming into power, would not have had his victory if Hades not used his helm and snuck into enemy ranks before hand. They always rely on our calmness. Our want for balance. Well...”  The death god grinned wickedly and snapped his fingers, “Now this glorified grave keeper has had enough. No more balance. They want to be greedy? Than so shall I!” 

Furies swarmed around them, shrieking as they flew to the mortal realm. Disease seeped into crops and animals started to die. He had unleashed famine. 

“If she does not give him back I will release them all until it is time I ride. The Cosmos should have never slotted me here. But it really doesn’t care does it? Mindless thing that it is,” 

[torturedpoetsy]

hollow soul ⸺ AN ANTHOLOGY,, 2/7

“In this series of brief scenes and edits, you’ll follow the demon Murtaugh, the personification of death, as he introduces a newcomer to the underworld city: Quasinoite and its ruling families.”

I´d like to give credits to fergsmacleod on twitter and jungrainsoul on deviantart for the amazing templates used in this post. Also this is heavily inspired by hazbin hotel.

The human wiped the rotten juice from his lips with the back of his hand, his fists clenched in anger, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. In a desperate burst of defiance, he hurled the bitten apple at Murtaugh. The demon, amused, couldn’t decide whether to laugh or rip off the poor fool's head. Did he really think he'd hit him?

Catching the fruit mid-air, Murtaugh crushed it effortlessly, the apple disintegrated into black ashes in his slender, bony fingers. He let the dark powder swirl around his hand, his long nails tracing patterns in the air until the ashes finally vanished from the mortal's sight. "You actually thought you could hit me, huh? You've got guts, I’ll give you that, but you're equally stupid," he drawled with palpable boredom, stretching out lazily across the table, his posture relaxed and unbothered.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the man snapped, clearly irritated at being called a fool. He tried to rise again, but the same invisible force as before yanked him back into the chair loudly..

"Uh-uh," Murtaugh wagged a finger, with a mocking pout on his lips. "You´ll only leave that chair one of two ways: after passing the test or..." His aura darkened suddenly, eyes glinting with malice, "With no soul to tell a story. And if you swear one more time I´ll be happy to anticipate it for you. The choice is all yours, buddy." Then, just as quickly, the dark energy dissipated, and the demon's face returned to its unbothered cheerful grin.

The man didn’t reply, but the hate burning in his eyes was unmistakable. Whatever had brought him to this point, it made Murtaugh feel not the slightest bit guilty about playing with him. After all, tormenting the newly damned was part of the demon’s fun. It was his duty to ensure these desperate souls were ready for what awaited them in the afterlife. If they couldn’t handle a bit of sarcasm and provocation, how would they ever survive the searing flames and the madness of the infernal psychotics? They wouldn’t stand a chance. Murtaugh thought of himself as benevolent at this point. 

With a graceful twist of his wrist, Murtaugh plucked a gleaming piece of gold from the air. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to narrow in confusion, something almost imperceptible. He whispered under his breath, "Interesting…"

The man, noticing the demon's slight hesitation, asked, "What’s interesting?" He leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at the object. Murtaugh, catching the movement, quickly tucked the gold behind his back, wagging a finger in disapproval.

"No peeking, darling. I'm just admiring my own gorgeous mind, a mastermind of planing I would say. But since you’re so eager, let’s switch things up." With a flick of his wrist, the gold and the other objects vanished once again into thin air. Murtaugh crossed his legs, his smile returned, darker and more calculating, sending a chill down the human's spine.

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑: the greed.

"So, here's your second quest," Murtaugh began, his tone dripping with faux generosity. "You’ve got two ways to go, because I like to give options." he said with humor, before shaking his head, as if its trying to focus. The human stayed still, just looking at him with a mix of hate and curiosity.

"One way," he said, sweeping his arm in a grand arc that traced an illusory golden path. "Can offer you unimaginable wealth here in Hell— riches beyond your dreams. Imagine power, influence, a full life." His eyes glinted with a predatory shine as he spoke. "You´ll have everything you ever wanted, but you´re stuck here forever, no reincarnating."

The man’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clear in his gaze. "Right... what’s the trick?" he asked, unable to believe this was a genuine choice.

"No trick," Murtaugh replied with a smirk. "That’s the first option." He paused, his expression shifting to excitement. "Or, and here’s where it gets really interesting, I can give you another chance at life. But, and it’s a big but, you’ll return to the exact same miserable existence you left behind. Poverty, struggle, all the bullshit that got you here instead of there." He pointed sarcastically at the red sky above them, with an innocent smile on his face.

As the demon spoke, the room around them began to shift, revealing scenes from the man's former life. Every moment of his struggle, pain, mistakes, and sins flashed before his eyes in seconds. Despite the allure of the golden path, his eyes trembled, ultimately choosing another way.

"I... I'll take my life back," the man said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Even if it’s miserable."

Murtaugh’s expression shifted to one of mock disappointment before he burst into uncontrollable laughter. "I was just playing with you!" he roared, his laughter growing louder and more raucous. "I didn’t expect you to choose the miserable life at all."

"What the f—" the man started to say, but the demon’s dark, intense gaze silenced him. The weight of Murtaugh’s stare made it clear that finishing that sentence could be a mistake. "That wasn’t the real test?"

"No, for the seven hells," Murtaugh said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Did you really think I'd give you points for not choosing the damn fortune? We’re not in heaven, sweetheart. What on earth are you even doing here?" He could hardly contain his mocking laughter. "Alright, I think we can skip the real test of greed; this says enough." Wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, Murtaugh grinned. "If you showed up at the Slaughters Family House, they’d think you were the new toilet paper and definitely shove you up their asses!"

The family representing greed is composed of souls so consumed by their craving that they became its very embodiment. In Quasinoite, they are the emperors of wealth, controlling soul banks, industries, and contracts between the damned and devils. Their influence is felt in every coin exchanged and every deal struck, with a mastery over bargains that ensnare both the living and the dead. The Slaughters are known for their cold, ruthless approach and insatiable hunger for power. They are highly manipulative, restrictive, and often rude. If you're unfortunate enough to be ensnared in one of their deals, you’d better wish for all the luck you can get.

... to be continued

[jdgo51]

A Proverb a Day

Today's inspiration comes from:

The Little Red Book of Wisdom

by Mark DeMoss

Wisdom for Every Aspect of Your Life, in One Short Book

"Nothing ever becomes real until it is experienced. Even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it." — John Keats, letter to George and Georgiana Keats

"'Two prostitutes approached the king’s bench. The first had given birth to a baby boy, and three days later, in the same house, the second gave birth to a baby boy. During the night, the second woman rolled over and accidentally smothered her newborn. What did she do? She switched infants. The next morning the first prostitute awoke to a dead child and the other woman claiming her live child.

“She’s lying!” the second prostitute shouted. “Her baby is dead! This baby belongs to me!”

A court hearing circa 900 bce predates DNA testing, and the king had a long docket. He asked to have a sword brought to him, and an aide produced a blade. Gesturing, the king said: “Cut the child in two and give each mother half.” “No!” the first mother cried out, “give the baby to her!”

“Fine!” the second one yelled, “no one gets him!”

“The first woman is the mother,” the king said. “Give her the baby.”

The monarch whose reputation for wisdom was sealed that day was Solomon, son of David, Israel’s first king, and David’s wife Bathsheba. Toward the beginning of his forty-year reign, Solomon collected wise sayings and pored over them. At some point he winnowed the riches into a book in the Bible’s Old Testament under the simple name Proverbs. From nearly a thousand years before Christ, Proverbs is one of the earliest examples of wisdom literature, a priceless guide still widely considered the gold standard of counsel.

Of the Bible’s sixty-six books, to my thinking, Proverbs is the most provocative. Two dozen centuries before Sigmund Freud and psychological profiling, thirty-one short chapters penetrate human nature with insights into sex, anger management, slander, wealth, welfare, business ethics, intoxication, pride, and fissures in character as relevant as tomorrow’s top trending topic.

Proverb is a Hebrew word meaning “to rule or to govern.” Much of it has to do with self-mastery, and the only thing better than reading it is reading it routinely. If you were to take in a chapter a day, in one year you’d have twelve readings of a book that I consider boredom-proof. After nearly four hundred trips through the entire book, I still rely on it for new insights, reminders of timeless truths, and life-guiding principles.

Billy Graham said he read five psalms a day “for getting along with God,” and a chapter of Proverbs a day “for getting along with my fellow man.” In my growing-up years, I saw my father do the same thing. He also read every year through the Old and New Testaments, still another reminder that a mind and character cannot be left to chance.

To sample Proverbs, flip around. Just don’t be deceived by the simplicity. A proverb is an acorn with a tree inside — a puzzle piece to character — and character, in the words of Pulitzer Prize–winning historian Barbara Tuchman, is destiny.

Here’s my sample for you, from the NKJV translation (italics added):

Proverbs 1:33: “But whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure, without fear of evil.” If we listen to it, wisdom will protect us.

Proverbs 2:11: “Discretion will preserve you; understanding will keep you.” Like an invisible shield, good judgment deflects problems before they can strike and destroy.

Proverbs 4:25: “Let your eyes look straight ahead, and your eyelids look right before you.” Life’s highway is lined with wrong exits, fake billboards, flashing arrows, and wreckage. A farsighted driving instructor warns us to keep our eyes on the road.

Proverbs 5:21: “For the ways of man are before the eyes of the Lord, and He ponders all his paths.” We can lie to ourselves. We can lie to the IRS, our spouses, coworkers, neighbors, bosses, personal trainers, and the guy who mows the lawn. God reads us straight through.

Proverbs 6:27–29: “Can a man take fire to his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? Can one walk on hot coals, and his feet not be seared? So is he who goes in to his neighbor’s wife; whoever touches her shall not be innocent.” Enough said.

Proverbs 8:11: “For wisdom is better than rubies, and all the things one may desire cannot be compared with her.”

Wisdom is the ace in every play. Nothing comes close.

Proverbs 10:19: “In the multitude of words sin is not lacking, but he who restrains his lips is wise.” The difference between speaking words or withholding them can be the difference between sin and wisdom.

Proverbs 12:1: “Whoever loves instruction loves knowledge, but he who hates correction is stupid.” Your critics have information that your friends are withholding. If you love the truth and want to grow, the people who correct you have the goods.

Proverbs 15:1: “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” Most arguments begin with tone of voice. If your first reaction to a tone is anger, wait for your second reaction and soften your tone. Even if you have to fake it, soften it and feel your temperature cool.

Wisdom is the ace in every play. Nothing comes close.

Proverbs 16:18: “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” A triumphant general entering Rome is said to have paid an attendant to walk alongside and whisper in his ear, “You are but mortal.” When delusions of grandeur threaten your grip on reality, repeat as often as needed: “There is a God, and it’s not me.” The fifth verse of this chapter says, “Everyone proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord.” Everyone. And “Though they join forces, none will go unpunished.” None.

Proverbs 19:17: “He who has pity on the poor lends to the Lord, and He will pay back what he has given.”

Think of it: when we give to the poor we lend to the Lord, and He repays us. Proverbs 20:18: “Plans are established by counsel; by wise counsel wage war.” The advice on seeking advice is to do it. Before you lay out a project, consult the veterans.

Proverbs 22:1: “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches.” A certain celebrity cleaned up from a drug habit and the life that went with it. Years later when he was falsely accused of something else, the court of public opinion knew his record and believed the worst.

It’s easier to restore a life than a name. Proverbs 24:17–18: “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles lest the Lord see it, and it displease Him.” Take the high road and let God take care of our enemies.

Proverbs 26:4: “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him.” The next time someone baits you, overreacts, boasts, or is patently outrageous, do nothing. Relax into the silence. Self-restraint won’t get you hits on social media, but it will steer you past senseless exchanges.

Proverbs 28:6: “Better is the poor man who walks in his integrity than one perverse in his ways, though he be rich.” They’re not mutually exclusive, but given a choice between wealth and integrity, choose the latter.

Proverbs 31:10: “Who can find a virtuous wife? For her worth is far above rubies.” The image of a rare jewel reminds young men of what to look for in a life mate and older men of the priceless fortunes in wives of noble character.

I hated having to edit this list, by the way. The point is to read the entire textbook.

A single chapter in Proverbs averages thirty verses and five minutes of reading time. I can’t predict how much wiser you’ll be for making it a daily habit. I can guarantee you’ll be wiser for it than using the same minutes to scroll through Instagram, Twitter, or TikTok. “Blessed is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors,” Solomon writes of wisdom. “For whoever finds me finds life, and obtains favor from the Lord” (Proverbs 8:34–35 NKJV).

One morning when April was running late, she saw me sit down and open my Bible. “Read me whatever you’re reading,” she said. Turning to that day’s chapter in Proverbs, I saw a subheading. “It’s about ‘The Crafty Harlot,’” I said. “You still want to hear it?”

“No,” she said, “but I want you to hear it. Go ahead!”

I get these flashing warning lights every month, and I welcome them.

I’ll close with an endorsement. My son, Mookie, is in his thirties now. On the morning of his graduation from high school, he left a priceless note on my desk with a final line that still makes my eyes sting: “I’ve been reading a chapter of Proverbs every day since eighth grade because of you.”

I hadn’t known he was doing that. The habit came from his father, who got it from his grandfather, whom he never met. Three millennia after the book’s first publication, Solomon was right again: “A wise son makes a father glad” (Proverbs 15:20 NKJV)."'

Excerpted with permission from The Little Red Book of Wisdom by Mark DeMoss, copyright Mark DeMoss.

[midnightscxre]

Impetuous, overly self-confident and inattentive boy that grew into a vicious young man, never cared for the cautionary tales masked as a spooky bed time stories. Ghouls, zombies, werewolves or vampires, all considered tiring make beliefs produced by those who failed to keep their imagination at bay when matured, or better yet -- were too feeble and delicate to bring those dark, twisted fantasies to life -- produce real stories, tangible experiences, create true legends by spilling scarlet drops, wear the skin bestowed upon them and not crave the impossible beastly forms , use the tools forged for carnage and become the monsters they dream of. Even when the bones lengthened, muscles grew, mind darkened and the kid became a man, found his pack of same minded, deluded individuals sharing the same taste for chaos, vandalism and massacre, the utter disgust for such fairy tales didn't vanish.

All the nights around the poorly made fire that swallowed more empty cans, struggled around the glass of beer bottles to bite on some chips bags and empty, robbed wallets of their latest victims instead of thick logs, were spent in anger and long, loud huffs and puff mirroring boredom and disapproval when Susie or Julie would read some fan fiction about bloodsucking beasts or men with no facial features in an expensive suit, of course two meters tall and easily disappearing behind twigs and dried up sad willows. It was not even funny, it was pathetic. If the male with chestnut colored hair gave enough of a damn, he would forbid the people he replaced his family with to read such rubbish in his presence.

However, instead of taking his disdain and frustration on them, Frank reached for the pale face made of cheap plastic, decorated with red and black marker, along with a couple of strokes made with victim's blood samples used as battle paint, and dive into the moonless evening, pumping the life into his own horror tale. Creating a name for them, a name he himself ironically stole from the only tale he could swallow and keep down, a bible verse, when the demons exposed their nature.  ' And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many. ' The Legion. The rush of adrenaline and thirst for a killing spree gnawed at Frank's core at the name. And so they were, his little deadly pack of lunatics and he as an alpha leader, The Legion.

Little did Frank know, that years later another tale will turn his life around and leave a indelible mark on his already tainted soul. A muse, one that inspired him in many ways, brought the best and the worst out of the male. Made him completely insane and unpredictable, obsessed and more selfish than ever. Persistence was one thing, impatience was another. The hiss of yet another refusal made his skin crawl, made the fists to ball and jaw to tighten to the point he nearly broke a tooth. The insatiable need for Charlotte to be his with body and soul probably as heavy as her own need for red substance. Frank knew very little about the temptress, yet had an odd belief that he was meant to be by her side. It was not cheesy, it was some sort of subconscious existential crisis, where the lack of the woman's presence pushes him down into the abyss of inferno. And the realization of it made him mad.

" Yet you keep playing with me. " gruff voice accused, body stiffening as she broke the invisible chain holding them together when she stepped forward. Observing the creature, he thought about what might be bothering her. Glimpse of the dead body soon became the answer to his question. " You bitching because of this thing? " lack of remorse or even recognition that that ' thing' was a person, and still is, tip of his mud covered boot sank into the ribs of the corpse. A small crack echoed through the empty alley, making the corners of the man's lips to curl in satisfaction. " It bothers you because he is dead? " Frank didn't have to read horror comics or books to know that there were consequences for this kind of actions. People disappearing often resulted in police hunts, papers filled with details that were never complete and articles that were almost insulting, and the alarmed public. It didn't take long for him to realize that probably, her kind have their own type of ' cops '.

" Damn doll, all you had to do is ask. " throaty chuckle followed, before the hand swift as a cobra pulled his jagged knife from its leather resting place, and sank deep in the flesh of the victim. The mutilation was even more sickening to watch when one realizes how the man that was stabbing and cutting the lifeless body was bathing in pleasure and elation. It was morbid, it was wrong -- to Frank, it was divine. The man made sure that the neck was unrecognizable, completely ruined, to destroy every evidence of two perfectly shaped fangs ever feasting on it, before he shoved the bloody mess with his boot, turning him around. Knife bit the fabric of the shirt, tearing it up and exposing the chest. A few swift moves, and the body was marked with the name all well known to this town. The legion.

" There. All done, doll. " Wiping the bloody hands on his green hoodie under the jacket, Frank took a few steps closer to her. " Now no one will know it was your pretty mouth sucking the life out of this prick. Speaking of..." leaning, the man bit the lower lip covered with bloody drops. " Are you still hungry? " gravelly voice tempted, while the thumb covered with scarlet appeared in front of her mouth and grazed her lower lip. " You can change your mind on that bite right now and see I don't taste so bad. . . or. . . " tip of his favorite knife scraped along her jeans, teasingly cruising around the thigh. " . . . you can cut the shit for once and let me take you hunting. "

Self control had been carefully honed, demanded by survival instinct. Too many kills, too much mess, to little control and it meant attention. Attention meant the possibility of hunters. Those few that were highly aware of the supernatural world and sought to destroy every ounce of it. Hunters meant running and leaving behind everything. Too much had gone into what she had established her for her to leave it behind because she acted like a freshly turned vampire. That phase had come and passed for her. At least, that was what the immortal told herself on a nightly basis when the temptation to take more than what was needed reared it's head. Charlotte had been depraved, lacking all remorse when she had been turned. All because that was what her sire had wanted. Someone as vicious that would fall under his control. All before he had abandoned her for someone he deemed prettier, more malleable, better suited for his needs. Bloodlust had driven every action, sate the need and the thirst, until she had managed to gain a medocrium of control.

Since then, she had done her best not to drain, not to kill with her feedings, staving off the thirst as long as it was safely possible and only taking what she needed. Never in the same spot and never from the same individual. But with the body laying at her feet now, the accidental death sent a thrill down her spine. The coppery taste, underlying hints of sweetness mingled with the sharp tang of alcohol that had been consumed, still filled her mouth, along with a piece of flesh or two from when her fangs had torn open the man's neck. A test of that crafted self control. One that Frank was hardly helping with as the scene only seemed to excite him more. The steady thrum of his pulse had quickened, pumping the blood faster through his veins and calling put like a sirens song. Sated but not satisfied. A dangerous line to play with when it came to keeping the instincts tamed.

"It is not a game," she snarled, tone nearly bordering on an inhuman hiss. Fangs extended again, though hardly something that he could witness from his position behind. Yet, Charlotte continued to allow the exploration, the seeking touch that came. Eyes slipped closed, whether from a conscious effort to reign herself in or as a response to the gentle but demanding presence behind her. Rentless. Persistent. Perhaps with a death wish of his own. Charlotte had never turned anyone, never planned on doing so. The smaller frame shifted forward, just a step in an attempt to create a little space. As if the space would allow her to separate from what she had just done and the demand that was shouting in her head. Instincts that had long been beaten into a false submission. Laying in wait for the moment. And Frank? The catalyst for it all. His presence had caused her to startle. Had caused the ground beneath her feet to become wholly unstable, threatening to give out with the barest of movements. The quickly congeling mess at their feet made a small wet sound with the step, further reinforcing its presence in her mind and the rolling desire for more that crept up her throat. "And it isn't denial. I have lived long enough to know what is best."

Head hung, a sudden motion forward with a harsh, unnecessary breath out. She wanted more. More blood. More warmth. More touch from the man who would lead her down a dark path that there would be no returning from. She hadn't needed to know Frank on a deeper level to know such things. Feet on the edge, ready to fall over the cliff with the lightest of breezes needed. The resolve was shattered and ready to break. Was what's best truly best?

[snivellusslunchbox]

Wait ok idk if requests are open or not and if they’re closed feel free to ignore this but can you write something where y/n starts hanging out with ciel a lot more because they like playing chess with him so then alois gets jealous so then he asks y/n out in front of ciel?

I’m so so sorry I didn’t have the inspiration to write at all recently but now I feel like writing!! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it!! Lots of love, Lizzie <3 sorry that it’s kind of short, let me know if you guys want a part two where y/n picks one of them!!

Warning(s): Mentions of violence, yandere themes, and female reader (she/her), not proofread!!

•Now let me start this off by congratulating (or apologizing) for the fact that you somehow caught both of these Satan spawns affections.

•Now that that’s done, good luck.

•Alois is clingy, possessive, and delusional. He loves to you pieces, how could he not want you all to himself all the time? And in his eyes, you were his darling soulmate, meant to be with him until the very end. You were the first person who showed him true love with no strings attached.

•Ciel is protective, possessive, and immoral. He knows what he’s doing, he knows it’s wrong. He just can’t stop. It’s not like he cares about what society deems as moral and immoral, anyways. He’s always vying for your attention whether he realizes it or not.

•With both boys fighting for your affections and attention, things are bound to get bloody fast.

•You think you have them under control, right? You care for both of them very much, and wish for neither of them to get hurt. So you just make sure to spend equal time with both of them! Which worked for a little while…

•Recently Alois has been in a mood, his mood swings more rapid than usual and now even you weren’t exempt from his harsh words. You would wait it out at Ciel’s side, just until things blew over and went back to normal.

•You’d best bet Ciel is making the most of all of your attention being on him! Our favorite little manipulator is going out of his way to spend time with you. A ball he needs to attend? He just happened to not have a date and asks to escort you. You visit his manor on an empty stomach? He’ll have Sebastian prepare the best picnic you’ve ever had. You’re overcome with boredom? Perhaps a game of chess will keep you occupied.

•It isn’t until long that Alois starts noticing your time being spend less and less around him… he doesn’t like it.

•His darling should only pay attention to him! And what has that grimy little rat have that he doesn’t?

•He decided to take matters into his own hands…

Alois approaches the manor, his butler by his side as he knocks on the door. He’s trying his best to hide his anger despite being absolutely fuming on the inside.

Sebastian opens the door with a fake, polite smile. “Hello, Earl Trancy. How may we help you?” He questioned. “I’m assuming you’re here to visit the young lady?”

He nodded and tries to peek past him to see if Ciel or you were anywhere in sight. “Yes, I have an urgent question to ask her.”

“Shall I pass the message along? Unfortunately I’m not to allow any guests aside from the young lady at the mo-” he gets cut off by Ciel.

“Sebastian? Is there a problem?” He asked, crossing his arms when he saw Alois. “Oh. It’s you. Hello again, Trancy.”

Alois smirked and crossed his arms back, leaning over so their faces were closer. “You’re as harsh as usual, Ciel! No wonder y/n would rather be with me.”

Ciel scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that so? That must be why she’s been spending the past few days at my manor without even the smallest mention of you. She must really care about you.” He spat back.

Alois flinched lightly before jumping to a retort. “As if she likes you more! Ha! You’re only her second choice. Haven’t you noticed? For someone who claims to be so intelligent, you really are an idiot. She only ever comes over when she has no other form of entertainment. You’re nothing more than a game to her.”

You opened your mouth to interject, very upset with how they were not only arguing but how they were treating you like a toy to be passed around, getting cut off by Ciel. “Enough! You shut your mouth, Trancy. I’ll make you regret it.”

Heat rushed to Alois’ face, embarrassed from the sudden reaction, being completely speechless and unable to form a response, he glared and turned to you. “You’d rather be with me, right, y/n? You love me! You have to…” he asked desperately.

Ciel’s eyes widened and he took a step forward. “He’s imagining things. I’m not just a game to you.. am I? You favor me, no?” He asked.

•With both admirers eyes on you and the heavy air of the decision you’d have to make, you froze. Who would you choose?

[seanwinchester]

Curiosity Blessed the Cat

Got inspired to write a little something on the way back from my trip. You can take this as either weirdcest or wincest, what happens next is up to interpretation <3

"You've- you've kissed guys before?"

"Well... yeah." He said, matter-of-factly.

"When?"

"At Stanford." Before Dean's stunned face he felt compelled to develop some more. "I mean, you know how college in California is, two guys or gals together is not the rarest thing you'll see. I just thought I should... try it, I guess."

"Try it?"

"I did think I was straight, it was more out of curiosity than anything. Only happened a handful of times anyway, and we just kissed."

"Hm."

Sam paused and looked Dean in the eye.

"And hey, you know, it's not that different."

"Different from what?"

"Kissing girls."

"It's not?"

"No, not really." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I mean, a mouth is a mouth, you know, that sort of thing."

"Hm."

Dean seemed lost in thought for a moment, his fingers subconsciously gliding up and down through the condensation on his beer bottle. He was surprisingly calm in Sam's opinion, considering what his brother just confessed. Not that he expected anger from him, but at least a frown or a funny face, something.

"Would you kiss me?"

Sam choked on air. It was so unexpected, he was suddenly greatful he'd finished the rest of his own beer a couple minutes ago, or else he's sure everything would have ended up on his jeans.

"What?"

"You said it's not that different, I wanna see if you're right."

"With me?"

"Who else?"

Sam's eyes were like saucers.

"Oh don't chicken out now, you're the one who just told me about this stuff! Besides, we're like the only two guys for the next 500 miles."

Sam doesn't know if it's the booze, the boredom, or the sheer confidence with which Dean said it, but he put down his empty bottle and nodded.

"Ok."

He slowly got up on his knees and slid closer to Dean on the sleeping bag.

Dean's face was red and hot when he got to him, his body perfectly still.

"Don't think about it too much." Sam whispered.

And then he kissed his brother.