#i am transcending once again

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

HIM SONGS FOR ASTARION / VAMPIRE AESTHETIC SUPREMACY

[chatxkilluaxnoir]

I have Gravity Falls and Etc. fic(s) idea(s)

Which, I am going to write now while I am having this fic idea (probably going to be a short one, but in the future I might make a revised expanded version or something. Who knows).

I actually have multiple Gravity Falls and GF TAU and Reverse Falls and etc. stuff that stems from this specific The Book of Bill thing.

Specifically stuff exploring Dipper's nightmares.

(I have some other ideas for the other dreams and/or nightmares too. Sometimes even in relation to Dipper's in some way).

I love my boy, and his nightmares hurt my heart.

But also because I love him, I want to explore even more of issues/trauma/suffering and/or to do Dipper angst. And etc.

Because I want both happiness and/or suffering for my faves/the characters I love very much.

Like Dipper.

So he is going to be getting even more of that from me, probably.

Because he is great and I love him.

[dent-de-leon]

Still having so many thoughts about all the parallels between Molly/Lucien's souls and Opal/Ted's--

The way Opal and Ted were split apart and then became one again as a natural part of growing up; raised with this other half of their soul always by their side, learning from each other and through each other. It's a family tradition, their way of life. Worshippers of the Luxon willingly letting their souls drift apart and reform, an inherited legacy that has shaped their whole understanding of the world and themselves.

The way Lucien and Molly never had a choice; the violent violation of autonomy as their soul was torn apart and shredded to pieces, the agony of feeling so alone in the world, your very heart hallowed out and Empty. It's not a gradual, gentle transition of the spirit--it's losing your very sense of self, all these pieces of you burned away.

And it hurts them, both of them. The shard of a soul that would be Molly--young and foolish, so new to the world and yet already so scarred by it. A spirit that hasn't broken yet, in spite of how harsh and cruel the world is--in spite of all the pain he's inherited. Lucien as the ghastly specter haunting Molly's worst nightmares, the shadow always hanging over him.

Lucien's disdain for this "forgotten fragment"--how bitterly he resents Mollymauk for not having to bear the weight of all their most painful memories, his hands not yet stained with blood--the part of him that got to be free. Lucien refusing to call Molly by his name, to admit this other part of himself is real--that maybe Lucien's always known he hasn't felt whole, that someone carved out this piece of his heart long ago.

When the two meet, Molly can't help reaching out to Lucien. Can't help but try and save him. Molly growing to care for this other half of his soul, this other broken, shattered shard of a bleeding heart. Molly refusing to abandon him, staying by his side until Lucien is finally ready to reach back. Both of them learning to accept each other, understand each other. A kind of self love. A soul that mirrors your very own, makes you feel grounded and whole.

Thinking of Ted fighting so fiercely for Opal. Giving everything to defend her, even as Opal tries so desperately to keep her grounded and tethered. Thinking of Molly pleading for Lucien to stop, just walk away--save their friends and save himself. It's not too late, he doesn't have to do this. He doesn't have to be this.

Thinking of the Luxon and shattered souls that aren't bound by life or death, time or space. A part of yourself you never really lose, no matter who tries to tear them away--

[that-ghosts-art]

I drafted this post months ago but kept forgetting about it so what better time to post it then now haha, the most recent chapter of Alcor the Dreambender’s Infinite Bed and Breakfast got me wanting to bite something >:3

[fragmentedblade]

The implications that Blade and Dan Heng remember more than they admit is driving me nuts

[ghost-proofbaby]

ghost i just finished reading the third chapter of maroon and i have so many feelings 😭😭😭😭😭

i made the mistake of reading it while listening to 1989 and eddie is so all you had to do was stay coded??? and reader is so i wish you would coded???

SO IMAGINE MY EXCITEMENT WHEN I SAW THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED HOW YOU GET THE GIRL!!!!!

it makes me so so so happy that you're a swiftie too because every fic that you write after a taylor swift song is SO ACCURATE 😭

i absolutely can't WAIT for the next chapters!!! you're so talented and everything you make is a masterpiece 🩵

they are VERY 1989 coded!!! i do listen to those two songs so much as i write because it encapsulates all of their feelings so well 😭

and oh gosh thank you 🖤 the things that my brain produces are certainly something haha

[ladyrijus]

Skyward Sword Zelda is such a tragic figure in my opinion. Just put yourself in her shoes and imagine this.

It's the best day of your life. Your dearest friend, dork that he is, has finally become a knight. It's what every kid on Skyloft works towards and he finally did it. You're so proud of him. When you fly together, you muster up the courage to tell him you love him.

You never get the chance.

Instead you're whisked away into a world you believed was left behind, and saved by a woman who declares that she is your guardian, chosen by you. You have never met her before. You didn't even know there were people like you who lived down here, in the Surface.

"You must purify yourself if you are to transcend time and hold the seal," the mysterious woman with the painted tear remarks as she shepherds you through strange destinations unlike anything your books have ever taught you, "it was your will." No matter how many times she tells you this, in every iteration the language could allow, it doesn't make sense. Why would a goddess need to turn human? What could you do, that she could not?

Where does divinity and humanity diverge?

Connection.

A goddess is revered by her people who pray, in spite of her silence, for her benevolence and guidance. She is their unwavering stone, a higher power to rely on. But a girl? A girl is loved. She is someone tangible, a figure who people will see, and know, and care about, and fight for.

And that's when it clicks. Your friend isn't really your friend at all, but a hero, a pawn, who was intended to be used against an enemy of yours you no longer recognize.

You're using him. You've been using him all this time. It's sickening.

With each prayer, with each goddess damned spring you rush to, you are faced with your own marbled reflection, a testament to the fact your humanity is only a pretense, carefully timed to ensnare your friend into a hero's fate.

He doesn't seem to understand that though. He keeps running after you like the fool he is, hoping to save Zelda, his precious Zelda, that you no longer are. The smile you wear becomes harder to hold. You were Hylia first, and that is all you will ever be.

You play into the charade anyways. After all, Zelda was the reason why he went through his trials. To tell him now that she was gone would mean to destroy everything you had worked for. So you tell him everything he wants to hear: that you're your father's daughter, that you're his friend, that you're his Zelda.

And when you close your eyes, smiling from within the amber and ignoring the dull thuds of his fist against its surface, you wonder if you look anything like the statue you and your love had stood upon on the best day of your life.

"Maybe all of this is a dream," you wonder while drifting in between millennia. Time passes like the waterfalls in Skyloft, rapid, yet everlasting. Maybe you'd wake up in your bed in the Academy again. Your love would have been sleeping in (again) and everything would be how it used to be. You could be Zelda once more. And most importantly, Hylia would be nothing beyond a giant statue for you to ignore for the rest of your days.

... There's something to be said about how you fall again once you wake up.

"What kind of goddess am I," you think crudely, "to sever my own wings?"

But this time, your love is there to catch you. And he does. In that moment you pray, in your own name, he doesn't let you go.

[trulyumai]

a fire set loose upon blood

—paring: Messmer / wife! reader

synopsis: with queen marika learning of her sons marriage, she called him to the capital, forbidding the man to marry into such a low family. Messmer became angry, the flames taking over his will once more.

—warnings: talking down, violence, light cussing.

The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with a murmur of anticipation, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the sound of nobles and courtiers preparing for the evening’s festivities. Gold and white drapes adorned the walls, their opulence a stark contrast to the underlying tension that simmered within the room. At the head of the hall, the throne loomed, a symbol of Queen Marika’s unyielding authority.

The siblings were no where to be seen. For why would they show when Messmer needed them so?

Messmer stood in the center of the room, his regal attire starkly contrasting with the turmoil that brewed beneath his composed exterior. His eye, dark and stormy, fixed intently on the figure of his mother as she ascended the throne with a grace that belied the iron will behind her serene facade.

Queen Marika’s presence was commanding, her poise a perfect blend of royal dignity and maternal authority. Her eyes, however, were steely as they regarded her son, her posture unyielding as if the weight of the crown had become an even greater burden in recent times.

“Messmer,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a queen used to having her commands followed without question. “I have called you here to discuss a matter of utmost importance.”

Messmer’s gaze remained steady, though a flicker of anger danced in his eye. “Speak then, Mother. I am here, and thee will listen.”

Marika’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightness around her lips that betrayed her unease. “It has come to my attention that you continue to spend time with that… woman, the one of whom I have spoken before. Her status is beneath the dignity of the royal family. She is not of noble blood, and her presence in your life could compromise the integrity of our lineage.”

The words struck Messmer like a physical blow, his face darkening with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Are you referring to my wife?”

Queen Marika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, my child. Her origins are humble, and her social standing is not fitting for a prince of this realm. I have tolerated your infatuation for too long. It is time to end this folly.”

Messmer’s hands clenched into fists, the tension in his jaw evident as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You cannot simply dictate my heart, Mother. My wife is not only kind and virtuous, but she has shown me a love that transcends titles and lineage. She is more noble in spirit than many of those you deem worthy.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, a cold edge to her voice. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford, Messmer. The duties and responsibilities of royalty must come before personal desires. You must consider the future of the kingdom, the alliances we must secure. Your marriage must strengthen our position, not diminish it.”

“Strengthen?” Messmer’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and defiance. “Are you suggesting that my happiness, my very heart, should be sacrificed for political gain? This is not merely a matter of alliances or appearances. It is about who I choose to spend my life with, who I love.”

Marika’s gaze remained steely, her voice a firm command. “You will cease this association with her immediately. You are a prince, a knight, and you must act according to your station. You are not to see her again. This is a royal decree.”

The finality in her voice was unmistakable, yet Messmer’s anger flared, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “A decree?” he spat, his voice laden with contempt. “You would reduce my feelings to a mere decree? I will not comply, Mother. I refuse to end my relationship with her I will not let you dictate my heart.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the murmurs of the court dying away as Messmer’s declaration reverberated through the hall. Queen Marika’s expression hardened further, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the challenge posed by her son.

“Do not be a fool, Messmer,” she said, her tone cold and cutting. “You are treading dangerous waters. Your disobedience will not go unnoticed, and the consequences will be severe. You cannot defy your mother, your queen, without facing repercussions.”

“I am aware of the consequences,” Messmer shot back, his voice unwavering. “But I will not live a lie or endure a life devoid of love for the sake of appearances. If you choose to punish me for this, so be it. But know this: I will not abandon my wife. I will stand by her, no matter the cost.”

Marika’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You are speaking recklessly. You do not understand the gravity of your actions. This is not merely about personal happiness—it is about the stability of our entire realm. Your defiance threatens the very fabric of our dynasty.”

Messmer took a step forward, his eyes blazing with resolve. “And what of my own happiness? What of my right to choose the one I love? You speak of stability, but it is your rigid adherence to tradition that threatens to unravel everything. I am not merely a pawn to be moved about for political gain. I am your son, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Marika’s hands clenched on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white with the strain. The silence in the hall was oppressive, the weight of the confrontation palpable. Messmer’s words hung in the air, a challenge to the very authority his mother held so dearly.

“You are making a grave mistake, Messmer,” Marika said, her voice strained but resolute. “You will regret this defiance. The path you choose will lead to ruin, and you will have only yourself to blame.”

“Then let it be so,” Messmer replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not forsake my love. If that is my price, then so be it.”

…

“You persist in your defiance, Messmer,” Marika’s voice was cold and unyielding. “You dare to disregard my decree and associate yourself with that woman, Her presence is an affront to the dignity of this royal house.”

Messmer’s anger was palpable. “You cannot dictate my heart, Mother. I refuse to end my marriage. She has been my steadfast companion, and her worth is beyond the constraints of royal lineage.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. “Then you leave me no choice. If you will not heed my words, I shall act to preserve the integrity of our realm.”

With a decisive gesture, Marika signaled to the guards of grace stationed by the grand hall’s entrance. Her voice rang out with unyielding authority. “Seize his so called wife. Remove her from this hall at once. Her presence is a threat to the stability of our kingdom.”

The guards, their expressions set in grim determination, advanced towards his wife, who stood frozen by the window. Her eyes darted between Messmer and the encroaching soldiers, fear etched across her face.

“No!” Messmer’s voice erupted in a raw, desperate roar. “Stay away from her!”

As the guards closed in, Messmer’s fury ignited. He drew his staff with a swift, practiced motion, but the weapon was not his only tool of wrath. With a surge of energy, Messmer’s eyes flared with an intense, fiery glow. Flames erupted from his hands, casting an ominous light across the hall.

The guards, taken aback by the sudden burst of fire, scrambled to shield themselves. But Messmer’s flames were relentless, sweeping through the grand hall with a ferocious intensity. The once-stately room was soon engulfed in a torrent of scorching heat and blinding light.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the opulent decorations and gilded walls. The guards, now caught in the inferno, screamed in terror as the fire turned their armor into searing metal. Messmer fought through the chaos, his sword still flashing as he cut down those who tried to escape the blaze.

“Messmer, no!” His wife’s cry was barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Darling— please!”

Messmer’s face, illuminated by the flames, was a mask of determined fury. “If they will not let us be, then I will take everything from them. No more will they control our lives!”

With each passing moment, the fire spread beyond the grand hall, seizing hold of the palace’s wooden structures and tapestries. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and ash. Marika, her regal composure shattered, could only watch in stunned disbelief as her palace was reduced to a blazing inferno.

��Cease this madness!” Marika’s voice, though commanding, was nearly lost in the cacophony of destruction. “Stop him! Put out the fire!”

But it was too late. The flames, fueled by Messmer’s unchecked rage, surged outward, consuming the palace’s grandiose architecture. The inferno spread through the corridors and chambers, its heat radiating through the once-proud halls.

Messmer, his fury unabated, moved his wife towards the palace’s exit. The once-majestic capital, now visible beyond the burning palace, was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The fire, driven by Messmer’s rage, was spreading rapidly through the streets, turning the capital into a scene of total devastation.

Outside, the capital’s inhabitants fled in panic as the fire spread through the buildings. The cries of the fleeing people mixed with the crackling of the flames, creating a harrowing symphony of destruction. Messmer and his little wife, amidst the chaos, made their way through the burning streets, their path lit by the inferno that consumed the city.

“Messmer, we need to leave!” Her voice was urgent, her face pale with fear. “This fire—it’s destroying everything!”

Messmer’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, remained fixed on the burning city. “They will understand the cost of crossing me, of belittling me and having me sit by the shadows!” he said, his voice a low growl. “No longer will they dictate our fate.”

The inferno continued to ravage the capital, the flames reflecting in Messmer’s eyes as he and his wife made their way out of the city. The once-thriving center of the kingdom was now a smoldering ruin, the fire a testament to Messmer’s wrath and his refusal to be controlled.

As they reached the outskirts of the burning capital, Messmer and the girl paused, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of the destruction was both overwhelming and sobering. The palace, now a ruin of charred stone and ashes, was a grim reminder of the cost of their defiance.

Messmer, his anger slowly giving way to a profound sense of loss, turned towards the shaking girl. “I am sorry for this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “This was not what I intended. I wanted only to protect you.”

her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow, took his hand. “We will— will be okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the devastation around them. “We will find a way to move forward. I trust you to protect us.”

Messmer nodded, his resolve tempered by the weight of their actions. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges. But amidst the ruins of the capital and the ashes of their past, they found solace in their shared determination and the strength of their bond.

The capital, once a symbol of royal might, now lay in ruins—a testament to the power of defiance and the price of love. As Messmer and his wife looked out over the burning city, they knew that their journey was far from over. The flames of rebellion had transformed their lives, and the road ahead would be shaped by the choices they made in the aftermath of the inferno.

The destruction of the kingdom’s heart was a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance and the price of love. The future lay before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but Messmer and his wife faced it together, bound by their shared determination and the strength of their affection.

Now, there was only one place they could hide.

To the lands in between; the shadow realm that hides beneath the grace.

[coilserpent]

astrology observations pt. 13

Hello, everyone! 💜 I am back again with the observations after a long long time away from tumblr; I am taking sidereal birth chart readings, for those contact me at my email: coilserpent@gmail.com. Enjoy!

sidereal cancer is a natural yearner similar to sidereal taurus and libra, however it is not exclusive to a romantic interest. the yearning transcends romance, it goes to the past, friends, family, older versions of the self.

sidereal leo is pedantic about their goals, they like to track their progress and also keep their spaces clean and pleasant looking.

9th and 12th placements are experimental, they may not believe in the concepts presented to them but they do not reject them. 12th housers especially may even try them out and embrace something just to feel what it brings to them as an experience simply,

people put sidereal leo on a pedestal and look up to them because of their skills and the way they carry themselves, their wisdom too (magha nakshatra) but they feel like an impostor often and don’t even like being noticed in that way, they mostly prefer recognition for certain skills.

7th housers can’t learn their most valuable life lessons and develop themselves to their fullest potential without their 1:1 connections. be it business, friendship or romance. they take the wisdom from those unsuccessful relationships and use it to strengthen their 1st - sense of who they are outside of the relationships.

8th housers have a tendency to not let their traumatic experiences go and this stunts their ability to grow emotionally. (2-8 nodes especially here) they have a tendency to always remember the people closest to them did that affected them so deeply where they don’t even get out of this deep whole of negativity, this breeds chronic low self worth (2H) and no motivation to be more.

1st housers when not evolved may be tricked into giving a lot of attention to the 3D and associate 3D themes with what makes them “Them”, they may define themselves as their career and hobbies. this is a recipe for existential crisis because once those 3D elements change (they will) or are no longer interesting to the masses this individual essentially “loses value”.

sidereal taurus moon vs sidereal scorpio moon have polarizing approaches to lively aspirations. due to the exaltation of the Taurus moon and this sense of natural internal security they are born with has its downside, that shows up in someone as not striving for more than the ”comfortable” lifestyle and not really having build any special skills to achieve milestones. this makes them prone to falling into depressions later in life (and issues with overeating/drinking often). sidereal scorpio moons are not “blessed” with this sense of internal comfort, the hardships they face early on makes them motivated to rebuild themselves and acquire skills which are important for success. the other downside is they have to learn how to appreciate their achievements and not just diminish them and going for the next, taking time for a little rest now and then is okay, scorpio.

[sunkendreams]

Idk exactly what to ask for, but I have an ✨idea✨

Dwayne who seemingly has a penchant for choking his SO. He just loves the little whimpers and moans they make, and the way they squirm.

Really basic, ik 💀. You can take this and run, or simply enjoy this thought with me, but I wanted to share 🥰

moving in stereo.

( dwayne x fem!reader. )

➾ pairing ; dwayne x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.9K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), making out, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, scratching, breeding kink, scent kink, p in v sex, missionary position, rough sex, begging, unprotected sex, mating press (a little bit), choking, bruising/marking, dwayne is hot

author’s note: i am so obsessed with him, it’s not even funny ngl :’) also, I have a couple of other fics/drabbles that I’ll probably post tonight too, I’m definitely feeling very inspired! If you haven’t voted on my poll, please do so! thank you guys sm for your continued love & support !! ❤️

Beads of blood filled your mouth as you absentmindedly chewed at the skin of your cheek, flesh taut between your back molars — you hadn’t intended to bite down as hard as you did. A singular glance at Dwayne’s hands had contorted into shameless ogling, smitten hues discreetly flickering over the veins and smudges of grayish grease coating his fingers.

He had a way with machinery that transcended you — he often claimed that it was simply natural instinct, but your running theory was something buried in his past life. Dwayne was known for his stoicism and quiet demeanor, neglecting to educate you on his background.

It must’ve been a life of hard work — otherwise, his hands wouldn’t have appeared so rough and calloused. They weren’t smooth and spindly like Marko’s, or pretty like Paul’s. They were taut and thick, dexterous and built for destruction, if he let it.

Hands that had held you many times before, touched you in ways that you longed to feel again. A shudder rolled down your spine as you daydreamed, mind floating into a fantastical haze of lascivious thoughts. If it weren’t for the presence of the other boys, a tendril of drool might’ve leaked from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?”

Paul’s agitated groan reverberated throughout the cavern as he crouched beside his boombox, slapping a palm against the top of the speaker, as if that would cure all ailments. His brows furrowed together, lip curled in annoyance as he knocked his hand against the machine a second time — for good measure.

“You’ll ruin it if you keep it up.” Dwayne’s monotonous remark echoed from the opposite side of the lobby. He was entrenched in repairing his motorcycle after it had gotten vandalized by a Surf-Nazi who didn’t live to tell the tale. Paul’s beloved stereo was the least of his concerns.

“How are we gonna listen to Alice?” A begrudging sigh escaped Paul, whose theatrics weren’t out of the ordinary. He huffed, falling in a dramatic heap along the edge of the dilapidated fountain. “Can’t you fix it, Dwayne?” He asked, peering toward his brother, who seemed entirely uninterested.

Silence filled the chasm between them, prompting you to stifle a smile. Dwayne didn’t enjoy being bothered whenever he was working on a project — he was always one to see it through until the very end.

David and Marko emerged from their abysmal resting place. Once the sun disappeared behind the ocean and dusk consumed dawn, the boys became wildly active. “Paul,” David’s voice carried, always domineering without even trying. “Let’s go.”

Disappointed in the lack of closure for his treasured boombox, Paul relented, rolling off of the stone bannister with an exaggerated sigh. He ruffled your hair in passing, and smacked Dwayne on the way out, who didn’t flinch or move a muscle. He simply exhaled — you could sense the twinge of irritation in his sigh alone.

Paul snickered, hopping up the ledge alongside David and Marko. “See you later, bud.” He sneered, waving at you as he departed with his brothers. Once the trio slunk away into the moonlight, it left you and Dwayne by yourselves in the cave.

You could’ve watched Dwayne work for hours, captivated by the way he dismantled the machinery, handling the finer pieces with nimble digits. He was wrist-deep in the grease-laden guts of his motorcycle, surrounded by a myriad of scrap and parts. His dark brows were furrowed together in stark concentration.

Intrigued, you abandoned your perch — a rickety, velvet-cushioned chair that had come with the hotel’s ancient wreckage. Paul’s stereo was sitting along the ledge, awaiting a tune-up that you knew Dwayne would inevitably provide. You sat down, inspecting it for any damage — it looked unharmed, on the outside.

“Do you think it was a user error sort of thing?” A burst of laughter escaped you as you opened up the hatch for the cassette tapes, noticing a rather banged-up copy of Alice Cooper’s Constrictor from ‘86. It was a good choice — you had to commend Paul’s taste in music.

Dwayne’s soft, bemused huff was all you needed to hear, prompting you to smile. You never mistook his tranquil, halcyon demeanor as indifference — he was a man of very few words. Even his temper wasn’t violent or tempestuous, like that of Marko or David. His placidity in most things was what drew you to him in the first place.

Being a human amongst a den of rancorous vampires wasn’t your intention, but you were happy — happiest with Dwayne, above all. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had, not that it was a lengthy list. You idly fiddled with some of the switches on the boombox, removing and reinserting the cassette before closing it up.

Much to your chagrin, the stereo didn’t work — maybe it wasn’t Paul’s imagination after all. You gently nudged it back along the ledge, abandoning it for now. “How come you didn’t go with the others?” You inquired, folding one leg over the other, tapping the heel of your boot against the dusty stone.

There was a slight shift in his body language — a mere shrug of his broad shoulders, accompanied by the noises of metal clanging, gears twisting, and then he grunted. “I’m not looking for dinner.” Dwayne replied, matter-of-factly. He was in the midst of replacing the engine on his bike, placing the damaged part aside, hands stained in dark ichor.

With a soft hum, you pushed yourself off of the ledge, wandering over toward Dwayne’s scrapyard — a rather cluttered corner of the cave that acted as a makeshift garage. You sat along one of the flat outcroppings of rock, opting to watch him fix up his motorcycle. It would intrigue you more than messing with the boombox ever would.

His pearlescent teeth clenched around a wrench, clutched between his maw as he focused on putting the new engine back in. There was a quiet appreciation that he held for you — you were always respectful of his hobbies, if this even counted as one. Dark eyes flickered toward you, sitting there in your billowing sundress like some statuesque angel.

Dwayne appraised you in his usual silence, eyes carefully raking along your physique, as if he were undressing you through gaze alone. His jaw tensed, a fire beginning to spark within his chest, threatening to spread like an encroaching wildfire the longer he ogled you.

Sundresses were a hot commodity — and they never lasted, either. Dwayne made sure of it, and once he got his hands on you, that pretty fabric shielding you from him would cease to exist. He made it up to you with the gift of another, but rest assured, it would be shortlived.

It was a mutual feeling, the silent staring. His keen hues settled along the supple curves hiding just beneath that thin veil of fabric while you were captivated by the visual feast of strong, capable hands and taut forearms. You folded your hands within your lap, beginning to absentmindedly chew at your inner cheek again.

Your scent wafted throughout the short distance between the both of you, heavy with hints of your favorite perfume, a saccharine concoction that Dwayne had grown accustomed to. He loved your smell — it was unique to you, invading his senses as he continued his work.

Those strong, muscled hands of his were buried in the underbelly of the motorcycle, carefully placing the new engine back inside. He began to fasten it all into place, removing the wrench from his mouth, quickly fixing it all up with a series of bolts, screws, and metallic plates.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” Dwayne was, oddly enough, the one to shatter the comfortable silence between the both of you. He prided himself on playing mechanic — his ability to handle such equipment and repair it was rather renowned. Once he was satisfied with the job, he sat back, peering toward you.

Warmth oozed from those earthen-brown hues of his, coupled with a subtle adoration that only he possessed for you. Your smile only served to further it, the only thing to make his dead heart pump to life again.

“I’d like that,” You mused, canting your head to one side. “I think you should fix Paul’s stereo, too.” Even if Dwayne had brushed him off before, he would fix it and have it ready for him whenever he came back. It was the right thing to do, anyway.

Dwayne huffed, lips twitching into a threadbare smile, wrought with traces of amusement. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t need to. He wiped his hands off along the crimson cloth he carried in his back pocket, ridding his hands of engine grease and oil.

He stood, filling in his full height as he bent down to give you a kiss, hand carding through the back of your skull. It never failed to make you shudder, haplessly squeezing your thighs together as you reached for his forearm. Powerful, taut muscle flexed underneath your fingertips, and his kiss briefly intensified before he withdrew.

That familiar aching sensation flickered to life between your legs, a dull arousal pooling within your stomach. You wanted nothing more than to cling to him, beg for another kiss, but Dwayne was already over to the stereo, inspecting it for any damage it might’ve had.

For Dwayne, your mind was exceptionally loud — he could read your thoughts, hear them screaming from afar, which he happened to smile at from where he stood. The feeling was mutual, but he wanted to make you stew in it for a little while — it heightened the experience.

As he dismantled the stereo, you decided to go elsewhere — to Paul’s nest, which wasn’t the brightest idea, but he had an impressive collection of cassette tapes. You began climbing toward the rocky slope that led off into alcoves, using some of the ropes hanging about to pull yourself up.

“Where are you going?” Dwayne asked, seemingly finding the source of the boombox’s disarray — there were pieces of tape stuck in the machine.

“To see what Paul has to listen to,” You mused, nose wrinkling in amusement. “It’s the least that he can do for you since you fixed it. We should go listen to music.” Truthfully, Dwayne owned that stupid stereo just as much as Paul did — joint custody, you’d called it.

Hawkish, dark hues drank you in from afar, and Dwayne decided that he’d indulge himself in your wishes, picking up the boombox by the bottom. The handle had been broken off long ago — courtesy of Paul, once again. He simply trailed behind you, briefly pressing his hand against the small of your back when you made it up the incline, keeping you steady.

Paul’s nest was notoriously cluttered — in a very fascinating and macabre manner. It was littered in trinkets, things he’d taken from people he fed from, bones and all, or general thievary. The boys were all like this, but not to Paul’s level.

Posters of hair-bands and metal groups hung all around the rock, illuminated by flickering candlelight. It smelled faintly of marijuana, decorated by a patchwork array of tapestries, clothes, and stolen jackets. The guitar he’d lifted off of a traveling rock group sat on his bed — he always talked about starting a band.

A mountain of cassette tapes lay in a semi-organized heap, many of them taken from Videomax or anywhere he could find them. Dwayne simply stood at the fringes of Paul’s nest, watching as you picked through his extensive collection. You smiled at the handful you’d grabbed, rejoining Dwayne as the two of you made for his nest.

In an amusing juxtaposition, Dwayne’s nest was noticeably simplistic — yet, his personality was scrawled all over it. He liked to read, keeping a trunk of books, tools he’d taken from garages, and some trinkets stashed away in a large piece of a drawer.

He hadn’t bothered to invest in a bed for several decades — not until he got entangled with you. When Marko had mentioned it to you in-passing, it was rather intriguing, but you never asked Dwayne about it.

With the stereo now placed at the foot of his makeshift bed, placed atop a rather rickety wooden trunk, you ejected Alice Cooper from the hatch and put in The Cars, instead. Dwayne happened to regard this choice with curiosity, sitting along the edge of the mattress.

Moving in Stereo began to drift through the alcove, and you promptly fell back against the plush surface, tucking your hands atop your chest. “This song reminds me of you.” You murmured, gazing at the cavernous ceiling, focused on the jagged edges and outcroppings of rock.

Dwayne seemed curious, twisting slightly to face you. Even when sitting, he towered over you, indomitable and immovable, a wall of sheer strength and muscle. “Why does it remind you of me?” He wanted to hear your answer, eyes flickering toward your exposed stomach.

You smiled, somewhat embarrassed, but you decided to answer him anyway. “I don’t know,” You began, rolling over onto your side, propping yourself up with one hand. “Just a bit of a mystery, but alluring. It’s pretty magnetizing.” With a soft exhale, you began to pick at a stray string on one of the blankets that covered the mattress.

“Magnetizing,” Dwayne echoed, withholding the urge to smirk. Instead, he joined you, laying on his side as he mirrored your position, face mere centimeters away from yours. “You got a way with words, girl.” His chest shook with a brief huff before he leaned in to kiss you.

If a kiss could have destroyed you, this was it — Dwayne’s mouth consumed you, intensified by your seemingly innocuous words. He tasted good, like spiced smoke and the faint bite of copper.

You were eternally grateful to The Cars — Dwayne was careening into you, broad chest flush against yours, veined hand grasping at the base of your skull. Thick digits massaged at the nape of your neck, coaxing you close until there was no space left between you, lips voraciously tangling with yours.

He ripped all wisps of air from your lungs, as cold as ice as he shrugged off his jacket. Arousal reactivated inside of you, no longer dormant as your warm hands reached for his chest, feeling broad muscle underneath your palms. He felt like a god — chiseled, forever perfect — you were sometimes in-awe of his beauty.

In awe — Dwayne smirked against your mouth, unable to help himself when it came to your overactive imagination and racing thoughts. He pushed his hand underneath your shirt, fingers tracing along your curves as he began to feel a familiar tightening in his jeans.

Your scent thoroughly intoxicated him — your natural musk, the cling of perfume, the arousal coalescing between your thighs — it was a perfect amalgamation. Dwayne exhaled, sitting up and taking you with him, hands hooking into the hem of your shirt as he peeled it off of you.

His lips were on your flesh again, hands tearing your thin brassiere apart with ease, reveling in your warmth. Dwayne pressed a string of kisses along your neck, feeling the thrum of your pulse point pound against his mouth. The shorts you wore still clung to your frame, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Dwayne,” You sighed, The Cars becoming nothing more than atmospheric background noise. Liquid heat pooled between your legs, a shiver rolling down your spine as he laid you down against the mattress, covering you with his body. Your eyes locked together as he stared down at you, gaze boring right through you. “I need you.”

Dwayne kissed your neck, sucking enough to create a hickey before he traveled to the base of your throat, peppering kisses across your collarbone. “Where do you need me, sweet girl?” His husky, warm baritone made you shiver in delight. Those eyes raked over you in rapture, full of reverence.

“Everywhere,” You whimpered, goosebumps coalescing along your spine. Dwayne’s huff of laughter made you smile, and you quickly urged him closer for another kiss. His mouth crashed against yours, passionate and blistering, full of an unrestrained want. “I’m yours.” A sweet moan tore past your lips.

A wave of possessiveness swelled up inside of him, coupled with that innate desire to keep you all to himself. Dwayne didn’t have an issue sharing with his brothers, but you? No — you belonged to him, and him alone. A growl rippled across his broad chest as he tore his lips away, returning to your sternum.

There was a prowess to him that the others didn’t possess — Dwayne was emotionally intelligent, just as vicious in the same breath. He was an enigma of so many things, drawing you in with his arcadian charm. Your fingers reached for his dark tresses, perusing through as he kissed your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” Dwayne’s affectionate baritone rumbled across your flesh as he continued his slow, deliberate string of kisses, making his way to your breasts. He trapped one nipple between his lips, gently suckling on the sensitive mound, the other hand tugging at your shorts. “Perfect.” He uttered.

You sighed, fingers tangling within his mane of black tresses, pulling and carding through. It felt silky between your digits, like velvet. Those veined, calloused hands gripped along the meat of your hips, strong and unwavering as he lifted you to discard your shorts.

Arousal pooled between your legs, honey-thick as it toyed with Dwayne’s senses. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself between your thighs, devour you until you were a trembling, mewling mess. Your thoughts shamelessly echoed that sentiment, prompting him to reach toward the apex of your thighs, hand breaking past the waistline of your panties.

Dexterous fingers languidly slipped along your slick cunt, making a line right for your clit. Your body responded in a near-violent fashion, hips jolting up into him, hands curling within his hair. “D—Dwayne!” You whimpered, chasing after the friction his hand provided. Those dark hues hadn’t left you, transfixed on your smitten countenance as he kissed your stomach.

He looked big when his body was spread over yours, but when he began to slink toward your thighs, he was hulking, a massive wall of muscle. Dwayne’s kisses continued, littered all across your pelvis and thighs, fingers still winding you up as he pushed in between your legs with those broad, bronze shoulders.

His visage was rugged with a fine layer of dark stubble, tangible as it scratched against your inner thighs. He curled his hands into your panties, and instead of removing them, Dwayne simply tore them asunder, leaving remnants of fabric behind. The alcove reverberated with the sounds of material being ripped apart.

A thin sheen of arousal painted your cunt, scent stinging his nose in the most pleasant way possible. The velveteen flesh of your inner thighs were layered in faint bite marks — his own, from the past. He looked to you for approval, thumb lazily circling around your clit.

“Please.” You huffed, head bobbing up and down in an idle nod as he moved his lips toward a patch of flesh, unmarred by any bites. Dwayne was always very sensual, and even when he fed from you, it felt so lascivious. Your body jolted, hips writhing closer as he began to bite down.

Dark, earthy-brown hues melted away into pools of a golden-red, unnaturally vibrant. The initial sting of his bite made you wince, but he was always gentle with you when it came to feeding. As sharp teeth drew blood, a low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver. Your fingers continued to trace through his mane of black hair, a myriad of moans escaping you.

Restraining himself from taking this further, he had his fill, kissing over your now-healing bite. Dwayne licked his lips, effortlessly tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulders as he tugged you closer. You were somewhat folded at the hips, but you didn’t care.

Dwayne’s gaze was incendiary, intense — he stared you down from his perch between your thighs. You were visibly flustered, staring right back, nearly shrinking away altogether. He kissed your thighs, mouth dangerously close to your aching cunt. “You ready, girl?” He asked, inhaling another gust of your scent.

You nodded, feeling every fiber of your being scream with desire, and you wanted him terribly. “Yes,” You whimpered, hands having splayed out at your sides instead, no longer buried within his hair. “Dwayne, please,” His deliberation made it worse. “I want you so bad.” Your hips wriggled again, desperate for his mouth.

A warm, hearty chuckle emerged from his lips, making his herculean form shake between your legs. “Just relax,” He soothed, noticing how coiled and poised you were. Those strong, veined hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread apart. The flat of his tongue lapped across your slit in one long stroke. “Relax, Mama.” His voice made your head swim.

Relaxation wasn’t exactly your forte — you were too wound-up, too drunk with desire to simply sit still and melt into the mattress. Dwayne’s tongue began to lap you up, greedily consuming every drop of your sweet arousal, working along your cunt. His fingers clamped hard, enough to leave behind the inklings of bruises, etched into your flesh like his personal brand.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze at his head, but he kept your legs firmly planted on his shoulders, pinning you down and rendering you immobile. Your taste saturated his tongue, and he only chased after it, dutifully lapping at your slit as his nose absentmindedly grazed against your clit.

Dwayne was relatively silent — and you didn’t mind in the slightest. The only ambiance happened to be The Cars, your delighted moans, and your boyfriend’s deep, rumbling grunts. His tongue worked wonders on your aching slit, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing as he lapped you up, gaze flickering towards you.

Your countenance was a vision of beauty, all contorted into an expression of complete and utter bliss. Your hips writhed, with very little room to go considering that Dwayne had you locked down, arms bracketed on your thighs, keeping you caged in against him.

A heavy fire burned bright within the pit of your stomach, demanding to be extinguished. Throaty, noisy moans escaped you in droves, vocalizing your delight as Dwayne vigorously lapped at your cunt. He alternated patterns, between soft and exploratory and recklessly needy. His mouth occasionally brushed over your clit, causing you to shiver.

Each time he ate you out, it was almost like the first time all over again — blissful, filled with a lust-infused passion that threatened to swallow you whole. Dwayne was beyond attentive, savoring you as if you were the most delicious meal he’d ever had.

He lowered himself toward the mattress, musculature flat and poised between your thighs. Those strong, thick arms kept you held in-place, keeping you locked in as he continued to lap at your core. His hips rocked forward, harshly grinding against the bed to relieve some of the friction.

Much to your surprise, Dwayne got off on pleasuring you above all else. There was something intimately carnal about it, knowing that you only made those sounds for him, only let him touch you. Your hips jolted forward, met with a barrage of an eager tongue and mouth as he lapped at your cunt.

Dwayne grunted, lips opting to purse around your clit, instead. Your reaction was visceral, moans ascending to an excitable crescendo as your hands flew toward his hair. He grunted again, attempting to vocalize his own satisfaction of you pulling and tugging on his dark tresses as if they were reins.

A burnished-gold coloration had swallowed brown irises whole, flickering down towards your blissed-out visage. Your body had a mind of its own, twitching and writhing as his mouth relentlessly assaulted your aching cunt. Pleasure licked acros your frame, burning along your sensitive nerves. He was vigorous and attentive, throat itching with a dull, familiar ache.

Hunger could wait — Dwayne merely placed that feeling into the recesses of his mind. His tongue continued to cascade across your slit, lapping at your arousal before he returned his attention to your clit, suckling on that bundle of nerves. He steered you towards your orgasm, mind swimming with a thick haze of lust, overwhelmed by your heady scent.

“Dwayne!” Your voice carried above the nest, echoing throughout your cavernous surroundings. Fortunately, you were alone — you had little desire to mask how you felt about him. Needy digits gripped at his tresses again, hips bucking into his mouth until you were simply a pile of mush, unable to respond.

You were lost to the white-hot heat of your release, an explosive sensation that caused you to quiver and spasm in delight. A glittering perspiration danced across your hot flesh, sparkling from the glow of the candlelight. “Dwayne,” You huffed, a whimper emerging from the back of your throat as he dutifully cleaned you up.

He released your hips from his ironclad hold, crawling along your body until his broad frame nestled between your thighs. That taut, muscled hand rest against the base of your throat, digits gingerly squeezing on either side of your windpipe. You initiate a rather tantalizing kiss, able to taste yourself upon his tongue.

A clattering sound resonates in your vicinity, Dwayne wrestling his belt off of his hips as his jeans sag upon his frame. He’s swift, wrangling his pants aside with one hand, the other clutching onto your pretty throat like a vice, evoking a string of sinful noises from your mouth. You kiss him with a desperation that he matches tenfold.

His hips brush against yours, and the distance is nonexistent, closed by your stoic paramour, whose normally-cold gaze reflects with a semblance of warmth. Your hands clamor for his broad shoulders, sinking into the expanse of bronze skin, nails clamping down when he drags the head of his cock against your cunt.

“Speak up, sweet girl.” Dwayne grunts, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. He thoroughly enjoyed your begging on occasion, with this happening to be one of those occurrences. His lips briefly press against the side of your face, stubble grazing across your silken complexion.

With an agonizing pace, he continued to toy with you, pushing his cock against your entrance, but declining to go any further. A pained whine escaped you as you tilted yourself closer. The hand around your throat squeezes, effectively commanding your attention.

“Please,” You sputter, squirming in delight whenever those veined digits tense around the slender expanse of your jugular. “Dwayne, please,” Your simpering pleas are met with a hiss as he sluggishly sinks into you, inch by inch. He lets out another shallow rumble when your fingers brazenly dig into his shoulder. “Please move!”

Cold-blooded and dangerous — but not to you, not now. The icy temperature of his flesh swallows the warmth wafting from you as he invades your space, musculature eclipsing any light. His shadow falls across you, visage awash with his own carnal delight. You’re tight around him, aided by your arousal.

Another satisfactory snarl rips forth from his mouth, echoing next to your ear. You wrap your legs around his broad hips, gasping when he began to move. His cock hit new depths, pulling halfway out before Dwayne pushed himself back in again. His pace was rhythmic and passionate — not sloppy or too rough.

The pad of his thumb draws circles along the curve of your jawline, the rest of his hand tight around your windpipe. You moan, legs locked like a vice as he continues to roll his hips forward, cock battering its way into your cunt with a domineering force. Dwayne was taking it easy on you — if he lost control, it wouldn’t be very pretty for either of you.

His lips find yours, kissing you fervently as you reciprocate in a flurry of passion. Heat bled from you, arousal seeping from your core as Dwayne continued to rut into you, one hand splayed beside your head. The sparkling sheen of his ring glints in the lower light, mouth relentlessly assaulting yours in a barrage of kisses.

Dwayne grunts into your mouth, but the entanglement is shortlived as he moves to cover parts of your neck in kisses — whatever parts aren’t covered by his hand. You feel the sudden scrape of razor-sharp fangs drifting over your flesh, testing your resolve. You shudder, eyes fluttering shut as you grip and pull on his hair.

Sometimes you simply forgot that he was a specter of the night, a fanged creature who had the capability to rip you apart at any moment. His fangs continue to hover across your neck before they retracted, lips replacing them as he kissed your pulse point. There was an added element of thrill and exhilaration as you whimpered, his name spilling from your mouth over and over again.

You nearly see stars when he pistons himself into you again, slow and savoring you, enjoying the sluggishness of it all as Dwayne continues to drag out his thrusts. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his length, prompting you to whimper and moan, goosebumps coalescing along your spine.

“More,” It was incoherent, a string of needy babbles that escaped you in droves. “Dwayne, please,” You whimpered, chewing at your lower lip. In the midst of his own pleasure, Dwayne’s calculating stare flickered toward you — it wasn’t a good idea. “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, hearing the growl that echoed deep from within his chest.

“You sure?” Dwayne didn’t want to hurt you, but he was inclined to obey your needy command. Another grunt escaped him as he steadily rutted away into your tight cunt, deliberating in the midst of it all. “Won’t be gentle.” His stark warning was concrete, you knew this — you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded several times over, digits gently curling around his wrist. “Yeah.” You panted, chest fluttering with a tight sensation as he gave you a hasty, passionate kiss, a parting gift as he squeezed at your jugular. That steady rhythm began to pick up instantaneously.

Dwayne made sure to watch you closely, gaze hawkishly trained upon your body as he began to fuck you. The intensity and the heat rose like a tidal wave, consuming the both of you as he pounded away at your poor cunt. Your legs rattled like leaves, attempting to stay locked around his waist.

The taut muscles of his shoulders and abdomen worked in-tandem, body effortlessly exerting strength. For him, it was nothing — for you, it was a different experience entirely. He was rough, manhandling you with one hand as he grabbed at your hips, enough to leave behind faint impressions in the form of bruises.

Moving in Stereo still swallowed any background noise, encompassing the whole of Dwayne’s nest. You were a complete and utter mess, devolving into a puddle of sweet moans and needy whimpers, especially whenever he applied pressure around your throat. He squeezed whenever he thrust into you, force akin to that of a barely-restrained battering ram.

Even in his self-proclaimed roughness, Dwayne was still executing some measure of restraint. “Mine,” His thunderous voice swarmed you from all sides as he fucked you into submission, gritting pearlescent teeth together as he approached his climax. You kept nodding, back arching into his touch.

“Dwayne,” Dwayne — it feels like the only word you’re capable of saying, rolling from your tongue with a wanton moan. You tug on his tresses with an urgency, feeling his hips grind against yours, flesh kissing flesh with unyielding thrusts. His cock continues to bury itself deep inside of your needy slit until it can go no further. “S—Shit! Right there!” You cry.

He huffs, musculature flat against you, chest to chest as you coax him in for another kiss. You whimper into his mouth when his tongue tangles with yours like a heat-seeking missile, teeth breaking the thin skin of your lower lip. Pearls of crimson trickle onto his tongue, fusing lust with hunger — all for you.

Dwayne didn’t stop, showing no signs of stopping as he fucked the both of you through an orgasm, painting your cunt in hot ropes of seed. He doesn’t pull out, a sensation that the two of you feed off of. If it weren’t for his vampirism, you’d be round with his children — the fantasy would continue to linger on for as long as he pleased.

“Shit, Mama,” Dwayne’s strained baritone sends shivers throughout your body. He rarely talks during sex, and this felt like a treat as he continued to thrust into you, feeling your nails dig angry crescents into his shoulder. He groans, savoring the feeling of your constant tugging on his mane of dark tresses. “You’re perfect.” His voice tapered off into a possessive growl.

You want to scream, a raging fire surging throughout your body before it finally comes to an end, extinguished by Dwayne’s rough rutting. He could’ve kept it up, continued all night long with his cock stuffed inside of you, but humanity was both a blessing and a curse. Your thighs shook underneath his grasp, and he began to slow, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

His hand left behind a searing brand around your throat — whether or not the imprints are visible, it’s the sensation that refuses to leave. Your windpipe feels a little sore, but it’s a pleasant burn as he comes to a crawl, nestling his forehead against yours.

The excitement and blissful thrill of the moment steadily begins to fade, composure replacing a very heavy lust. Your heart thrums beneath your breast, beginning to crawl to a more uniform beat as you nudge forward, kissing Dwayne again. Your lips are swollen, split down the middle with a patch of dried cruor.

Dwayne’s exhale of relaxation comes after, and the tension within his body unfurls. He kept himself inside of you still, feeling your poor cunt clench around his cock when he adjusted his position. His kiss is astoundingly tender this time around, able to taste the pang of copper upon your lip, accompanied by your natural sweetness.

A sense of euphoria overwhelms you, body feeling wonderfully heavy as Dwayne peppered kisses all along your jaw and collarbone. “You alright?” He murmured, making sure that he hadn’t pushed the limit with you. It was easy to become lost in the moment, forget about your humanity.

You nodded, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, resting his head against your stomach, arms encircling themselves around you. “Better than alright,” You mused, tracing your fingers throughout his hair. “You think Paul will mind that we borrowed his stereo?” Laughter burst forth from your mouth.

A bemused huff escaped Dwayne as he reached over with one muscled arm, hitting the ‘NEXT’ track on the boombox. He pulled you close, nose wrinkling in disdain as Drive by The Cars came on — it wasn’t exactly his taste in music.

“Like you said,” He rumbled, peering up at you with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His arms effortlessly tugged you down to his level, lips twitching into a faint smirk, rare for Dwayne yet mesmerizing all the same. His mouth brushed above yours. “Joint custody.”

[crazilust]

Analyzing celebrities’ fashion according to their venus signs (pt.1)

I believe you can tell alot about someone just by looking at the clothes they've choose to wear. Let's analyze different celebrities' fashion and their venus sign (as well as the degree they're in) and give you some advice on how you can incorporate it in your own fashion style.

Aries venus

Audrey Hepburn

Even though we associate Aries venus with a very flamboyant style (and trust me, they can be and most of them are), I found important to put Audrey Hepburn as an example of someone who’s mastered the minimal, elegant fashion. Aries are very determinate and passionate individuals and once they have their eyes set on something, they’ll achieve it at all cost. I found it relevant in Hepburn’s style, because to me she achieved the quintessential minimalist fashion. She was able to balance being minimal while not being boring and basic, while staying true to herself. I think that’s one of the main strength of Aries venuses. They have to stay true to themselves, and when they do, they’re able to master their own fashion sense.

Also interesting to note that her venus is in a capricorn degree, which could also explain the more minimalist route.

Lady Gaga

On the other side of the spectrum, we’ve got Lady Gaga who also represents Aries venus perfectly. Her ability to tell a story with her clothes has become something we know and associate her for. Again, even if it’s completely different to Hepburn’s, you can still very much see Gaga’s need to be authentic to herself. Her style is a bit more tone down (see picture on the top right), but it’s still close to who she is as a person. It just evolved. Her willingness to be weird and over the top despite the constant misunderstanding of others and nagging, demands a lot of bravery and if that's not an Aries venus in a nutshell, I don't know what it is.

Her venus is in a Piscean degree (24), which could explain her intrinsic desire to use fashion as an art form and always push its boundaries.

Final take

If I were an Aries venus, I would take a long time reflecting on what I truly like, what type of person I am and how I want to be seen before buying anything. I would forget the trends and start investing in personal development in order to see how I could translate that into my clothes. Am I more a lowkey, mysterious kind of person? Flamboyant and over the top? The moment I’d be able to choose at least three words to describe me, I’d start building my closet around them and remind myself that I can go to extremes if I damn wanted to.

Taurus venus

Princess Diana

As a fellow Taurus venus, I’d be lying if I said that Princess Diana is not one of my main inspiration. To me, she represents perfectly what Taurus venus is all about. Simplicity, elegance and effortlessness. There’s a simplicity here, an ease that is very admirable from Princess Diana. It’s almost like she just threw this on but looks phenomenal as a result. It’s polished, but not forced at all and that’s where Taurus’ strength lies. Making it look easy. I also added her biker short outfit to represents Taurus’ need for comfort, but why not make it look cute? Also monochromatic looks to add that touch of put togetherness.

With her venus in 24 degrees (Pisces), we notice her tendency to break the mold and transcend beyond people's expectations. With today's eyes, it doesn't seem that groundbreaking, but at the time, and especially for a Royal, it was cra-zy (also the first one to be known for her fashion!)

Prince

What I wanted to focus on by putting Prince is his sensuality that I feel is overlooked alot when we talk about Taurus Venus. Or it's taken for granted almost. They have this little je-ne-sais-quoi that is so attractive and again, so effortless. Prince mastered this aspect so much and I find it very interesting. His clothes were a direct translation of how he felt about himself. Showing a little skin there, some see-through blouse here. Nothing extremely vulgar, but you get the message. I also wanted to put him there because whenever we think of Taurus venus celebrities, we always reference the most stereotypical ones like Ariana Grande and Lana del Rey. They most obviously embody the Venusian energy, but if you don't like this aesthetic, you can definitely be a little bit more out there just like Prince did.

With his venus in 7 degree, being a Libra degree, Prince was doubling down on his venusian energy, amping up the charm and sensuality while still being seen as charming.

Final take

What I would do (and should start to do actually) as a Taurus venus is focus on the quality of the clothes I put on my body, no matter the aesthetic or fashion choices. At the end of the day, Taurus look fabulous and effortlessly glam, but in order to enhance this trait, it's going to be important to invest in quality pieces in order to emanate this energy. I understand that not everybody wants to invest in clothes, but there's many ways you can do this without breaking the bank : thrift stores, depop, vinted (it might just take longer). Some signs can get away with cheap clothes, distressed clothing, but as Taurus venus, it definetely looks messy and not necessarily in a cute, grunge way lol.

Gemini venus

Margot Robbie

To my surprise, there's actually a lot of supermodels or sex icons/bombshells who possess a Gemini Venus. I say to my surprise, because I always see Geminis as kind of quirky, but it's true, they do embody the perfect balance of being hot but approachable (the twins archetype after all). It's like they can very well be the nerdy shy girl and the bombshell the next minute. I think you can actually see that in Margot Robbie's style where it's very Girl-Next-Door, but with an edge. The monochromatic pink look is to die for but switch the palette for a neutral look, platform for regular slippers and it's not as eye-catching. Without these two small details, you get a very basic look. I would've expected flamboyance, but from what I saw from these celebrities (ex: Kristen Bell, Sandra Bullock) is that they really embody the Model Off Duty vibes, where everything they put has a little edge to it while still appearing very approachable and mainstream. Which, when we think about it, is very reminiscent of Geminis.

Her Venus being in a Leo degree (8) could explain her tendency to want to be extra, lean more on the glamorous side and wear monochromatic colourful outfits

Megan Fox

Another route you could choose, as Megan Fox did, is to go push that Cool Girl fashion all the way and experiment fully with your closet, mixing and matching pieces with different textures and colours. Fox has always been known for her sex appeal and you can definitely see that in her fashion choices in the beginning of her career, but as of lately, she's been more avant-garde with her choices and honestly more fun. She definitely reminds me of the cool girls in my town walking around like they're just out of the fashion magazine, not giving a F about anything and you can't help but notice them.

Her venus is in 23 degrees, which is an Aquarius degree and could definitely explain her tendency to explore different styles and play with colours. Being very experimental.

Final take

What I would do if I were a Gemini Venus, is that I would learn my colours, my signature style and what goes best for my silhouette in order to put forward my best features. While this can be said for anyone, I think Gemini Venus is still very well thought out and in order to give that illusion of "I just got up", you're gonna have to know what makes you pop. As opposed to Taurus, for example, who can just rock an oversized hoodie and some boots and make it look elegant because that's what their energy gives off, Gemini is going to have to work a little bit harder. Experiment. Alot !

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That's it from me folks, I'll post part 2 containing Cancer, Leo and Virgo venus very soon :)

[aphroditelovesu]

Hi can I make a request of a love letters from Castlevania Yandere Vlad, Dracula tepes x gender, neutral, reader and Yandere Trevor Belmont x gender, neutral, reader and yandere Alecurd x gender, neutral, reader and I almost forgot can you make l sure that reader is human? Thank you 🙏❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Dear (Y/N),

In the endless and dark nights, where the moon reflects its light upon us, my heart, once frozen by time, finds warmth in the radiant and ephemeral presence that you are. It's as if destiny, in its mischief, brought us together, even knowing the barriers that the world imposes between us.

I am a being of the night, one who lives in the shadows and finds his shelter in the darkness. You are the light that permeates my existence, the reason why my eyes long for the sunrise.

My immortal being is enveloped by eternal loneliness, but in you, I find the promise of something deeper. A love that defies ages, that transcends the barriers between our divergent worlds.

I beg you to accept this heart immersed in darkness, ready to beat to the rhythm of your light. Allow me to be your guardian, your companion on this uncertain journey.

With eternal love,

Vlad.

My love,

I write this letter in the hope that it will find its way to you, just as my soul always finds yours, despite the darkness that surrounds us. Amid the endless battles against the creatures of the night, it is you who illuminates my heart.

Each night, when the cloak of darkness spreads over us, it is your image that guides me, bringing light to my dark days. Your smile is more radiant than the sun that never dared to touch our home.

As I lift my cross against the children of darkness, your love is my strongest protection, an impenetrable shield against the claws of evil. I feel fortunate to share my journey with you, a beacon of humanity in a world steeped in darkness.

Accept these words as an oath, an eternal commitment to protect and love you in the midst of the darkness. For as long as there is a breath of life in my being, your love will be my anchor in this hellish world.

All my love,

Trevor Belmont.

My sweet love,

I write these words with a heart full of emotions that I can barely contain. From the moment our paths crossed, my life changed in ways I could never have imagined. You brought light to the darkest corners of my existence, dispelling the darkness that consumed me for so long.

It is true that I am a being of the night, a dhampir whose destiny is marked by a nature that many consider threatening. Yet in your presence, I find a peace that goes beyond the barriers between our worlds. Your smile is the sun that illuminates my eternal darkness, and your understanding and acceptance make me feel human again.

I know the road before us is filled with challenges and obstacles that many do not understand. But together, I believe we can transcend the differences that separate us. I promise to protect you with all the strength I possess, even if it means fighting against my own being.

Every beat of my heart, although silent and dead, is a testimony to the deep love I have for you. Even if eternity separates us, know that your name will always be whispered in the most secret corners of my soul.

With all my love,

Alucard.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Presentiment of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: Of all the people in your village, why were you the only one spared?

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, major spoilers for the start of JJK S2, some not SFW implications, and violence/slight gore.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

“You can see them, can’t you?”

The man is tall, so much taller, so much taller than you who is curled up into a ball in the corner of your home, to hide, an intention that was more or less popped like a balloon. He is so much taller than the corpses littering the floor with their blood, their vomit, their tears. Gazing at the disarray with a mix of revulsion and frustration, he found himself devoid of any trace of it on his person, his exasperation evident as he muttered the word monkeys repeatedly along with quick, muffled talks of cleaning and baths and stains.

“Miss. You can see them, can’t you? The beings around us.”

As he receives no response once more, he pivots. A terrifying grin adorns his face, an unsettling visage that seems to transcend the boundaries of humanity. It appears as if it is a mere appendage, capable of detachment at whim, akin to a magnet or a metallic fragment. This facade, a deceptive guise, conceals the malevolent demon lurking beneath its surface.

“...I… Please… Please just ge-”

“Answer my question.” Interrupting, he maintains a sickeningly warm smile and tone, though his words possess an entirely different temperature. They are demanding. Frigid. For nothing burns quite like the icy cold. “I know you can, from the way you are looking around the room and hiding. Stop pretending you can’t.”

Even when his gaze was averted, his vigilance never wavered, always deciphering the motives behind your awkward, apprehensive behavior. He possesses an uncanny ability to interrogate as if presiding over a courtroom, posing probing inquiries that unveil the heart of the matter. Every response you offer seems to hold the power to determine your verdict: a life of freedom, confinement, or even death.

Opting for honesty may prove beneficial. It could potentially strengthen your position, although there are no guarantees. Contemplating the act of praying, you ponder its efficacy, hoping for assistance from any divine entity that may exist. You certainly wouldn't want to become another disfigured body within the grasp of the beast behind the man's monstrous jaws.

So, after weighing all of this out, your lips part instinctively.

“Ah, I knew it. Unlike these monkeys, you are worthy.” As a reaction to those two sentences, about a million thoughts and questions sprout in your mind. “You will be spared if you join us. You do not want to be rotting on top of these filthy monkey corpses, do you?”

In an instant, you vigorously shake your head, causing a fleeting sense of dizziness, as you promptly respond to his inquiry this time.

“I’ll… I’ll… do it.” As anticipated, the act of surrendering proved to be a complex experience, simultaneously challenging and effortless. This situation resembles a collision of opposing forces, resulting in a powerful and explosive event. However, due to an innate instinct and the familiarity acquired from past encounters with your inebriated father, you find yourself succumbing once again. “Anything.” You don’t think of saying that word specifically, and you regret it later than sooner. “Just… Just please. I want to live.”

A gentle pull brings you to your feet as his hand reaches out to grasp yours.

“I am glad you accepted my conditions. Very glad.” The man brushes his side bang out of his face, his grip becoming slightly looser. “I am Suguru, Suguru Geto. Now, what is your name, my new recruit?”

“...[First].” You whisper your name so softly, questioning whether Geto caught it. “Do I… Do I have to use that too? Because…”

“No, you don’t. Though if you want you can be taught to wield something, something weaker than this.”

He responded to your question as if you were a young child inquiring about the purchasing of infants from a retail establishment. “...But do I have to?”

Geto shook his head and called the beast with two waving fingers. It is a dragon, you think, from how long it is and how it has large white scales, even whiter teeth, and long golden hair partially stained red, and how its large blue eyes stared into your soul.

“That depends on the future.” He says, his grip dwindling even further. The monster disappears with another wave of his hand. He chuckles. “Depends mainly on what you do, and why you do it.”

“…What do you think I would do?”

“You’re not good at hiding your emotions, you know.” Something creeps up your thigh, and before you have the chance to scream he puts his hand on your mouth and his other hand grabs one of your arms. “That gives way to not being able to hide your plans very well. You’re planning on running the first chance you get, aren’t you? Before you do such a silly little thing, I must tell you that I can give you protection, and luxuries beyond your imagination… everyone and everything will bow down to you.”

He looks down at the slimy red thing with at least six eyes, the build and size similar to that of a basketball. Its lips were sucking on your flesh with words like love leaving them in between moments. That was the answer to your unspoken question.

“All you have to do is follow me, okay? No matter where I go, follow me. Do that, and your life will be so much better.”

From the look in his eyes, you already know he had already made the decision for you.

[sorrowsofsilence]

the crow oneshot - noah!draven x fem!reader

words: 6.7k

warnings: 18+ (implied smut, death, graphic violence, mentions of murder, implied suicide, angst, heartbreak and grief)

summary: "People Once Believed That When Someone Dies, A Crow Carries Their Soul To The Land Of The Dead. But sometimes something so terrible happens, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right."

note: ok i know its late but i somehow got the writing worm to complete this at 4am and i am so happy with it, i hope you enjoy. this is my take on a mash of the comic and the new movie but with noah playing eric draven. enjoy lovelies. also yes i edited the photo above and gave him a nose piercing hehe oops.

"People Once Believed That When Someone Dies, A Crow Carries Their Soul To The Land Of The Dead."

"But sometimes, something so terrible happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. And sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”

Noah had never known a love that burned as fiercely as his love for you.

Every beat of his heart was consumed by thoughts of your image, pounding deeper with every inhale. His body was sworn in devotion to your being; your name was a prayer on his lips.

Even in his final moments, as he struggled for breath while the wound in his stomach stole his time from this earth, Noah’s eyes never left yours; his love for you transcended even death.

When his last breath escaped him, he watched your fingers fall limp, still reaching for him in desperate agony; a silent scream etched upon your graying lips.

Your eyes had glazed over, forever mourning the love for him that could never be replaced- and your bodies grew cold against the pavement, your murderers staining the concrete with the memories of your story.

A crow was there, its evanescent body cloaked in the darkness of twilight, with gleaming eyes reflecting your love's memories as it watched. It knew that it was time.

With a narrow gaze, it eyed Noah carefully as life drained from his body, his once vibrant soul that entwined with yours, diminishing to nothing.

His spirit was a current of emotions - pain, regret, sorrow - but above all, love. A love that clung onto him as he faded away. A love that refused to let go.

As he passed, Noah's being mingled in the air, leaving his lifeless form behind, unknown to him.

With a disheartening caw, the crow took flight and reached for his soul, grasping it with its talons before navigating the obsidian sky toward the Land of the Dead.

When it arrived, the barrier between life and death halted the crow’s arrival, its being unable to cross to the other side with his next life.

The heartache of Noah’s agony penetrated the crow’s body, causing its feathers to hesitate.

The crow knew of his pain. It was common amongst mortals, something it saw many times over in countless souls.

Yet, something about Noah’s struck a chord deep within its being; for on his dying breath his wish was not for himself - but for you.

“A twisted soul, a mortar…despair the bricks…to build a temple to sadness.”

The brunette had wished, in desperate yearning, for nothing but you to live. To be in a world that cherished you. To be loved by him forever.

At that moment, in defiance of countless centuries of duty, the crow turned back with Noah’s soul still clutched within its talons. Its purpose had changed- to bring Noah back from the precipice of finality and reunite him with you.

His spirit soared, lifted by the mournful song of the crow as it carried him through a veil of mist, vessel awaiting.

As Noah's body jolted awake when his soul clung to his skin once again, he grasped for air and clutched his chest, unaware that this nightmare was far from over.

The crow knew that in the land of the dead, Noah would have found no peace. He would have wandered, lost to the abyss of reflection and torment, your tears reaching him like distant echoes within the realm of sorrow.

When he came to and sat up against the damp ground, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit street as rain fell from the sky. His heart raced in anguish as pain spread across his body, his hands reaching for his stomach to cradle his wounds.

But despite the blood that stained his fingers, your name raced in his mind, his world-shattering once he turned.

Perhaps it was all a dream he thought, perhaps he couldn’t wake up.

But there you were, void of this earth- your lifeless body lying against the cement as he screamed, your soul unaware as the wails of agony ripped from his throat. He screamed and screamed, unable to control the pure terror of your limp body lying beside him, gone.

His hands, raw and tainted with crimson, crawled toward you as he dragged himself across the wet pavement. Each moment felt like a century until his fingers grazed your cold skin, every thunderous pound of his heart growing louder within his ears.

“Don’t look don’t look” the shadows breathe Whispering me away from you “Don’t wake at night to watch her sleep You know that you will always lose This trembling, Adored, Tousled bird mad girl… ”

Noah’s chest ached and mourned, the pain within his heart transcending to his limbs in newfound desolation. The pain from the bullet sinking into his flesh couldn’t be compared to the anguish he felt as he pulled your limp body onto his lap; his tears mingled with the rain, falling onto your still face.

The crow watched silently from a distance as Noah cradled your body against his chest. He held you close, clinging to the memory of you as his sobs filled the empty street, echoing off the brick walls of the buildings that surrounded him. His cries went unanswered as the cold rain continued to fall, washing away any bit of warmth left within his shattered heart.

“All he wants is pain. Pain and hate. Yes, hate. But never fear. Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.”

Noah’s breath quickened, chest heaving in grief and misery as he turned to look above, watching the crow stand motionless, letting out a mimicked cry.

A strange understanding glimmered in its soulful black eyes as it released an eerie melody that danced through the air in a ballad.

With furrowed brows, Noah watched the bird, rocking back and forth with your body as his mind raced with despair. He leaned forward, placing a reverent kiss against your frigid forehead, and with trembling hands, swept strands of damp hair from your face, whispering words of longing into your skin.

“I love thee with thee breath, smiles tears and all my life. And if god chose I shall but love thee better after death.”

The crow cawed again, startling Noah from his mourning- and as he looked up at it with tear-streaked eyes, the bird spread its wings, rocketing into the sky before soaring downwards.

The crow crashed into Noah’s chest, its body disintegrating on impact as a crack of lightning ripped through the twilight sky.

Noah felt his body grow stiff, convulsing as he screamed again in pain before the crow began to pulsate inside, rhythmically timing with Noah's heartbeat as they became one.

His chest filled with a burning sting, the essence of the crow sinking into his skin, coursing through his veins. He gasped for breath, his lungs straining against the sudden intrusion within him.

And then- it was over. Only his ears filled with the heavy drumming of the rain against the desolate street.

But every night I burn But every night I call your name Every night I burn Every night I fall again

Noah’s limbs strengthened, the weariness and sorrow washing away in the torrent of newfound power surging through his veins. Anger replaced his anguish as he staggered to his feet, clutching at his chest where the crow had infiltrated him.

The thunder echoed once again through the empty streets as the rain slowly eased into a drizzle. His eyes were no longer clouded with tears but instead held a fierce determination that reflected the waning storm.

Slowly, he lowered your lifeless body onto the wet pavement, kissing your forehead one last time.

His heart raced inside his chest, this newfound rage taking over as he screamed once again.

He was ready to exact revenge on those bastards. He would chase them down, tearing apart their bodies until they knew the same agony that he did. The same agony that you felt.

And so, with every tick of the clock that rang ominously through the deserted streets, Noah converted his sorrow into an insatiable thirst for revenge.

He looked down at your face one last time, still peaceful in demise, your lashes glistened with the remnants of fearful tears, oblivious to the storm that raged within Noah's heart.

His boots echoed through the narrow alleys, a grim soundtrack to the night's unfolding tale. With every step, he felt a surge of power coursing through him.

His senses had heightened; he could hear whispers from houses away, taste the fear in the air, smell the blood yet to be spilled. An unholy resilience now lined his muscles, protecting him from harm with supernatural armour.

His rage burned within him. He was no longer Noah; he had become something more – an avenging force, filled with wrath.

As he made his way home, he couldn’t help but laugh; the pain and fucked up humor of it all etched within him.

He was supposed to marry you.

He was supposed to start a family with you.

He was supposed to grow old with you, decades of lust and love combined into a story of pure devotion.

But that was stolen from him. Your life was stolen.

He stepped inside your shared apartment, the scent of your perfume still lingering there, a cruel reminder of your absence.

Closing the door with his foot, he noticed the untouched dinner for two on the table, candles having burned down to their wicks.

The apartment was just as you left it, your essence imprinted in every corner, every object. The book you were reading lay open on the coffee table, the sweater you always wore draped carelessly over the couch.

Noah sank into your armchair, your favourite spot, letting himself drown in the memory of you.

He glanced at the wedding invitations stacked neatly on the desk, their beautifully intricate designs mocking him now with their untouched optimism. With a swift movement, he swept them off the table, and they fluttered in the air like a flock of terrified birds before scattering on the floor.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

“Marry me,” He said, breathing into your skin with every kiss as he held your arms above your head.

His tongue slid up your neck, teeth grazing the lobe of your ear as he whispered the plea again.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

You moaned into his mouth as he attached his lips to yours, breathing live into your body as his hips rutted against your own.

Hands gripped each other’s hair as he held you close, your fingers entangled in his brown strands as you devoured him.

“Are you sure?” You whispered, pulling away as Noah pulled your underwear down your thighs, nails grazing the skin.

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” He laughed, resting his forehead against yours, his brown eyes dancing with elation.

“How many have you loved? Really loved,” You said, raking your fingers down his back as Noah’s fingers slid along your core, pressing into your desire.

As you gasped in awe he smiled, peppering kisses on the sides of your cheeks.

“No one,” He breathed, kissing toward your lips, “I have never loved anybody as much as I love you.”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

It was too cruel, too ironic. An idyllic future replaced by this terrible nightmare.

His eyes moved to the framed photograph on the mantelpiece - to a time when happiness was not just a distant memory, but a reality.

In it, you both were laughing at some joke, unabashed joy illuminating your faces. He could still hear your laughter, resonating in his ears like the sweetest melody, and he could still feel the warmth of your touch on his skin.

The ache was sharp, cutting deep into his chest. He picked up the picture frame delicately as if handling a sacred relic, his fingers tracing the curves of your face.

Those days were gone – swept away by the cruel hands of fate.

Now, there was only vengeance left.

Darkness unfurled around him like an ominous shroud as he stormed into the bathroom, clenching his fists. His eyes grew dark as he stared at his reflection, unrecognizable to him.

Another wave of savage rage swept through him, obliterating his thoughts.

He clenched his fists tighter, knuckles turning pale under the pressure.

With an animalistic roar, he drove his fist into the mirror, glass shattering around him in an explosion of reflective fragments.

Among the shards littering the floor was his distorted reflection. The sight of it consumed him completely and he sank to his knees amid the debris of once flawless reality.

He cried again, clenching his fist in pain, the cuts deep within his skin. But then he watched as his knuckles closed the wounds, absorbing them back within his skin- healing themselves.

For a moment, he stared at his hand in disbelief.

He was momentarily stunned as he spread his fingers, turning his hand over to inspect the palm and back. Not a single cut, not a droplet of blood. An eerie calm settled over him as he looked at his flawless hand.

A bitter smile crawled across his face. It seemed life had one more irony to offer - even in the throes of his profound grief and rage, he couldn't even carry the physical scars of it.

A sound bellowed from the hall, and when he rose from the bathroom floor, leaving behind the shattered mirror as it was - he noticed a shadow dance across the window.

A crow was perched on the window ledge, its loud caw disturbing. It watched Noah with beady black eyes, then took flight to land on a nearby building. From there, it turned back to face the window where Noah stood, and let out another scream.

As if heeding some silent call, Noah opened the glass and stepped out onto the ledge. The cold wind buffeted against him, ruffling his unkempt hair and stinging his brown eyes. But he didn’t flinch, didn’t step back.

Instead, he cast a glance downwards, at the yawning abyss below – then turned his gaze towards the crow.

The crow just stared back at him, its beady eyes reflecting a strange understanding.

Quirking its head to one side as if studying him anew, it leapt into flight again. This time, it went further, before turning back again.

With a furrowed brow, Noah followed, racing down the fire escape.

‘The crow leads us back,’ a whisper rang between his ears, causing Noah to pause against the cement.

Unsure of where the voice came from, Noah shook his head, walking again.

‘They’re over here.’

The voice echoed in his mind again, causing him to whip his head around.

“Who are you?” Noah called out into the emptiness, his voice resurgent against the quietude of the late night.

There was no response, just the haunting sound of his voice reverberating through the narrow alleys. Feeling an odd sensation prickle his skin, he turned around to see the crow had returned. It rested on a signpost ahead, its black feathers shimmering under the weak light of the lamp overhead.

‘Follow.’

This time he was sure. The voice came from within, yet without - a paradox that gnawed at his sanity.

With a deep breath, Noah moved forward, following the crow once more as it took flight again. The streets began to widen as Noah reached the town square, where laughter and music echoed forth from a bar overfilled with revelers.

The crow perched atop it, cawing loudly as if beckoning him closer.

‘Enter.’

A gory stage was set, unbeknownst to them all. He kicked open the door, causing an abrupt silence to descend upon the room as he walked in. The blaring music had faltered, replaced with the sound of his heavy footsteps on the old wooden floor.

All eyes turned in unison, sizing up the newcomer. His trench coat billowed around his ankles as he stood, bathed in the light from a flickering neon sign that read 'Joe's Joint'.

The voice within Noah whispered again. 'Speak.'

Noah cleared his throat, for it had suddenly become dry.

“I am looking for them," he announced, his voice carrying across the room. He was met with puzzled glances and raised eyebrows.

"Who might 'them' be?" asked a man with a gruff voice and dishevelled beard.

"I'm not sure," replied Noah honestly, feeling the crow’s gaze bore into him from outside.

A bout of laughter echoed through the bar followed by murmurs of ridicule. But Noah didn't flinch.

“Then how will you know when you find them?” A woman from the back of the room quipped, her voice laced with sarcasm, yet her eyes held a glint of curiosity.

“I’ll feel it,” he replied, his gaze steady on her. His hands were clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain.

Laughter filled the room again, but this time there was a hint of unease too. People exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves.

The crow outside cawed once more – a single, sharp note that echoed like a gunshot in the night.

Noah eyed the strangers, and his gaze narrowed before ascending further into the bar, sliding into a stool at the counter.

“Well hun, as much as I want to help ya, I don’t know who you’re looking for,” The bartender shared a sullen smile, her greying hair tied back in a thin braid, “But I can get you a drink. On the house.”

Noah tried to smile, but all he could muster was an unperturbed gaze.

“Jack Daniels. Straight.”

The bartender nodded and put her back to him, fetching the bottle from the top shelf. As she poured it into a glass, the liquid made a soft sound.

Noah looked at the amber drink with sombre eyes before wrapping his fingers around the glass and tossing it back. The whiskey burned down his throat but he didn’t flinch.

“Another,” he commanded, pushing the empty glass towards her.

Before long, a tall man sauntered over from the shadowy corner of the bar, his leather boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. He was burly and had an air of menace about him. His eyes were icy blue, gleaming under the dim bar lights.

“You seem to be looking for trouble,” he said, leaning on the counter across Noah.

“No,” Noah replied simply, receiving his refill. “Just answers.”

The man let out a hearty laugh that echoed around the room. “You’re in the wrong place for answers, friend," he said, his icy eyes twinkling under the dim bar lights.

"No," Noah retorted, sliding a bill onto the counter, his gaze never straying from the stranger's face, "I'm exactly where I need to be.”

The room fell silent once more, save for the crackle of the fire in the corner and the intermittent caw of the crow outside. The burly man's laughter died down, replaced by a considering glance as he took another look at Noah.

"Who are you?" the burly man asked, breaking the petrifying silence. His voice was gravelly and commanding, but Noah remained unimpressed.

"Just a man out of time," Noah replied, his gaze meeting the burly man's without faltering.

"No one's out of time until they're six feet under," he said, leaning closer to Noah, lowering his voice. His breath smelled heavily of whiskey and cigars,

“Something tells me you ain't about to be buried just yet."

The scoff that left Noah’s lips made the man raise a brow. If only he knew.

"Something like that," Noah said, taking another sip of his whiskey.

The sound of the bar door opening caused the conversation to die down again, and as the gust of wind hit Noah’s back, the world around him began to spin.

‘There he is. Your first target.’

Noah’s eyes narrowed as the glass faltered at his lips, before he slowly placed it down onto the wooden counter.

Noah's body bristled with anger as he heard footsteps approaching. When the person stood next to him, his fists tightened even more.

“Rye,” The man’s voice rang in Noah’s ears. He was one of them.

"Rye," Noah repeated, his voice level.

He turned to face the newcomer; a slender man with sharp features, his dark hair slicked back against his scalp. His eyes held a sheen of arrogance that Noah found all too familiar.

The man nodded and slid onto the stool next to Noah, leaning in close so that their shoulders nearly touched. "Good choice," he said, nodding towards Noah's glass of whiskey.

Noah didn't reply, keeping his gaze steady on the newcomer. He reached for his own cup slowly, gripped it tightly and brought it to his lips.

The newcomer watched him with interest, an eyebrow raised, "You don't seem like you're from around here," he said causally, but the underlying threat wasn't lost on Noah.

"Then it seems we have something in common," Noah replied just as calmly. But his teeth began to grind together, the tightening in his chest growing.

‘He helped them. He killed her.’

The voice was quick, ringing in Noah’s head.

Noah's eyes snapped towards the newcomer, a harsh glint in them.

The man blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden intensity.

"Is that so?" he asked, still maintaining the casual tone but his eyes now held a hint of wariness.

"Indeed," Noah affirmed, not breaking eye contact. "We both don't belong here."

The newcomer laughed, a short, humourless sound, "Well, isn't that a peculiar coincidence?" he mused, picking up his glass and knocking back a swallow.

Noah watched him, muscles taut and ready for any sudden move.

‘Now' the voice urged him, 'Do it now.'

With a swift move, Noah drew back his fist, turning to ram it into the face of the perpetrator.

The shocked look on the man's face was quickly replaced with pain before anger sunk in. Everyone else in the bar gasped, standing up in defence as the stranger went for a reciprocated punch.

Noah was quick to react, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar, drawing him back towards him.

"There's something else we have in common," Noah said, his voice devoid of any emotion but wrath, "We both have blood on our hands."

The man gasped again, this time more from shock than pain. He stared up at Noah with wide eyes, his arrogance replaced by fear. "What the hell are you doing?" he gasped out.

"Repaying a debt," Noah replied. His heart pounded in his chest but his grip didn't waver. Noah’s fist smashed into the man’s face again, and again, and again; causing the man to wobble momentarily, before sending a punch to Noah’s jaw.

Noah pushed him to the ground, straddling the man’s waist as his nose dripped with blood.

“Who helped you,” Noah screamed in rage, crimson knuckles pounding into the man’s skull once again.

The perpetrator on the ground huffed, his breath ragged and broken.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," the man whimpered, a pitiful attempt at defiance. But it was a lie.

Noah could see it in his watery eyes. It wasn’t until they opened wide with shock, and recognized the brunette above him.

“Wait- you-,” He sputtered, liquid running from his mouth, “You were dead.”

A wicked smile slithered onto Noah's face, a sick glint in his eyes that echoed the cruel chuckle springing from his lips, "Guess you were wrong," he said, spitting saliva mixed with blood on the man's terrified face.

He grabbed the man by his collar again, shaking him violently, "Tell me who did it!”, he demanded, "Who helped you kill her."

The man swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in fear. His gaze darted around at the onlookers then settled back on Noah.

"I... I can't..." he stammered.

"You'd rather die?" Noah asked, his voice dangerously soft now.

The man whimpered, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. But fear had tied it up so tight that he could no longer respond.

Noah tightened his grip on the collar, bringing his adversary's face even closer to his own. The stench of sweat and fear was foul, but it was drowned out by the sweetness of impending triumph.

As Noah stared daggers into the stranger, the man had wiggled a hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around a gun.

His hand trembled as he pulled it out, the polished silver gleaming in the neon glow of the bar.

The crowd gasped, those standing taking a collective step back.

"Go ahead," Noah taunted, "You think a gun scares me?"

The man lifted the firearm, his grip unsteady, fingers twitching around the trigger.

Noah's gaze drifted from the terrified face of the man below him to his gun pointed right at his chest.

A slow, mocking grin crept up his face as his hands released their grip on the man's collar, and they moved up into the air, showing his open palms.

The crowd was silent, holding their collective breaths as they watched this game of life and death unfold.

And then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet split through Noah’s chest, causing him to ricochet back in pain as a black liquid oozed from his wound.

The screams of the crowd had Noah gasping for air, a hand clenching his chest.

However, the wound began to close, healing itself with the power of revenge.

As Noah stood, the stranger and patrons of the bar watched in horror, before five more bullets penetrated Noah’s skin.

Each one sunk into his body, but he sprung forward, reaching for the weapon.

He grabbed the man’s wrist with an iron grip, wrenching the gun from his unsteady hand and sending it clattering to the floor.

Noah's chest was a gruesome canvas of black-oozing puncture wounds that closed as swiftly as they were made. The man had almost emptied his gun into Noah, but it seemed to make no difference. With every bullet that pierced Noah's skin, there was a momentary grimace of pain on his face, but then it would fade into something akin to annoyance.

The stranger's terrified gaze was fixed upon the spectacle of Noah’s impossible healing.

He sat up, stumbling backward, "What are you?" he stuttered out in raw fear.

Noah only sneered down at him, silent for a moment while he held the man's gaze.

"'What am I?'" Noah replied, amusement dancing in his eyes as he laughed, reaching for the gun before kneeling before him, "I'm your worst fucking nightmare."

Noah’s hands wrapped around the jaw of the man who helped murder his beloved, fingers clenching so tight that the stranger screamed in agony.

"I'm what happens," he began, his voice gravelly and resonating throughout the room, slowly placing the gun in the man’s mouth, "when you cross a line you shouldn't have."

Everyone watched in silent horror as clicked the gun into place.

Noah's cold eyes didn't waver from the stranger's terrified gaze as he pressed the barrel deeper into the man’s mouth.

"You had a choice," Noah said gently as if offering comfort. The words were a chilling contrast to the violent act being committed, "You chose... poorly."

Noah pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot filled the bar, bouncing off the walls and ceiling before eventually fading into a deafening silence; and the man's body slumped to the floor, his life extinguished in an instant.

Noah rose to his feet, dropping the gun beside the fresh corpse. He turned to face the patrons of the bar, their faces ghostly pale in fear.

His wounds had all but healed now, only small traces of black remained where the bullets had once been.

“When someone you love dies, you know emptiness, you will know what it’s like to be completely, and utterly alone. you will never forget- and you will never, ever, forgive.”

He glanced at the bartender, her face of horror leaving him unphased.

“Thanks for the drink.”

As Noah walked toward the door of the bar, he noticed a silver gleam reflecting off the wall.

The sword glistened in temptation, and he reached over, ripping it from its clasps.

He held it up, admiring its beauty for a moment before he turned it in his hands, feeling the weight of it. The steel was cool against his skin, the grip worn from use but still comfortable. It was a tool of destruction, the quiet partner to the gun that lay beside the dead man.

Noah left the bar, looking up at the crow as it bellowed, taking flight once again.

He hadn’t got a name from the bar, but the crow began leading him to the perpetrator responsible for his sorrow.

As he stepped into the night, the chill of revenge pulsated through his veins, blending seamlessly with the bitter sting of loss. The darkened path ahead swallowed up his silhouette, but the reflection of moonlight off his new weapon traced a silver wake behind him.

He followed the crow as it led him through dark alleys and abandoned streets.

Soon, they arrived at an abandoned warehouse barely visible in the cloak of darkness.

The crow perched itself on a broken window ledge, its beady eyes reflecting Noah's grim resolve. He inspected the katana once more before gripping it tightly and pushing open the warehouse door.

The musty and grimy floor held nothing but wither and age.

‘Over there.’

The crow spoke, its voice a gnarled whisper. Its beady eyes darted towards a doorway shrouded in shadows as it hung above.

Noah moved cautiously, his grip tightening around the hilt of the weapon until he could hear the voices of the warehouse.

He came upon the doorway, somehow darker than the rest of the dimly lit room. Pushing through, the room opened up into a large open space, dotted with crates and discarded machinery—a skeleton of past industry.

At its center sat a man, his back to Noah, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

Noah clutched the sword tighter as he took one step forward, then another.

As he moved closer, he saw the man turn slightly—enough for Noah to see the cruel glint in his eye. This was him—the one who had wreaked havoc on his life.

‘Kill him. Avenge her.’

The man turned fully now - his face a mirror of malice under a sliver of dim light leaking from the creaky old window. His lips curled up into a sinister grin as he stood.

“You survived,” He sounded surprised shaking his head, “I was sure Jiggs had done one on ya.”

Noah’s snarl only grew as the stranger continued to speak.

“You were wrong,” Noah spat, emotion making his voice tremble slightly as he advanced.

The sword in his hand felt heavy, but not too much so, and he could feel the strength coursing through his veins.

The man laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that bounced off the warehouse wall, “Well,” he said with a smirk, “you’re little girlfriend must be dead, then.”

Noah’s breathing grew heavier as his chest screamed, anger seeping through his limbs.

“Why’d you do it!” He blared, taking a step forward.

The man chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction, “Why? Because it was fun."

Noah felt his heart hammer in his chest, a rage so potent it nearly choked him.

He forced the words out through gritted teeth. "She didn't deserve it."

"No one ever does." The man replied coolly, shrugging his shoulders with an air of detached indifference.

With a battle cry that rang throughout the abandoned warehouse, Noah charged, brandishing his katana and aiming for the man's chest. Time seemed to slow as he watched the man step aside with ease and swipe at Noah with a sharp, shiny object that came from nowhere.

Suddenly, Noah found himself tumbling to the ground, the pain spreading across his arm like wildfire. Gritting through the pain, he pushed off the ground with his good arm and spun around to face his opponent again.

Noah screamed again as he swung his katana around in a swift arc, and the crow watched from its perch—a final cheerleader in this fatal dance.

The man dodged, and with another swift, unexpected movement, he lunged forward, catching Noah's torso in his grasp. Wrenching him close, the man’s eyes gleamed with savage delight.

"So much fight for a dying boy!"

‘Noah!’ A voice echoed through the warehouse, a mimic that shocked him to the core.

It was your voice.

Ignoring the man's tightening grip on him, Noah turned his head towards the sound, but nobody was there.

‘Noah, my love.’

The music of your voice crawled through his mind as he screamed, heart racing with reprisal.

You were merely a mirage dancing through his memory as he swung the weapon, slicing the murderer’s arm.

The man’s grip loosened as Noah stumbled back, before running toward him again.

His vision blurred with the pain and anger, yet he could still see your face — those beautiful eyes, filled with life and love.

His body gave you everything as his fingers dug into your hips, holding you steadily against him. He pounded into you with so much passion, that he knew he would give up everything to spend eternity with you. Your mouth hung open in devotion as you held onto his arms, screaming his name in all the love he gave you.

“I love you,” you cried, nails clawing at his neck to pull him into a kiss, his tongue encircling your own.

“I love you most,” he moaned, face shoved into the crook of your collarbone as he relished in your body, claiming you as his forever.

The memory was so vivid, so potent.

Noah’s grip on the katana tightened and he lunged forward once more.

"There is nothing for you here," he spat at the man, words laced with venom.

He could see surprise flicker in his opponent's eyes.

Noah used this moment to attack, driving his katana straight for the man's heart.

But like a snake, the man twisted away at the last moment, Noah's blade tearing through his shirt and grazing his skin. Yet it did enough damage.

The man howled in pain, stumbling back with a hand clutching his bleeding side.

Noah pounced again, but this time he wasn't aiming for death.

He kicked out hard and fast, smashing into the man's knee with a crack that echoed through the warehouse. The man howled, collapsing onto the floor as his legs gave way beneath him.

Through a haze of pain and malice, Noah stared down at his fallen adversary. His chest heaved yet there was no room for mercy in his heart.

The memories of you lingered, fueling him, igniting the fire that had been dying since your demise. With every intake of breath, your scent filled his senses and your voice played like a broken symphony in his ears.

He moved over to the fallen man, pressing the katana's edge into his chest. The man squirmed, gasping for breath but Noah only pushed harder.

Your face flashed before him again, a beacon of pure love, forever lost to him.

"You took her from me," Noah continued, his voice shaking with unrestrained anger, “My everything.”

“My valentine has hollow eyes,” the brunette seethed, pushing the blade into the man’s flesh, "No mercy."

Noah twisted the katana as it pierced through his skin, and the man's eyes bulged in pain.

"No mercy," he echoed himself, his voice scarcely audible over the man's agonized screams.

The cold steel slid into his adversary's chest with sickening ease, each centimetre driving home the finality of what Noah was doing. He watched as the life drained from the murderer’s eyes, replaced with the fear of an impending death.

As the man's struggles grew weaker, Noah leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over his enemy's face.

"You will feel every bit of the pain you inflicted upon her," he whispered harshly, "You will know the agony of a soul being ripped apart, just as you did to mine."

The warehouse was filled with an eerie lull now, broken only by desperate whimpers and gasps for air.

Blood stained the concrete ground beneath them; a dark, macabre painting of their dance.

Slowly, Noah extracted his katana, watching as the vacant eyes of his prey stared back, lifeless and bleak as he slumped to the cement.

It was only then Noah let himself fall onto his knees, letting the katana fall onto the floor with a clang.

He let himself cry in anguish once again, a pain so visceral it threatened to swallow him whole.

"Forgive me," he choked out in between sobs, a desperate plea aimed at an unresponsive heaven. He didn't even know who he was asking forgiveness from, you or himself.

The remorse constricted his throat, a cruel mockery of the cathartic release he had envisioned. He'd set out to bring justice to your memory, a fiery knight blinded by grief and revenge.

Yet there he was, kneeling amongst scattered shards of his shattered soul.

The world hadn't changed its course; the stars above hadn't dimmed in acknowledgment of your absence.

"No mercy," he'd said, convinced that by extinguishing the life of your murderer, he'd somehow restore balance.

But now? Nothing felt balanced. Nothing felt right. The emptiness inside him gaped wider, mocking him with its silent echo.

A faint chill blew through the warehouse's broken window, carrying with it the scent of impending winter.

His face felt numb against the bitterness, a physical counterpart to his numbed soul.

The city beneath him remained indifferent to his grief. Cracks of neon lights pierced through the dingy windows, casting their fluorescent glow upon the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. The irony was not lost on him; even in death, the city sought to breathe life into everything it touched.

Noah looked up towards the night sky out one of the windows. Once he’d believed the stars whispered stories of love and heroism, of warriors dancing with celestial beings under their luminous watch.

Those tales now seemed like a cruel mockery, a jester’s tale spun to amuse the lords of fate.

Yet in his heart, he wished they could’ve come true.

His hands were still stained with the lifeblood that had drained away before him. He felt its striking warmth persistently, reminding him of the life force he had extinguished. The hands that held you tenderly, and stroked your hair with love and care, were now instruments of destruction.

For days, he wandered, unsure of where to go or what to become. The crow no longer spoke.

When the day came for your funeral, he sat next to your grave, leaning against the cold stone. Noah could no longer bring himself to cry. His eyes had been left dry and lifeless, lost in eternal drought.

‘It’s not death if you refuse it… it is if you accept it.’

The voice was so clear, for the first time in days.

Noah looked above, staring at the black bird once again.

“I want it to rain,” he spoke slowly, “please.”

The bird watched in understanding as Noah’s fingers held the rope between his fingers.

Giving his soul to the crows of the afterlife, he knew his spirit could finally rest, now that it avenged yours.

Hopefully, you were there, waiting for him on the other side.

tags:

@thefallennightmare @xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical

@sitkowski @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-27 @sweetwombatpizza @bluestdai

[the-dark-parade]

Dear marshal,

Could I have... REINCARNATION AU!!!

Let's say that reader (female) used to be a soldier under lilia

AND while working under him, she fell in love

So she confessed to him. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. (annoying.)

But one day, it looks like he's going to get hurt fatally, and she takes the but instead. (how stupid.)

And she dies. But she doesn't regret it. And gets reincarnated!

(I wanna see him pining for her the same way she does for him!!!!)

WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... angst + fluff + lilia×fem reader

A/N: Thank you for your request, @something1032727 I hope my work pleases you. This is my first work after all. If you are not comfortable with this, feel free to leave. If you would like a version with male reader instead, please request it. Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Now, the parade starts with it's first destination...

Fate's Redemption: A Love Reborn

(part 1)

In the symphony of life, love echoes and reverberates endlessly, intertwining souls across time. Every gesture, every sacrifice, echoes through eternity, shaping destinies. And in the cycle of rebirth, love's refrain returns, reminding us that its melody endures, transcending even lifetimes. Truly, eternal echoes of love.

"Please go out with me!" You say as always, with such vigour, with such annoyingness, as always. Love-struck eyes stare into mine, seemingly going into my soul, hoping for a chance. It's like her eyes turn into hearts whenever I'm here.

How stupid. One of my best soldiers in the army, and she's so head-over-heels for me. Save her clumsy ass a few times, and she magically falls in love with you.

How naive.

I reject you once again, for what seems like the 1000th time or more, but you still don't give up. Your stubbornness is one of your worst yet best trait about you.

You eat my food with a smile even though my other soldiers avoid it like the plague. I suppose you do have good taste after all.

You cook for me, feed my ego, help me with my work, and so much more.

I wonder if you're just in it for fun. Perhaps you just want my title if we actually win the war. But I brush the thoughts off when I see your sincerity.

You ask again, and again, and again.

Why are you so insistent?

Why do you even bother?

Why do you like me so much?

This little crush of yours should be over by now. I have not treated you very nicely. I have not treated you any different from the rest. There is nothing between us. Why can't you understand that I'm just not interested?!

At least that was what I would like to say. If my heart didn't stop beating so hard around you. If your smile, your stupid, stupid confessions, that used to not bother me at all, now haunts me in my sleep every night!

What's wrong with me..?

Am I truly... falling in love..?

.

.

.

Well, that's what I wanted to ask.

How stupid. How fucking fucking fucking stupid!

How irritable can you be?

How much do you want me to cry over you?!

Is it too late to say I regret not accepting your confession all those years ago, if now you're dead..?

--

"General, watch out..!" You say, as you use your body to shield me from an arrow that I never even noticed was coming after me. Pushing me to the side.

"...you're dying. How stupid. Why did you take that arrow for me?" I pick you up, just running to base. Stupid human devices..! I can't cast my teleportation magic! There's no time, there's no time! You stupid fae...

"cause... *cough*, I love you." You say weakly, softly, coughing out blood in my arms. You even wink! You infuriate me so bad!

"Shut up! Don't you dare die on me!" I ran as fast as I could. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die! You made my life brighter, and now you want me to go back to how it was?!

You made me fall in love with you!

.

Fuck. Before we even reached, I could feel your heart stop beating. Your body is becoming cold. No, no, no! It can't end like this. It can't!

Is this what it feels to have your whole world crash upon you?

My heart feels heavy. My cheek feels wet. I feel like causing a massacre. My chest feels tight. It's a bit hard to breathe. I feel a chill go up my back.

But why..?

Death is normal in war. Death is a daily occurrence in war. Death happens in every fight, in every week.

So why?

Why does death, which was so normal for soldiers on the battlefield like me, make me feel this way?

Amidst my thoughts, I managed to bring you back to base. But it wasn't really you. Just a cold, soulless empty vessel of you.

This is just too cruel.

You should not have ended up this way, you still had so much to live for, and just when I was actually going to accept your confession you go and die on me?!

We... Could have been happy together.

If only... If only I wasn't so stubborn, denying my feelings for you.

If only you weren't so insistent on going out with me.

If only...

If only...

If only you didn't take that hit in my stead, could that have happened..?

Ah, but it's too late to regret it now, huh?

.

That night, it was said that wailings could be heard from inside the General's tent.

--

Years have passed, and the numbers signalling each year are not the only changes that happened in my life.

I have gotten wiser and older. Now I know what I felt for you in those days.

Love is the word for my overwhelming feelings for you.

I visit your grave from time to time. It mostly ends up in tears, despite how many years have passed.

I used to call you pathetic for being so love-driven. I guess now I'm the pathetic one. How my past words bite me in the gyatt, just like the youngsters say!

I entered school. I can't believe I still have that invitation letter from NRC from all those years ago!

I have gotten over you.

At least that would be what I would like to say, but when I saw you again, it was like my old heart started beating again.

"(y/n),"

The dark mirror said, and my eyes shot to the person in question. Could it truly be..?

Those eyes. Those mannerisms. Everything about you... I could never mistake you for anyone else. It's you.

"Thou shall be sorted into..."

Diasomnia. I hope she'll be sorted in the same dorm as me. But even so, I'll win her heart again even if she's not.

"Savannahclaw!"

I feel like sighing... We could have been dormmates! But, oh well!

Khehehe. This general makes a mission to himself, to make you fall in love with him as deeply and as hopelessly as you did all those years ago. And this general isn't one to fail a mission.

Get ready, my love.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! Thank you for reading if you read.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

look Hal, as much as I fucking DESPISE soap’s death.. i am in need of a fic where price delivers his wife his tags. pls, i need to be hurt again by you 🥲🥲🥲 (ik reqs are closed honestly im just hoping to put an idea in your head fjfhsjfh sorry)

A short drabble to make your pain worse, dear anon:

You stare blankly at the finely dressed man on the doorstep, a black leather box in his hands.

It isn’t a stare that can be defined on any level of emotion—nothing shown on a face in a time such as this can be. Some instances transcend any known sense and logic; all perceived ability to understand leaks out of a brain like water in a blown dam. 

There wasn’t an explanation for this. 

John looked on, and he started to speak as if you’d never known each other. As if your Johnny hadn't had him and the rest over for your engagement party—as if he hadn’t watched you pour him tea and smile softly in thanks as Johnny’s arm snaked around your shoulders. 

“On behalf of the 23rd Regiment of the Special Air Service,” you don’t even blink. “I, Captain John Price of the 22nd, offer my—”

“Stop.” Your voice is shaky, and your hands are clammy on the door knob. The man can’t look at you. He clears his throat, blue eyes blinking at you; so similar to Johnny’s and yet never the same at all. 

“...My deepest condolences—”

“John!” Your voice moves in a sharp yell, taking a single step forward. “Stop it!”

A heavy silence falls like a hammer. 

Your lips open and close, stuttering. Where were the words? What could you say? The tightness of your chest crashes down on you; a cinder block of ruthless realization. 

Your husband was never coming home. 

Hand snapping up to your mouth, you stifle a loud sob that rips through your lungs, shoulders hunching in. 

“Where is he?” You gasp, tears flying down your face. “John, dammit, where is he?!”

For once in your life, of all the times you’d spoken to him, the Captain had no answer. Blue eyes stay stuck on you, box outstretched on hands that you see quiver for a moment—a clench of his bearded jaw and a movement of his head to the side. 

Like some cruel joke, you laugh through the bouts of sobs, unbelieving.

“John,” you plead, barely able to see or get the words out. “Please tell me where he is. He has to come back home to me. John,” you move forward, grasping his shoulder, digging your nails in as if to wrench soil out of a burial plot. It’s frantic how you speak—all gasps and desperate whines to a God who isn’t listening to you. “I need him. H-he promised me he would come back. I-I…” You struggle to breathe.

“Love,” John grits out, forcing his tongue to move. His eyes are pained, but never, never as much as yours are. It’s said on a low and defeated breath. “I couldn’t save him.”

You collapse as his arm, which snaps to circle you and tries to keep you up as you wail in agony. Tears stain John’s uniform and the neighbors come outside at the ruckus of a woman who just had her heart ripped out with a rusted knife. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, throat tight. “It’s all my fault, I’m sorry.”

But you can’t answer, because the only thing you have left of Johnny are pieces of blood-splattered metal and memories. 

And one day, you’d forget the sound of his voice—the way he touched you; how it felt to be kissed and held and loved so fiercely as if on fire. A blaze of devotion, yourself covered in gasoline; eager to be burned by a man you’d skin yourself for only three more minutes with, if that was all that could be spared. 

You plead for it in John’s arms—scream for it. Three more minutes. Three more seconds. 

If not that, then just three last kisses.

Johnny was dead, and everyone, especially the man trying to keep you from hitting the ground; taking the hits you lay on his arm numbly, knew that you had died with him.

The tags of a man long past glint in the setting sun.