#ic action post

[crowned-relapse-king]

@andwrecks

It's a little tricky to navigate through until Julian finally locks on to Rex as the black torn open void appears. He's quick to lean out, flashing a SoCal smile, attempting to keep it calm and cool, but he's honestly really excited.

Finally! Another wolf to hang out with for a good time and for some relaxation. It was something he needed after a two, or was it a three day coke binge?

Oh well, did time really matter when you're immortal? It's a mental shrug off, offering out his hand to the exhausted shifter.

"Ya ready to go, friend?"

[narcotic-pharmacology]

Continued from:

@radiatorchains

He was a powder keg waiting to explode, and Foolish seriously had met his own limit when the hand he rose to grab his work ledger nearly met a rather vile bite.

An eerie silence settled between the two, Fool's eyes display a simmering ire. The dealer hastily dismissed the others until it was just him and Jain standing alone in the warehouse. For a while, he simply stares, sizing up the other shifter.

Then, Fool slowly began to move, circling the werehyena with calculated steps.

"What have I told you about biting the hand that feeds?"

[goryh0le]

Dingdong! It's a burning bag of dog shit!

It takes a lot more than fire and shit to rattle him. Han picks it up bare-handed and lobs it after the fleeing prankster. Flame flapping like a banner behind it, it sails in a smooth arc to splatter its payload forcefully on the back of their head. The impact knocks them prone and paints a wide brown cone on the asphalt about.

[despairs-tyrant-king]

💦 Melchior

@szemiesza

Oh god, where did one begin and the other end? Monsters caught in an infinite power play, ripping at viscera and bone. With each regeneration, they reach a new frenzied peak.

At some point, the sun rises, and the snake is finally slain. Skin rips and the muscle tears as a bite force 3600 psi is delivered to the vampires neck. Bone is easily serrated as the multi-eyed head falls to the ground.

"His pain is my pain. His enemy is my enemy."

Julian roars out, drunk off the carnality of his own victory. It's not enough to feed as he begins to defile the corpse, fucking into the cavernous abdominal cavity with virility.

He shoots up from his bed, heart racing covered in a cold sweat and..ejaculate? The man's stomach flips, suddenly sickened in himself as he quietly stood and made his way to the bathroom.

[jaggybot3000]

me when i converse with the evil scroll that's been corrupting me for decades(it actually was never able to talk at all, i've just been talking to myself this whole time)

[narcotic-pharmacology]

"I'm going to end the live feed and head out. I need sleep and I suggest you try to get some as well."

He replied, exiting the facility without looking back. It was better this way, letting Jain stay and simmer in whatever way he might be thinking.

The dealer sets the keys to the shifters truck on top of the hood since he had someone drop it off earlier, and then he steps into his own vehicle, starting it up and taking off.

The bull was an easy enough slaughter, taking the raging animal down with claws, teeth and talons amd shredding into flesh while the beast bellowed in fearful pain. It was unknown what actually killed the bull first- blood loss, a severed spine, effects of disembowelment- either way the hyaenid creature basked in the gore and bloodshed, desperately wolfing down meat and viscera through any of its three mouths only for the mouthfuls to he rejected by another mouth. Rage and hunger, still struck with waves of world-spinning exhaustion as the remnants of the drug still worked its way through him.

Once the sisyphean task of attempting to slake an unending hunger began to lose its appeal, the creature that was once Jain whooped low to the concrete floor, almost deep enough to rattle the ground like a small earthquake. WhooooOOOOOp whhooooooooOOOOp, followed by frustrated laughter as he cantered around the perimeter of his makeshift prison. A few times he slammed himself full force against the side, attempting to bash himself free to get out. He needed to go, he needed to go to...someone. No, he knew who. He needed to rip into the cold flesh of the vampire and put an end to his hunger. More cackles and whoops, earth rattling slams against walls that cracked bones and drew blood.

[redrobin-detective]

There's some inherent tragic horror in the fact that Simon canonically doesn't remember much of what he did as Ice King, just 'dreamlike impressions'. I imagine he remembers people, certain significant moments but otherwise it's kind of a blur. Simon is over a thousand years old but he barely remembers any of it. Not to mention the non-magical human brain isn't built to contain so much memory so any attempts to recall could be dangerous for him.

Imagine how terrible it is to be told a story of yourself acting strange and manic and pathetic and terrible and there's no internal context for it. It may as well have happened to someone else in a dream but its the personality and actions most people know you by. Simon hears an outrageous story of Ice King and who knows if it's real or not? He barely knows who the man was.

[slutpoppers]

Castlevania: Nocturne S2 (2025)

[azure-vigilante]

[Open Prompt - any are invited to hop on.]

There was a sudden burst of chaos energy, a blue hedgehog appearing in mid-air, appearing to be mid-jump at that. A blast of chaos energy flew from one hand, singeing the ground where it struck.

"...Scourge, you a--"

He landed on the ground near the scorched ground, ruby and emerald hued eyes glancing about the new zone he found himself in. He wasn't immediately interested in where he was, only where his target had gone. There was no sign of his green alternate - not that this meant much. The bastard could have gotten off to anywhere in... whatever dimension it was he'd chased him to.

"...C'mon, buddy. You're just draggin' this out, ya know."

...Evil alternates were honestly the most annoying... He almost could have pitied Robotnik for dealing with him after having to deal with a number of his own alternates. Almost. You know. If he hadn't been a tyrant that had turned Mobotropolis into Robotropolis, roboticizing and being... well, generally a tyrant.

To anyone who might have seen the blue hedgehog, he looked a great deal like most Sonics with few changes. His eyes being the most striking, one of them being red rather than the green of most of his alternates. His quills were messy, somewhat unkempt and his body covered in scars in varying stages of healing. He also wore more clothing than many of his alternates. Black pants and a belt with several different pouches and devices attached with a black an red sleeveless shirt, matching half-gloves and boots. He also wore a rather tattered and worn brown scarf.

And anyone sensitive to Chaos energy would be able to feel him radiating energy as strongly as any Chaos emerald...

[crowned-relapse-king]

@radiatorchains

Julian was at a loss, looking at the medical kits that he had packed. His powers of healing were above average, so there wouldn't be a need for sutures or staples.

Hell, he probably wouldn't need to worry about wound dressings or antibiotics. But what did have him unnerved was the pain that was to come during the rapid regeneration.

The man sighs, tossing a bottle of alcohol on the hotel bed, ready to close the makeshift surgical kit bag when he spies the local anesthetic block. He takes it into his hand, wondering if it was worth a shot and if it would last long enough in his system.

Then again, the man didn't have a clue if the pellets were in deep or if they were more superficial. Raising his head to the door, Julian noticed that Jain wasn't back yet. Chewing at his bottom lip, the man decides to try, removing a syringe and a couple of hypodermic needles.

Bastardizing medicine, he drew up 7cc and changed out needles before sitting on the bed. He pulls up the leg of his boxers, estimating the incision area, injecting it in various areas on the side of his upper left thigh.

Each puncture created a sharp burning sensation that quickly dissipated into numbness, allowing him to finally exhale as the werehyena finally walked inside.

[crowned-relapse-king]

It's a moment of vulnerability to cherish, lost in his lovers touch, and in the post-orgasm bliss. He relished every tender caress, inhaling and exhaling slowly, listening to the rain fall outside of his penthouse apartment.

Julian gazes up, looking at their reflection on the mirror above them, a deep part of him wanting to isolate this moment within time itself. There's a sudden twinge in their connection, a pause as if a certain thought kept running about in their mind.

He props his head up, smiling softly as the silence between them is interrupted, running a thumb along Stan's jawline, immersed in the deep violet hues.

"Yes, my love?"

@crowned-relapse-king

Stan gives a small rumble, pressing his head under Julian's chin as they were cuddling after a passionate evening. A calm moment between them as they simply stopped and listened to the rain. Fingers were lightly tracing over his lover's musculature, letting out a slow, stale, content sigh.

However... something was on his mind, and it has been for a while. Julian could probably feel it through their connection. He didn't want to keep him with that feeling without bringing it up.

"Hey Julian?" He finally voices, breaking the silence and moving to look at him with those ancient violet eyes.

[breadandbloodybutter]

Flexing some Not Safe For Work writing to get back in the groove. Warnings/What's Involed: Raphael x 'Reader' {no gender implied}, Mild Sex Scene, Mild Mention of Choking, Most Likely Didn't Live Through That Sex, Raphael Language of being derogatory of mortals needs and lives or just anyone that isn't him.

As he'd lifted their leg to partake in the scent of their skin, a longer than mortal tongue ran along half of the appendage's length.

Was he showing off? Transforming himself, one piece at a time? Of course he was. After all, part of such an intimate dance was the performance itself.

All for his own benefit.

Haarlep had once quipped that Raphael only ever loved Raphael - as true now than it had ever been. Putting on such airs and graces, indulging in the subtle art of using words and whimsy to ensnare the willing; it might as well have all been foreplay for himself.

Still, there was always something so deliciously divine about the way that they would look at him, breathless and wanting - just the way that he liked them. To taste the very sweat from their pores, to know that in this moment, they existed only for him.

Souls would never taste sweeter than those willing to bear themselves nakedly to the endless hunger of a devil.

"Legs apart now, pet." Raphael would purr with a voice thick and sweet as honey, now black nails digging into their thighs as he settled himself between them. Ordinarily, pleasuring another was beneath him, more of a mercy on their behalf than any desire to do so - oh, but the way that this one begged and pleaded so sweetly, the air thick with how much they wanted to be defiled..

It would have been ungentlemanly to not have a more personal taste.

The screams that followed would have surely been heard by the tavern below, but he cared little for any auditory audiences they may have had. Let them hear - let them envy, tremble before how he could command mortal flesh to bend, to beg and to break. To hang on every one of his words, to sing (and sometimes curse) praises to the heavens, whilst he showed them every sin that hell had to offer.

Licking at his lips, Raphael reached over to grab a nearby silken handkerchief, wiping their filth from his mouth before addressing them again smugly. "I take it that you have no complaints?"

Rather a pity that mortals tended to be so fragile. One of the few benefits of Haarlep at least, that there were less limitations, if any. Perhaps, that's why he found himself indulging from time to time - that their lives were so fleeting. To taste upon their souls before they were completely consumed. Such a privilege it was for them, surely.

Oh, and the trepidation! The way that their poor hearts would stutter, their breath would catch at having to accommodate his cambion form, far greater than any cock they would have taken. How their eyes would widen for the briefest of moments, before rolling back at the overflowing of ecstasy, even with the pain of it - to feel every ridge driving again and again without pause.

Succumbing to such desires could ultimately earn one their death.

How their arms would try to hold him - so sickeningly mortal - and he would knock them away, that they would dare try to embrace him in such a human way - holding them down by the throat and knowing that their lives, the very essence of body and soul - they were in his hands, that they were dependent on him, every thread of their existence in this moment was tied to him--

Such thoughts always led to the same conclusion. Snarling through a furious climax that most couldn't even have the decency to live through. And why should they? Blood certainly wasn't the only thing an infernal had that was always running hot.

Thankfully, the staff at the Sharess Caress were always providing excellent room service, and a discretion that led to a profitable exchange. For as long as he would support their business, they would support his.

..Even if on occasion, that business may have overlapped with personal pleasures.

[zimwy]

i'm going to put this plainly: please be upfront if you want something from me or want to say something to me, i cannot take hints, i am not always on the dash (in fact i'm mostly not), i cannot read your mind, and frankly i am not always productive. you cannot expect 100% from me constantly and i do not like being treated like that.

[saffron-veil]

Melinoë finds herself alone in the coming darkness. The fog rolls in from all sides as she stares out into the forest of dead, reaching trees.

"It could wait until tomorrow…" she tries to reason with herself, a whisper caught on the wind and swept away.

Had she said anything at all?

The chill in the air nips at her skin and she takes her first step, crossing the threshold into the ashy forest with her heart thrumming in her chest like a thousand anxious moths. She's used to feeling nervous, but this felt more like vines curling up in her lungs and taking up too much space. This felt like shallow breaths caught between crashing waves and the terror of never coming up for another.

This felt like fear.

It's an awful feeling.

She keeps walking. The grass underfoot is soft but offers only the slightest bit of comfort between the biting frost that creeps closer and numbs her limbs. Before long, every step is agony.

Only when she feels as though her legs will give out beneath her does she finally see what it is she'd been out here searching for: The thicket.

Silver in colour it stretches for miles into the darkness in either direction. Meli takes a step closer to find that it has thorns that bunch together, each one poised in her direction and ready to fend her off.

She's not allowed to pass.

As curious as she is cautious, she reaches out toward the tangled mass of silver only for darkness to fall suddenly. It erases the thicket from view before she can make contact, her hand still held out in front of her.

Deafening quiet, then something cold and sharp grabs at her ankle. A raw scream tears up her throat and she flinches hard enough to fall to the ground, kicking away from the obscured appendage until the spikes of the thicket at her back dig into her shoulders and tug at her hair. Silver spills from the fresh open wounds, seeping into the saffron of her dress and staining the delicate fabric. The pain is barely noticed through the fear-induced adrenaline and her clothing tears as she scrambles to find her feet, tripping once more over something unseen.

Terror clouds her senses. It grips her by the throat and she breaks into a clumsy, panicked sprint into the pitch dark. She doesn't know where she's going. She can't see far enough. She can't even see the ground or the movement of her feet as she rushes through the woods. Fingers brush against her as she runs; reaching out, trying to grasp her and halt her movements.

She won't let them.

Eventually, she's forced to come to a stop. Out of breath, wide-eyed, and shaking like a prey animal that has barely escaped the jaws of a predator, she frantically looks around in search of anything that might be nearby. Nothing. She sees nothing. She feels nothing. And still, she feels hunted.

The feeling of powerlessness is inescapable.

Distraught, her trembling hands come up to the sides of her head, fingers weaving between the coiled strands of black and white. She sinks suddenly to the ground with her knees to her chest, sucking in a deep breath to try and even some of her breathing.

It doesn't work. The cold only burns her lungs.

Silver droplets finally burst free from her eyes and spill over, falling out of sight through the inky black long before reaching anything solid.

Why did she come out here? Why was it so important to see the thicket?

Were they so important that she would risk her immortal life?

Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.

They have been her only unbiased company for centuries, standing at her side like loyal guards fending off the creatures that lurked in the madness.

So where were they now? Why had they abandoned her? It was the same fate and feeling time and time again.

Everyone will leave.

Love was conditional.

She hadn't really believed it before. She had desperately tried and tried and tried for unconditional love. But it was never made for her.

It never quite fit into the shape of her.

Her mother and father seemed to love each other unconditionally, even through the cracks created by her other father. It flowed so effortlessly like water into a vase for them. For each other.

Yet their love for Melinoë? Conditional. Always.

So long as she didn't take up too much space. So long as she didn't remind them of her other father. So long as she kept that half of herself hidden from view.

If she did all that for them, they would trickle some worship from their domains into her. They would let her live.

Conditional.

A distant scream breaks her from her panic-stricken haze and tormenting thoughts. The black falls away from her vision and her eyes flit up in the direction she'd heard it.

Fear melts away, and instead she's left with another soul-wrenching emotion.

Worry.

"Dain?"

[mechahero]

"Y'know, I don't think I'd ever have a costume for beatin' up people or whatever. I mean, have you seen some of the ones goin' around nowadays? Some of them are really ugly."

[crowned-relapse-king]

No more struggle, the initial drive to fight had been snuffed out, prompting Julian to release his hold, tendrils wrapping around the man's limbs as he towed the unconscious werehyena to the shore.

Once on the beach, he had no more strength, losing the oiled form and returning to the human skin even though the sigil on his chest continues to glow. Julian collapsed, gasping for breath as his nude figure curled against Jains bulk.

Cold, so very tired, and emotionally drained, the last thing that he sees is Xyrhem standing before them as the man slowly gives in to sleep as the guardian takes them off and away from the beach.

He skulked about the outskirts of the city, finally gaining bearings on his new, hideous form. Massive paws scratched at the neglected asphalt below, the gaping, hungry maw lined with stark white teeth linked together like thick stitches on his chest. His bare torso mended to a hunched beastly lower half of four strong limbs, haunches shorter than the power forelimbs. The fark fur on the taurid lower half was dark as the rest of the hair on his head and body, though in faint light when he dared venture towards it showed a few spots that remained darker than the sooty browns of the body. A thick ridge of dark fur began up between his shoulderblades down to the rest of the body like a crest, all the way down to the short, dark tail at the end.

Bright eyes glinted easily in the dark, his mouth still bearing the wide grin from his previous change, though his teeth had become sharper, more bestial than rhey had been before. Strong sinewed arms ended in pitch black claws like cold wrought iron. He hungered deeply, but not as deep as the pure hatred that burned in his chest- where the gnashing maw resided, where a beating heart once stood.

He didn't care what he could find- tearing anything and everything in blind, agonizing hatred indiscriminately. He could not die- so everything else had to.