#if you cut her she bleeds... and there are eyes :3c

[chouettecrivaine]

BREAKING THE DAWN - an OC introduction template link - @youngmrclaus lark art cred qilan belongs to @yuechicake lark exists in the @shepherds-of-haven universe!

Lark has gone through a ton of lore upheavals and additions, so I decided a reintroduction was in order! and also this template was beautiful so i had to use it :3c I also wanted to see how her backstory diverted from the canon story with her soulmate Qilan thrown into the mix!

(Having trouble reading? This post is transcribed beneath the cut!)

LARK VAN LAAST

CALL SIGN - dawnbreaker

AGE / SEASON - mid 20s / winter

GENDER / PRN - female / she / her

SEXUALITY - bisexual

TRAINING - self-taught

OCCUPATION - commander

RACE - hunter-mage

"

They are singing all around you

With heavy shovels holding earth

You're being buried to your neck...

Being buried quite alive now

The Antlers, Epilogue

"

HEIGHT - 5'5 (165cm)

COMPLEXION - very fair

DETAILS - scattered freckles (all year)

HAIR COLOR - navy blue (white streak on her right side)

EYE COLOR - stormy gray

EXTRAS - wire rimmed glasses (when not on duty)

Lark wears her straight, shoulder-length hair in a milkmaid braid style to keep it out of her face. If she’s really in a pinch, she’ll put it in a bun, but she rarely lets anyone see her with her hair down unless there’s an emergency in the middle of the night.

Her skin is pale enough that she almost looks bloodless, though she can easily blush. She has freckles dotting her entire body, even during the winter months when there isn’t much sun.

She carries two swords; her main, typical broadsword and a smaller xiphos style sword for closer combat and emergency situations. She is a psionic mage with an affinity for bewitchments and enchantments.

-

POS. TRAITS - sweet , patient , loyal / NEU. TRAITS - quiet , gloomy , clever / NEG. TRAITS - wily , self-sacrificing , hesitant

ALIGNMENT - neutral good

TEMPER - gentle

LIKES - birds, needlework, cold weather

DISLIKES - lies, raucous taverns, plans for the future

GOALS - To rid the world of the demons that lurk in the shadows, purging the land of all the parasites that bleed the life from those foolish enough to get close - even if she believes herself to be such a parasite, too.

After spending so much time alone and watching tragedy befall those around her, Lark eventually withdrew into herself and stopped making efforts to form strong bonds with others. She remained polite and helpful, but also cold and detached. She is a pack animal at heart, though, and dreads how easily her icy defenses can be melted.

Lark has developed a bit of a silver tongue and is an expert liar, but she can not stand when others try to fool her in a non-survival situation. She is frequently underestimated and assumed childish for her kindness and goodwill, which often erases her struggles and her capabilities. She can smell a lie from a mile away and cuts those people off before they can start - she’s much less fragile than others think.

-

AESTHETIC - spirit animal / AESTHETIC - element / AESTHETIC - flower / AESTHETIC - weather / AESTHETIC - texture

BACKSTORY

Lark spent most of her time in Maj running errands for the villagers who couldn't leave their work and taking lessons with each of them in the hopes of becoming a well-rounded leader one day. Her favorite skills are embroidery and the musical instrument taught to her by the village grump. She also takes care of her father’s chickens and hands the eggs out every morning. The village is dusty and far from well-off, but the people are kind and know how to celebrate their harvest, whether it be meager or bountiful.

After the destruction of Maj, she fled, unable to take the sorrow and guilt. She had no real direction, hoping instead for some mercy and perhaps a guiding hand. Instead, she was lured into servitude by a cruel Norm merchant. He ran a shop peddling antiques and oddities and blamed the various Diminished indebted to him for the failing business. He was prone to anger and wasn't afraid to punish them in ways that endangered their lives. Shortly after Lark arrived, she experienced the “mysterious disappearance” of one Diminished who dared to disobey. Another Diminished, a Wilds mage named Damiane, took Lark under her wing and became a sort of mother figure for her. Years ago, Damiane had taken a loan from the merchant to get medical care for her child, who unfortunately ultimately passed away. She stayed in his care to pay off her debt and bc she doesn't have any more family to go back to. Through her tutelage, Lark learns that she has an affinity for birds and begins to communicate with them.

Lark is eventually told to frame two twin Diminished wind mages, Calder and Inia, for stealing from the store, thus trapping them under the merchant's thumb. Inia is immediately suspicious of Lark’s involvement in the scheme, but Calder treats her gently. He is the one who teaches her to put her hair up in milkmaid braids. However, the twins don't take orders or instructions easily, and when the brother eventually gets sick, the merchant refuses to provide medical care for him as punishment. After Calder passes, his sister eventually enacts her revenge by setting the shop (and apartment upstairs) on fire. Lark barely escapes after Damiane pushes her into the street at the last second, trapping herself inside.

Lark ran from town and made a living by settling for a short while and selling embroidery and outfit repairs. Eventually she hid away in a large town and took up a guard position in front of a jewelry store. Working with her was a ket mage named Airell. He had the same stoic attitude as is typical of most with Ket blood, but he warmed up to her and agreed to teach her how to properly use a sword. As such, her swordsmanship is a combination of basic Ket techniques and an unrefined defense of a rural girl. The owner of the store was nice enough to Lark and Airell, but his son was a problem child. Airell eventually learned that the son planned to rob the store and frame the Diminished guards in a ploy to cash in on his father. Knowing the owner would never forgive them for harming his son to stop the crime but would also believe if his son said they robbed the store, Airell gave Lark false orders to wait at the town gate for a shipment while he apprehends the son. Airell is detained as a result of trying to stop the heist, and the son managed to frame him for part of the crime. The owner fired Lark, knowing she was close to Airell and no longer trusting her.

She then took up mercenary work, protecting merchants and traveling caravans. Finally, she has withdrawn inside of herself, keeping to herself as most employers want and parting upon reaching the caravan’s destination. On one of these missions, she met a mage named Qilan. This mage was private, just as she was, but Lark could tell that they had a similar story. For the first time since her thirteenth birthday, Lark felt content and at ease - though she didn’t dare speak these feelings out loud. She and Qilan share a brief relationship until they part ways…but they eventually meet again when they are both contracted to protect Prihine on the way to her wedding.

Lark doesn’t have much of a chance to reconnect with Qilan, but the same draw between them is there. When a demon breaks into the wedding, Lark is inexplicably pulled to reach out and grab Qilan’s hand as they both say a Word of Power, successfully saving both Prihine and Caine as they stop the demon. That is how they learn (partially, at least) that they are soulmates, and that their shared Words are stronger when they are cast in tandem.

[paingoes]

little note on paris and lorelais appearances

so ive said before that im not really interested in hard scifi or strict realism. the fact that they are aliens does not really matter most of the time. my main priority has always been that they look cool. so to continue in that vein.

i cant find any images that recreate what i envision exactly, but lorelai has diamonds growing out of her face specifically around the T and between her eyes

kinda like this! but with real, raw diamonds. they grow out of her skin like teeth! again they have no other purpose besides looking cool. its an uncommon genetic mutation, no one else in her family has it. genetic mutations are generally frowned upon in Empire but Lorelai’s family is so rich it doesnt really matter. its cool when she does it. it makes her pretty recognizable for better or worse.

paris has the skin texture of a porcelain doll. it’s not super obvious just by looking at him, though his skin is pretty pale and painted looking, but it feels strange.

if you can imagine how this image feels. its like that. he isnt half as like…. flamboyant or decorated looking, it’s definitely more muted. but texturewise this is a decent approximation.

his skin isn’t quite as hard as real porcelain and there is a bit of cushioning and give to it but its very smooth and cold. if you tap your nails against it, it makes a clicking sound.

i think his skin cracks instead of bruising :3c

but maybe it does both? he’ll still bleed if cut.

also i think he has ball joints (like a doll) but i will probably never draw attention to that cause i might change my mind

the takeaway here is theyre both kind of expensive and delicate looking

[cconfusedkat]

Something funny I've been doing with my Bishops is taking their follower forms quite literally like how cotl just does with the general follower forms (also adding my hcs/projections for them as followers :-3c i dunno!! Its fun!)

For example,

⛤️ Bishop Leshy: not very taken care of "fur" (some parts are longer, other parts are shorter, uncut branches from his head and sticking out from his back) (at this point his branches could be as wide as a deer's), seemingly more of a lyndwyrm build and more slithery, more fuzzy than soft (which kinda stings to touch), under the bandages are heavily bleeding eye sockets that are begging to be stitched, and the smallest bishop (15 ft. However his eldritch form happens to be the biggest out of all his siblings, hes a 100 ft lyndwyrm. If you asked the lamb on how hx killed leshy multiple times in purgatory rows and just in general hx will look at you menacingly)

⛤️ Bishop Heket: Has more of a lighter skin for a frog now, mouth is wider due to throat being cut and decaying as a millenia went on (because Narinder slit the sides of her mouth as well), the yellow crown is the only thing keeping her mouth/throat from randomly falling apart (so theres a yellow aura around that area—not even bandages could help her), yellow sclera that is barely seen, second shortest bishop (20 ft maximum, but definitely more bigger as eldritch? 40 ft at best)

⛤️ Bishop Narinder/TOWW: More grayer fur from stress, head still bleeds from the neck down (due to being decapitated limb by limb and even beheaded: a reason why he has to keep the chains around parts of his body so he literally does not fall apart), red sclera and black eyes, third tallest bishop (30 ft maximum)

⛤️ Bishop Kallamar: 16 Legs and 8 arms, lacking some parts as a squid due to stress of the betrayal (if that even makes sense HELP), way thinner eyes with black sclera and red eyes, second tallest bishop (33 ft, eldritch form surprisingly bigger with more hands and arms to make sure the lamb goes through HELL fighting him)

⛤️ Bishop Shamura: larger fangs that basically cover their whole mouth, more thinner claws that could probably cut someone very easily, black sclera with red eyes, the tallest and eldest of their family (40 ft at maximum, eldritch form just as tall)

And now for the follower differences

⛤️ Follower Leshy: stitched up eyes (which Lamb & Heket worked stitching together), trimmed fur and still a bit messy looking (but way better than before), still has branches but happens to be smaller ones, walks on two legs unlike his lyndwyrm bishop form, and the tallest of his siblings (6'4) OH ALSO shamura is the one entrusted to frequently change his bandages (mainly bc hes afraid to ask his other siblings) (dude heket literally stitched your eyes--)

⛤️ Follower Heket: a way smaller mouth, barely speaks unless (shes semi verbal), has brown wooden crosses on her head, bandages are simply wrapped around her neck rather than just hopelessly being dragged on the floor, instead of white sclera she has yellow sclera (because her eyes are way smaller now), and shes the second tallest of her siblings (6'2)

⛤️ Follower Narinder: his forehead has stitches along with the rest of his connecting limbs (armpits have stiching, pelvis area has stitches, neck has stitches, wrists have stitching, and tail has stitching), third eye is rarely used now prior from before, phantom pains and forgetting hes no longer chained, actually was given back his brain so it feels weird knowing he has one now (that and a pair of lungs + his ribcage,, he can open it tho and he likes to place flowers. In there. He terrifies me but thats okay hes just coping i suppose), white sclera for all three eyes, can open his face like bishop form (that's when his sclera can go red but will begin to tear up blood and even from his mouth), and he's the third shortest of his siblings (5'4)

⛤️ Follower Kallamar: weight redistribution so that means all 24 limbs? Went all down to his legs and his head (has eight legs, and has 6 strands of tentacles to his head,,he thinks its pretty to have and sorta treats it like hypothetical hair), now has fins and a stitched up trunk (because she still has a weird set up of teeth in there. It makes her uncomfy so she asked shamura to stitch it for hir), has some access to the Blue Crown left that remains on hir crosses (lamb knows shi couldnt do anything anyways. Its mainly for accessibility and to be used as a hypothetical hearing aid), and the second shortest of his siblings (5'3)

⛤️ Follower Shamura: their species being of a jumping spider more visibly now + fuzzier, pedipalps remain lowered instead of constantly being high (for being alert 24/7 as a bishop), smaller fangs and a smaller mouth, thick claws that could not hurt anyone neccesarily, white sclera and all four eyes remain functional (except the two on the sides of their head are sorta. Complex. Its difficult to control what they look at in those eyes), a way smaller abdomen thats on their lower back (which sorta still works? They can produce some silk supposedly. They dont really want to figure that out 💀.), has two legs instead of eight (one is shorter than the other though. Kinda just leans a lot of the time,, probably doesnt help that they have suspected scoliosis), and the shortest out of their siblings (exactly 4'7. They would be 4'9 if they had better posture and stood up normally)

ANDDDD that's seemingly it!! I made refs a month ago (technically two) for them but ive been meaning to change each one again-- ive had more different hcs the past few weeks,, but YAY!!! I just felt like yapping

[beansprean]

Queening the Pawn Act 3 Part 10

REUPLOAD due to the original getting flagged. Unfortunately have to slap a community label on this one just in case, but it is also still public on Patreon!

Acts 1-2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Close up on the Guide as she moves into the blank gray room, eyes focused intensely on its contents. Naked oily dream Guillermo stays behind her, arms crossed at attention behind his back, and cranes his neck out to one side to see. He asks, "Is this the memory you were looking for?" The Guide responds, "Yes...This is it. This is him."

2a. Close up on the red file box that reads '1758-1759 Willem Van Helsing' as the Guide kneels on the floor in front of it and strokes the lid, her arm and knee the only visible parts of her onscreen. She reads aloud, "...Willem Van Helsing..." 2b. Reverse shot of the Guide looking down at the box with some confusion and a dazed kind of nostalgia. She murmurs to herself, "I think I must have called him something else..." 2c. Extreme close up as Guide curls her fingers under the lid of the file box and lifts it.

3a. Shot of the Guide from the front as beams of multicolored lights burst out of the open box, blowing her hair back and casting strange shadows up and down her face. Wide eyed, she leans toward the opening as flashes of memory begin to beam themselves out and pile up behind her. 3c. A series of flashes within the light streaming from the open box: A man with dark hair and sideburns in a fancy gold 1750s suit dancing closely with a blonde woman in a pink dress from the same period, their faces turned toward each other and unseen by the viewer. Action shot of that same man in a plainer brown coat slashing across the screen with a bloodied wooden stake, eyes wild behind his arm. A man's hand outstretched, asking for a dance. That man standing in a gold suit, holding a delicate glass of champagne in his large hands and glancing over toward the viewer to offer a smirk. Close up of the man laughing, naked, leaning his head on one hand as if laying in bed with someone. Close up of the man in profile, looking back with a secret smile as he turns away. Close up of the man, naked, flushed, sweating, hair bouncing in motion, as he grins at whomever is under him. Shot of the man's naked back as he sits up and rolls away from a bed; a pale arm from the viewer's POV is following him, tracing the long pair of scratches that have been dragged down his back.

4a. A scene in sepia, on a mottled pinkish-gray background printed on a cracking pane of glass. Willem, unclothed, has his back to the viewer and a set of visible puncture wounds on his neck, bleeding sluggishly. In his lap is the Guide, or whoever she was before she was the Guide, hair wild and bouncing around her shoulders and over her face. She has one hand braced on Willem's shoulder and the other clutching at his back. She pants, blood smearing at the corner of her mouth, and tips her head back with a blissful smile as Willem's hand squeezes around her throat. He asks, "How do I taste?" She replies, "Hhaaa...filthy." 4b. Close up in profile. Willem laughs in response and begins to mouth his way down the Guide's chest, the hand at her neck loosening but keeping up a firm squeeze with the thumb and forefinger. The Guide tips her head back even further, smiling open-mouthed with his blood tricking down her cheek. 4c. Shot from above as Willem, hand having abandoned its choking in favor of squeezing the Guide's right breast, suddenly bites into her left. The Guide's eyes fly open, shocked, staring past the viewer at the ceiling above. The background fills with a blood splatter pattern. 4d. Full body from the side as the Guide leans back from her seat straddling Willem's lap, right hand flying up to cup the area and inspect the large bloody bite mark that is now present. Willem sits back as well, hands cupping the Guide's hips as he snickers, blood smeared across his teeth and face. The Guide scolds, "Wim!! Why-why would you do that?! You drank my blood! You will turn into a vampire now! Willem replies, chuckling, "No, I won't."

5a. Close up in profile, the background turned dark red with DNA swirls. Willem leans close and pinches the Guide's chin with his thumb and forefinger to pull her in as well, her blood dripping down his chin and his own blood now smeared on his hand as well as her cheek. He grins cockily and continues, "We never do. Bite away, baby. You'll only make me stronger." The Guide's eyes hood over in pleasure and submission, a small smile curling her lips. 5b. Repeat. They both lean in further for a kiss, to mingle their blood even further. Willem, lips still curled up in a grin, drags his hand back down to rest against the Guide's throat. The edge of the glass panel begins to crack and break off into pieces, revealing the black void beneath.

6. A series of broken glass shards falling down the screen on a black background, each containing fragments of another memory. The Guide in a nice pink dress, blood smeared all across her mouth and chin as she hunches over something, eyes looking up through her hair like a cornered animal. Wim in a gold suit standing to watch, looking unsure, the glass panel breaking over the arm he had been holding a stake in so that it drops. A pale hand with pink nails placing itself into a much larger one, accepting the dance. Broken into three pieces, a shot from behind Willem, shirt shrugged off his shoulders but still hanging to his belt, holding the Guide to him, bared of her dress to the waist, knees hooked around his hips and one arm looped around his neck as the other cups his face to pull it into a kiss. A sliver of a dark alley, two forms pressed close in the foreground as another wafts cigarette smoke from around the corner in the background. A close up of Willem's hand, dressed in a sleeve, pinning the Guide's down by the wrist. A close up of a human man, older and sporting a heavy mustache, peering around a wall with a cigarette in his mouth, looking very displeased. Willem laying on the ground, gagged, and dead or close to it, blood pouring from his neck to pool on the floor. The Guide in a mulberry dress, struggling as clawed vampire hands grip at her arms and wrists to drag her forward. The glass breaks above her nose, but a shard of one wide, terrified eye remains nearby. The Guide in profile in her mulberry dress, held by the arms by unknown hands, tips her head back and screams as hundreds more hands thrust out at her from the darkness like a rushing wave, the background pulsing with unnatural green light. A shard of the Guide's eye, rage and terror fading as green reflections flash past. A shard of smoke wafting upward. A shard showing blood dripping onto the floor. A shard showing a silver crucifix laying alone, broken in half and smeared with blood. A shard of the Guide pulling on a familiar pair of leather gloves. Each shard gets smaller and smaller until they fade into the darkness. /end ID

[flowers-of-io]

If you're still taking prompts, Sav/Eris #20? :3c

20. on a scar // Read on Ao3

The light in Savathûn's throne world is strangely diffused, one of the four suns having already dipped below the horizon and other two inching their way downwards. The fourth is in zenith right above the palace, framing the tip of the Spire like a halo. It should sting her uncovered eyes, Eris thinks, but this place was tailor-made for a Hive and so she figures it is only fair it accommodated the sensitivities of Hive sight.

They are in the gardens, Savathûn and her, strolling among the lush flower patches and neatly-trimmed hedges. The Witch-Queen's form is... strange, light folding on light and edges blurry, so mach that Eris finds it difficult to tell its exact size. Wonders of the mind, she thinks dryly. Even resplendent in Light, the High Coven is still the kingdom of deceit.

"I'm glad you don't hide yourself from me anymore," Savathûn says conversationally. She has stopped to admire a particularly scenic brook snaking between grass and marble, its surface azure-clear and shimmering in the sunlight. "Or from yourself, for that matter. It's a nice change."

Eris looks at her with a unamused expression. The Witch kneels down and now they are almost level, their shivering reflections side by side in the water.

"Do you interpret everything in relation to yourself?"

"I like seeing my work," Savathûn croons. "You're beautiful."

Anger flares in Eris, mixed with disgust and something else. For a moment she manages to blink away the shimmering veil of Light, and what she sees underneath is so crudely tangible--crusted skin around the eyes and chitin weathered by age, minute twitches of facial muscles. Flesh and bone and strength no greater than her own. Not an elusive queen of mists; a woman, a Hive, a body that will squirm and bleed if she cuts it. There is still a scar on her throat where Eris slashed it open.

She says, angrily, "You did not make me."

The Witch-Queen smiles lazily.

"I know you find the idea abhorrent, but when you think about it, how different has our dance been from the simplest sword-logic invocation of one's opponent? You created me." Her head tips to the side, eyes narrowed in delight. "In your furious search for means to destroy me, you have kept me closer to your heart than anything else you hold dear. You have changed me forever, and as such, by equality of force, you too have been changed."

"Do you feel so lacking as to need to take credit for I've done by my own hand?"

Savathûn laughs, of course she does. "Ah, maybe you're right in diagnosing this as a matter of pride. One wishes all the beauty they see were fruit of their own craft."

Beauty, Eris wants to spit, if only because this was the cost I had to pay to destroy you--but Savathûn's edges blur once again and she is suddenly so close Eris can see the delicate spiderweb of cracks on her chitin.

There is a pressure on her forehead, just next to her middle eye, a lipless mouth brushing again the skin and then murmuring, "But I can still admire the handiwork."

All she can see now is Savathûn's throat, the expanse of calloused, ancient skin and the scar slicing it in half. It is a thick and convex line, like a bank running across a grassy field. It bobs along with every breath.

Physical, Eris thinks, real. Is this what their siblinghood was? Gods to all but each other, intangible concepts with edges defined only by what can be scratched and choked and cut, the only forces in the universe capable of rendering each other real? Invocations hold power, but not as much power as a blade to the gut. Love is war, over and over, the clashing of territories and saying, here I begin, and thus here is where you are not.

She reaches out and traces the scar--first with her fingers and then, madly enough, with her lips. A warning. A gesture that says, I could to this again, and I would do this again, and here is where I define your borders and you must first get through me if you wish to challenge that.

The sharp contortion of the throat against her mouth--whether it is a laugh or a gasp, she is not sure.

[movedto-mrs-bluemarine]

HIIIII. DID ANYONE ORDER SOME BEN AND TARA CONTENT?? This won a poll like eons ago but I finally finished it!!! Just a little silly thing. Content warning for some language and a little spat with some meanies. I had his BR: SPIDERMAN design in mind :3c

Five years on the West Coast was nowhere near enough to make Tara feel homesick. She didn't jump at the opportunity to come back to New York, coming back to it left a bad taste in her mouth, but she could admit, the city had a charm to it when it was seen at night.

Her watch read twenty after ten. Her precious boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, like most nights. But something didn't sit right in her brain, and Tara was smart enough to trust her mind. Ben promised he'd be back by nine. So where the heck was he?

Tara in her signature red was illuminated by street lamps as she walked her way over to the Daily Grind, the place Ben was working at. It wasn't too far from their apartment, she was glad for that. She didn't have a clue where he could be, but surely the Grind would be a decent place to start? They had good coffee, anyway. What time did they close? Maybe she could get some before then.

Her ears picked up on something. Footsteps, the soft sound of crackling gravel.

Tara tried to focus in on them without daring a look behind her. One set of feet, no, maybe two. They came out of nowhere, when did they start to follow her?

Coffee could wait. She made an extra turn she didn't need. Then one more, checking to see if she was being trailed, or if her paranoia was getting the best of her. And as her luck would have it, she was right.

As always the brunette's feet are moving before her own brain does. Always her downfall. She turns around on her heel, looking back at the men tailing her with an unamused look. She has her hands on her hips, subconsciously puffing out her chest to appear more imposing. It doesn't work, of course. There's two of them. Even the scrawny one was still a head taller than her. The other guy was stronger than the first. They both wore baggy clothes, the hands on the bigger one were hiding in his hoodie pocket. A sure place to be keeping something.

"Can I help you boys?" Tara asked keeping calm.

The smaller one's smile was all teeth, and Tara was sure then that she wasn't going to trust them. His voice as he spoke was whiney and irritating, grating on her ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"Me an' my friend here are strapped f'r cash! We jus' need a couple bucks for a bottle of liquor at the shop around the bend."

Tara hesitated for a moment. The answer sounded genuine. Slowly, she responded. "...Sorry, would love to help, but I don't have anything to give you."

"Oh, we weren't askin'."

Figures she was right, curse the bleeding heart. Always trust your gut, that's what she always told herself.

Her eyes flickered to the bulkier man and the item he pulled out of his hoodie pocket that reflected the light of the street lamp behind Tara- a knife, of course it was a knife -then they traveled back to the shorter one, that smile from before the same, although somehow even more menacing. "We're just lookin' for the wallet, nothing else, and you're free to leave."

Tara stood her ground. "I told you, I don't even have my wallet. I just came out here looking for someone."

The blond cooed, "Couldn't find 'em, huh? Well, don't worry! We'll keep you safe, sugar!"

Tara's collar was violently yanked forward; she tripped over her feet, forced on her toe tips by her assailant. Her nose was pressed to his, she could smell the stale alcohol on his breath, and it made her stomach turn. "But it's gonna cost ya."

Now the blond holding her had the knife, and he was tracing the side of her cheek with the back of the blade. Instinctively, she tilted her head as far away as she could. It wasn't much. Her assailant could still easily cut open her face if she wasn't careful. "Our protection ain't free, so if you don't have a wallet, then we're jus' gonna have to use somethin' else."

Tara could fight. Maybe not win, but she could book it and race to somewhere safe before they knew what hit them. Scenes like this weren't unfamiliar. A quick kick between the legs was helpful enough. But that second guy... He was a problem. If he got a hand on Tara, it looked like he was strong enough to break her little noodle arm with just a flex. He was strong, but maybe she was faster. The Grind was probably closed by now, the apartment was still a couple blocks away. She'd lived in NYC before, but never the queens side. Tara couldn't think of anywhere else to go!..

A noise got her attention. A solid Thwump! of meat hitting the ground roughly. The blond holding Tara looked away for a split second, from over his shoulder she saw his accomplice in the road, unconscious.

"The fuck?"

He's barely allowed to finish before a glass bottle is thrown at his head. He drops Tara on the ground, folding into himself, cursing in pain, but he was still awake. He swung around violently, threatening open air with his knife, eyes flailing looking for whoever attacked him as Tara stumbled backwards and away, eyes glued to what was happening. Instinct told her to book it, but the show was too extreme. She wanted to see just what the hell was happening.

The thief kept cursing. Taunting whatever threat he was facing. That was when the hero showed himself, jumping out from the shadows of an alley to Tara's left, wailing on the blond with a clean sucker punch to his jaw, taking him out easily. The thief didn't stand a chance; the guy in scarlet red towered over the weasel, clearly just as strong as his unconscious friend, with coursing muscles stretching against a skin tight suit. It wasn't a bad sight. Not bad at all.

He was breathing heavy, he didn't make a move while he stood towering over the two lumps in the road. Even when Tara stood up, running over to the man known as Spiderman, he didn't so much as flinch when she threw her arms over his shoulders, her body melting against his in a half-assed hug.

"Oh, thank you, Spiderman! Surely, I would be a goner without your help!"

His head slowly turns to the side. Tara can't meet his eyes due to the mask, but she can feel his soft irritation and the skepticism underneath it all. "Don't tell me you came out here just to get my attention by getting yourself in trouble." He finally spoke.

"Of course not! I'm out here looking for someone, actually." The Spider begun to walk off, Tara followed close by. He was returning to the same alleyway he made his entrance from. "Maybe you'd know him? About yey-tall, blond hair. The most beautiful brown eyes."

"Not ringing a bell." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

Tara sighed, "That's a shame. Well, he's my BOYFRIEND, actually. And he PROMISED me he'd be back home at nine."

"Uh-huh." He made it to one side of the alley, twisting to rest his back against the brick. He crossed his arms over the spider symbol on his chest, listening to the civilian continue talking. "But, y'know. It's 10PM, and he's still not home. So he's broke his promise, and he's in very big trouble."

"How scary." Spiderman teased, and Tara frowned.

He suddenly jumped, using his superior strength and his climbing abilities to scale the wall opposite before Tara even realized. She let out a yelp of surprise, twisting her neck to watch him escape out of sight. "Hey– wait! I haven't even given you a proper "thank you", yet!"

"No need. It's my job to help."

It was like talking to a brick wall. Well, literally speaking, Tara was. His red suit was out of sight. Despite that, the brunette kept talking with the hero. "Aw, come on, you saved my life! I have to give you something in return!"

On the rooftop, the spider paused. He looked down at the tiny figure, still staring up, looking for him with wide eyes. Shaking his head, he uses his web fluid to gently lower himself yet again. He's upside down, her lips are level with his. He has ideas in mind, swinging like a mobile in a baby's crib, but he doesn't keep them all in mind for long. Instead he's asking the civilian; "What kind of something?"

She has a playful smile on her lips, the same smile he's fallen for time and time again, and he'll keep doing it. She comes a little closer, speaking easily. Her voice was sweet on his ear. "Oh, y'know, that kind of something all the superheroes want," Tara's fingers graze his mask, it takes everything in Ben not to shudder with delight. He loves her touch, loves feeling her tease his skin, but he can't show it yet. He's having too much fun.

She peels the mask down and up his face, allowing Tara to see the soft stubble around the hero's lips and freeing his nose with it. His lips are parted just a little bit, tempting her to break character too soon.

"And what about that boyfriend of yours, hmm?" He asks, not daring to look away from Tara for more than a second. It seems like any time he does, she always finds herself in trouble. A thief, purse snatcher, goddamn Kaine himself. "I'm sure he wouldn't want you acting like this around other men, would he?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Her thumb ghosts against lips, and he almost breaks. "Would you, Hun?"

Instead of responding, Ben's answer is a kiss. Finally. Thank God, he praises in his mind. Her hands move to cup his head in a gentle caress, pressing him closer as she opens her mouth to him. It's either her lips or the blood rushing to his head, Ben begins to feel dizzier the longer he stays like this. And every second is worth it.

His hands mirror her's; his mask spares him the horror of tussled hair, but Tara isn't as lucky. His fingers dig into her soft tresses, tugging at it. The both of them keep trying to press themselves closer to the other, but it's never enough.

Their lips part with a loud, cartoonish "smack". They're both lost for breath, using each other as leverage so neither falls. Tara dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Ben loves the sound of it.

He asked her, "You come out here, almost get mugged, and this is how you react?"

"Hey! I wouldn't be out here if YOU kept your promise. It's past ten, you said you were done for the day." Without the mask hiding the bottom half of his face, the brunette saw the easy smirk he wore. Listening to her speak, Ben was easily unhooked from his hanging web and standing on his two feet. He takes off the rest of his mask, allowing Tara to see the dyed blond hair, and those pretty brown eyes that she loved so much.

He encapsulates her in a hug, burrowing his nose in her neck. "'m sorry, baby. The whole late night vigilante routine comes with the suit, you know. It's my job. Can you forgive me?"

"I can manage it." Tara kissed the side of his head, enjoying the moment. "How's it hanging, anyway? Anything fun happen tonight?"

"Besides saving my own girlfriend from some street thugs..? Honestly, it's been nice. I guess everyone in the city decided to take the night off." Tara couldn't fight off that small shimmer of hope she felt in her chest. "Does that mean, maybe you can..?"

"Mh-hm." He smiled, pecking her cheek. "Time to clock out." The mask is pulled back on, his hand slides down to Tara's waist, walking her out of the alley. "Excited to have Thee Spiderman walk you home, sweetness?"

"I had a better idea; wanna swing home instead?"

"Not a bad one. You think you can handle it?"

"Obviously."

[carmencxgni]

{ .—It feels almost Divine } To be in the presence of one’s own Death, witnessing it in such ritualistic manner. The porcelain silhouette laying upon stone, as she crawls & snarls in sincere pain towards the figure at the arm chair: The true Self; the true Mind. What is a Clone if not an extension of the Witch to interact with the world? & ethereal limb to discover & move. A piece & a connection to her body, as the self in the floor bleeds golden ichor & flowers sprout from the cuts & burns. A failure of a mission? No at all, it was simply the Matron delighting on the sensations. What better method to know the extense of Poisoning than test them on herself?—

It breaks her appart, & she can feel the phantom sensation in her, as her Mirror Reflection contorts in the floor like a dragonfly without her wings. The Pixies all around at the shelves & furniture observe, awaiting for their eventual feast as little Vultures hiding in the beauty of harmless butterflies… 

As thorns & blossoms keep growing from the body, it makes them impatient & it takes only one of the fairies to flutter at the faux figure of the dying Enchantress to visciously bite & consume to end the suffering, for the whole swarm to buzz & hiss like perilous wasps. The Real Emilia doesn’t falter beyond a little visible jolt, the gasp for air & the brief expression of pain as she sees it all; allowing her familiars to consume wholeheartedly her Clone’s flesh & blood until there’s nothing left by bones turning to ashes & dust.

It leaves the true Emilia pressed against the armchair, nails piercing in the cushioned fabric before exhaling the air caught on her lungs with a smile, chuckling ever-so softly as if this wasn’t more than a little theater... Before she looks at a point in the shadow.. “You came a little too late for Dinner, Mon Cher, I’m afraid there’s nothing left~ “ Her hand raises, held out in an invitation. Knowing perfectly of his scrying upon her. 

“Would you stay for Dessert~?”

// { have a Weird instant with her for his Scrying Endeavors~~ ♥ :3c }

My muse is scrying on yours. Send in something weird or concerning to see their reaction!

🔴- Jericho has seen many an inhuman monstrosity in his time, and even more with the extension of Raum's obsessive collection of unholy secrets that were scattered and clutched across Runeterra. Swain however, is still relatively human. He may be a scheming callous, ruthless dictator. He was still-largely human. For the time being. He may be enemies with benefits with Leblanc, he is not a thousand years old. He has not stood taut against centuries of political backstabbing and scheming.

There are moments of tenderness, sweetness even, between the two enemies. A black rose adorned with floral scents, gentle petals. Wrapped in thorns and briars that climbed as any invasive vine. He is reminded that she isn't the same creature he is.

She is a force of nature, he may supersede her rank, he may think himself ahead in many fronts. But there are still moments where he can't help but feel the same mortal weakness as when he first realised how he had been played for a fool the first time. At all times, even as he races to be ahead- does he get the feeling that this too is a deception, this too is another face, and who is the real Leblanc behind all these facades.

Dark eyes watch the clone sputter and die, Mithridatism isn't uncommon in Noxus, but this was certainly a unique way of practising it. He watched the pixies consume in a despicable display, and yet Swain was all too familiar with humanoid bodies being reduced to food things. Still, the display was brutal. His brows knit together at her blasé response.

His eyes meet the sorceress with an apprehensive gaze.

"To drink of your blood would be a sweet poison, but a poison nonetheless." He remarks as the vision fades.

[spaceratprodigy]

🌹🌹!

I don't have too much in terms of writing wips so I'll use this as an excuse to share a random no-context Detective AU snippet that was sitting in my notes app >:3c

—

"That's not fair," he was gripping the phone now, his frustration bleeding into his voice "to either of us."

The other end was quiet.

"She had so much pain in her eyes when she saw me. I thought she knew, I thought–" his mind was racing. "What in God's name is wrong with you?"

"They were getting too close" Phineas cuts in.

"Ohhhh," here comes the snark "now where have I heard that one before?" The venom in Hiram's words were sharp.

"You can't just.. you can't.." he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, his face becoming hot.

"That's not your decision to make, it wasn't then and it isn't now. You can't do this to her again."

"I thought you of all people would have–"

"Don't you dare" Hiram interrupted. "I dropped everything because I thought she knew I was coming, I thought you told her. I thought we would finally.." he realized how loud he had become.

Hiram takes a deep breath.

"It's been 2 years. We never even got to say goodbye."

He'd wanted to say that out loud since the day it happened.

"She told me, you know, that you wouldn't let her tell me anything and then cut off all contact."

"It wasn't safe for us there anymore and you became a liability" Phin says dryly "it would have been too much of a risk for you to know where we were going."

"That's bullshit. You know just as goddamn well as I if you got caught I'm at risk, too. You know what fucking business I'm in."

"Listen–"

"You hated when we got closer and now what? She presumably thinks she'll never see me again and moves on and you wanted me to unknowingly drive a wedge between them? Fuck You."

"She was supposed to make sure authorities didn't come sniffing too close while we were stuck here, not fall for the P.I. working on the Bellamy case. He's too close." Phin sighed. "Do you really think this could ever end well? She can't hide the truth from him forever about who she really is. This'll all blow up in her face or she'll have to choose between him and.. and me."

"Just like you gave her a choice between you and me?" Hiram made air quotes that only he could see.

Phineas was quiet again.

"I just shattered the heart of the only person I ever cared about. She finally picked up the pieces of the life she never gets to live and I come waltzing in like a jackass. And she had to look me in the eyes knowing she just shattered mine back all because I had seen she's fallen in love with someone else."

Hiram's hands were shaking now, his fingers moving and changing shape with every word.

The silence persists.

"Please don't tell her why I called you here."

"You sick bastard–" Hiram seethes before throwing his burner on the ground, stomping it under his heel. He knelt down and buried his face in his hands.

After a few long breaths and listening to the bustling city sounds around him, he picks up the pieces of the now-useless phone.

What now?

[bluepriestess]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Thank you for the tag @bokatan!

Here is a Drabble that I am planning on polishing up at some point but y’all can have a taste of the raw angst first :3c

————

“Summer, we’re all grateful for what you’ve done for the vault…”

There was a pause, the pained look on Amata’s face made Summer want to reach out and comfort her, but she knew what was coming. Summer’s blood started to run cold, her heart sinking deeper within, enveloping in a pool of rage that was quickly boiling.

“…But there are still many here who blame you for everything that’s happened… So I have to ask you to leave— I’m sorry but—“

“You’re sorry?” Summer’s raised voice echoed throughout the vault hallways. “I just saved everyone in the vault from your fucking jackass of a father, and you’re kicking me out!?” Summer stared Amata down, her emerald eyes boring into Amata’s hazel ones.

Amata had shrunk back slightly when Summer had started yelling. She had never been on the receiving end of Summer’s ire, always behind her, always safe. Summer turned to pace, kicking a chair all the way across the room. She had never seen Summer this upset, doubt and fear began to creep into her mind, but she needed to stand firm and tall if she was going to be the Overseer.

“Summer—“ The pinkette looked at Amata, tears in her hurt, broken, sad eyes. “You know I love—“

“Don’t.” Summer cut her off with a wave of her hand. Her palm began to bleed from how much she was digging her nails into it.

“You don’t get to love me anymore. You’re choosing everyone else over me. Everyone else over your fucking girlfriend who was quite literally chased out of the vault and into the fucking wasteland, with no food, water, shelter. Do you know how fucking awful it is out there? No, of course you don’t— Too busy playing house in this fucking cage.” She gestured all around her.

“I have dreamed of you,” Summer’s voice trembled, dropping to almost a whisper. “Almost every night. I dreamed of coming home and having you in my arms again…” Summer turned to leave, tears streaming down her face.

“Please, wait—“

Summer ripped her arm away before stepping forward, face inches from Amata’s, rage taking over again.

“Commit me to memory, because this is the last goddamn time you will ever see me again.” Summer turned on her heel and headed for the doorway. She stopped at the threshold and looked back at Amata one last time. “Have a nice life without me muddying it up Amata, cause I know I’m going to enjoy mine without you.” Summer shoved past the spectators at the doorway and out of Vault 101’s residents lives forever.

[troublcmakcrs]

▸   @mudblccd   ⟶   ❛  ❛  are you bleeding!?  ❜ // peyton @ Craig,,,,, apocalypse verse :3c  ❜   ╱   (  angsty questions , accepting .  )

Craig doesn’t answer Peyton at first, one palm supporting him against the rough, tacky bark of a pine tree, the other held in front of his bewildered face, coated with dark red.  He presses his hand against the jagged cuts on his thigh again, distantly remembering that he has to keep pressure on wounds like that.  The wound is irregular, not caused by a weapon, and in the chaos, he failed to notice if he was caught by a branch or the dead’s claws.  Sweat beads under his dark bangs, and he presses his forehead against the tree, feeling faint, but not from blood loss.

Craig!  Help me! came Tricia’s prolonged, high-pitched shriek.  She reached for him, a tiny, pale hand stretching out from a tangle of filthy, rotting arms digging in.  Blue-black fingernails carved into her soft cheek, slogging off the left half of her face like it was made of warm butter.

He was a coward for running from her, turning his back on her before her screaming even stopped, although that followed shortly after.  But there was nothing he could do for her, and he didn’t want to die like that.  He doesn’t want to die like that now.

He looks haggardly up at Peyton, bright eyes bloodshot, tongue filling up his mouth like freshly harvested cotton.  He opens his mouth to say something, but none of his usual quips or assurances or dismissals come naturally to him at the moment.  “I got… cut,” he says hollowly instead, substituting the word ‘scratched’ because ‘cut’ lets him hang onto a sliver of hope, and turns toward her and pulls his hand away so she can see the tear in his black pants.

Suddenly, as much as he has been trying to put them off, and as much as he has succeeded for weeks, tears gush from him before he can push them down again.  “I’m scared,” he chokes, the confession ushering in the full reality of how severely he has been scared and for how long.  His chest heaves, making words difficult to conjure, but somehow, he manages, “Is… is it bad?”

[umbralaether]

"kissing your partner's wounds" for the totally non angsty prompts :3c

“These should have been tended to sooner, you know,” she says, wrapping the bandage around his hand a second time, “And did you have to get your face involved?”

Neither cut was particularly bad, but left to their own devices for so long meant a thorough cleaning first. She takes the alcohol soaked rag and blots it across the cut on his cheek. Thancred winces, “If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” when she’s satisfied with the cleanliness, she patches his cheek, “Take off your shirt.”

“Wanting a nicer view, are we?”

“Thancred,” She sighs. He would try to make light of it at a time like this.

“All right, all right,” he slides the soiled shirt over his head, careful not to restart the bleeding in the gash on his side. She repeats her process again, brows furrowed in concentration as she cleans and mends the last of his wounds. She tries to keep her hands steady— this gash was jagged, deeper than the others but not enough to need stitching. She’s careful to bandage this one tightly, so it will not pull on the wound and bleed it further. She’s aware of his eyes on her; she hadn’t looked him in the eye for longer than a few seconds since he showed up, and knew he could feel the same tension she did. Still, she ignored it and kept to the task at hand. She would not be the first to speak of it.

She stands up from her spot next to the bed, “That should be enough for now.”

He takes her hand before she steps away, “Eisha, hey. Come here,” he pulls her towards him, onto his lap. She doesn’t resist, but her gaze is guarded when she finally meets his.

“You don’t get to leave without a word and then come back injured and bleeding like it’s nothing.” She murmurs after a moment.

“You were still recovering, I knew you would try to follow me. I did what I thought was best.”

His good hand cups her cheek, “Clearly an oversight. Will you forgive me?”

She frowns, but presses her forehead against his, “Don’t do that again. I couldn’t bear not knowing where you were.”

He rubs his thumb along her cheek, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His kiss is tentative, soft against her lips. She reciprocates boldly, gradually losing herself in each hungry kiss thereafter. One hand fists its way into his hair, the other grips his back. She lets herself get lost for a moment until she finally pulls away to meet his eyes, “Stay. Please stay this time.”

She gingerly kisses the bandage on his cheek; takes his injured hand and kisses the palm of that too. If she had been with him, if he hadn’t run, she couldn’t prevented that pain. He sighs contentedly at her touch, letting her push him back onto the bed and she curls herself carefully around his uninjured side.

They stay like that late into the night; her body confining his, tail wrapped firmly around his leg, and there was no where else they’d rather be.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

How about B, I, L, U, V for our big boi Theo? :3c

Sure thing, bub!! Theo hcs coming right up! 💙💙💙💙

I really hope you like them!!!! :3c

Fluff ABCs Template here for requests

Body -- What is his favorite part of her body?

Do y’all have any idea how hard it is for me to answer this letter without making this horny hours.

ANYWAY losing my mind because my instinct was to respond with “her tears.” And then my brain was like. Minnie that’s not a part of the body…that’s not how any of this works…But let’s pretend for a moment like I am valid, shall we?

No cap, I die on this hill. And my answer comes in two parts. The first reason tears destroy him like nothing else is because of how much she feels for the van Gogh brothers tbh. I think Theodorus is very accustomed to their situation being seen through a lens of indifference, a kind of “oh well, what can be done ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” especially. While he may argue that he’s used to it, he’s full of shit. It hurts every time–even more so because people are being dismissive about the person he loves most in the world (other than her, of course.) He’ll be silent for the most part, usually pretty stoic if those things come up, but the way her eyes glisten with tears just undoes him. He feels stupid to be so affected, but it’s something else entirely when somebody actually gives a damn. Somehow it's harder to keep his composure under that gaze...

The second reason is more about teasing. He can’t resist getting a reaction out of her sometimes, or seeing her brought to frustrated tears. That lovely blush overtaking the tips of her ears and face, to say nothing if it happens during nsfw hours. They make her face shine, a visible manifestation of all the emotion he tries so hard to deny–to run from–that it just moves him like nothing else. Where he can't find words or proper expression, she always does. Leonardo said once that a single glance at that man and you can tell he’s in love with art. And he was right, save that that kind of passion can be found in him again in moments like this. Alone, driving her to madness and pleasure.

It’s the part of him that belongs to her, and her alone.

Injury -- How would he act if she got hurt?

Lmao call Vincent instead of Theo if you actually want anything productive to be done about it.

I’m KIDDING mostly but to be honest I think he has a hard time hiding his distress when MC is hurt. If it’s something small he’ll try to play it off as mild irritation, muttering about oblivious hondjes and how she needs to be more careful. If it’s something like a bruise or a bandaged cut–maybe she bumped into something–he’ll just clumsily try to pat the pain away. Don’t try to hide it from him either because he has eyes like a hawk and will expose you. He’ll be a dumdum but it’s really sweet because he’ll be so gentle over such a tiny wound (it always amuses Dazai so much) that all the men will have to kind of hold back laughter. They don’t mean to mock the guy but he takes it so seriously it’s a little bit funny. Vincent is so unironically proud of him for being sensitive though and it’s enough to make a girl cry TwT

If it’s a very serious injury I am sorry but you are getting nothing but probably a panic attack from him. He doesn’t really do well with even the slightest suggestion of losing a loved one, so if she breaks a bone or experiences excessive bleeding–whatever the risk may be to her life–he is fighting to stay in control of his body’s response. He’s trying so hard to be strong for her, but he can hardly breathe and his vision is a little fuzzy and did they say she would be unconscious for a few days? Needless to say he’s a bit of a mess. Ideally, Vincent would do his best to help the guy stabilize while he waits for things to improve, but it’s touch and go for a bit there.

When she wakes up, he needs as much gentleness as she does in many respects. The stress attacks and constant distress have just resulted in so much tension and exhaustion, he doesn’t even have the energy for any verbal swipes at anyone. (I was going to say “he’s just a big puppy” but the irony hit me so hard I literally couldn’t finish typing the sentence). He just really needs lots of kisses and hand holds and promises she isn’t going anywhere, completely unprompted. Not to be emo (WAKE ME UP) but he really needs to be brought back to life slowly, in a way. He’ll get better with some time and assurance that she’s going to make it, but oTL hondje please, he can only take so many heart attacks in one lifetime.

Love -- How does he show her he loves her?

He does not.

I’m KIDDING but I stand by the fact that he’s more of a show than tell type of guy. He has a really, really hard time verbalizing everything that he feels, so I think the person he loves would ideally have to keep that in mind. He’s lowkey but very classy, imo. Gets surprise flowers every once in a while, buys groceries after work all the time if she needs things at home, always reliable with taking care of their finances (and in general). I feel like the thing about Theodorus is that he’s the quiet romantic; he won’t smooth talk or endlessly go on about love, but when she needs him? He’s there. Come hell or high water. When things are hard, when things feel impossible, when life just feels like one slap in the face after another–he’s warm and there and steady, leading her by the hand.

He's very proactive about just about anything other than expressing his feelings directly, so write that down--

Upset --How does he act when she's upset?

LMFAO catch him crashing at Vincent’s place tonight, no thanks murderous hondje ain’t it for me, sorry sweaty.

All jokes aside, I think he’s the type of guy who just has no idea how to handle it. I mean she’s the one that’s usually pretty stable emotionally, so when she isn’t it tends to be a big deal–the cause of her foul mood has got to be sizable. While he may be stymied upfront, will most likely go after the root cause of her distress and kill it with a hammer when her back is turned. Nobody upsets his hondje (unless it’s him) and gets away with it. The man has two modes: kill and more kill, and so he uses the second one as necessary in these situations.

That being said, it doesn't mean he's completely bereft of sensitivity. If it's a more sorrowful kind of upset, he'll try to make time for a lot of cuddling and pampering. Get her things she likes to eat/drink, rub her back gently, put on a movie she likes (even if it's boring to him). He hopes that some care and a few little distractions will be enough to calm her soon. He loves his hondje best when she's smiling, after all ùwú

Vaunt -- What is he proud of? Does he like to show her off?

Oh my goddddddd. Bih. If this man suffers from a cardinal sin, it’s pride I swear. Even if he’s Mr. Bad Mood Stink Face he will literally never say a bad word about her. There are so many people convinced he’s deadass got some kind of disorder because he has scary face, but also looks so delighted at the same time it's terrifying. Gets all puffed up about what a hard worker she is, how talented, how he couldn’t have done any of this without her. Even when he’s roaring drunk, now he just rambles on and cries about how much he loves her and Vincent and it’s beyond hilarious. Would throw down for her, would die for her, would steal a clown’s balloon for her–you name it.

She can do absolutely no wrong, so write that down.

Has a love hate relationship with showing her off (in the more blatant way) though because. Homewrecking. Does she look lovely in that dress? Undoubtedly so. If he sees one more gross lustful/covetous gaze directed at her though, he’s just gonna leave with her in tow. (He would throw hands but she doesn't like that.) Y’all know the whole Lord of The Rings’ “My p r e c i o u s” thing? That’s his vibe LMFAO. Depending on his mood he will either be like "hell yeah that's my wife you jealous bih, I'm the luckiest guy ever ik now buzz off" or he will just get more and more lowkey steamed until they leave.

[dixbolik-lovers]

Then if we can repeat prompts and also request the mukami, may I ask for Yuma and Shinoa #13? With an apple in his mouth he'd look like a cute piggy, rather fitting considering his nickname for Yui 😈

Ooooooh, I like this~ :3c I can just see Tsukasa starting that nickname for him. 

13. “Hold this for me. No, no, open your mouth.”

. . . 

Being in the same room as Shinoa leaves Yuuma on edge. Sure, they’re just girls, all seven of them. But they’re monsters, and the survival instincts Yuuma learned during his time on the streets taught him early when to stay the fuck away from something dangerous. 

And Shinoa registers instantly as dangerous. 

He’d been cooking for his brothers (mostly trying to get Kou to eat something) when Shinoa’s silent movements brought her right behind him. 

“What are you doing?”

Yuuma about jumps out of his skin. The knife in his hand, previously slicing an apple, slips and nicks his finger. “Fuck!” he yelps as he steps away from her on reflex alone. Every instinct says to back the fuck up. 

“Oh, did I startle you? I’m sorry.” Shinoa’s ‘innocent’ smile makes it very clear that she’s not sorry at all. Yuuma can’t help but grimace a little. His finger stings where he cut it and his body is already slipping into that fight-or-flight mode where his heart is pounding much too hard. 

“I-It’s fine,” he says, despising the stutter. 

“It smells good,” Shinoa comments sweetly... but she’s not looking a the food. Instead, her gaze is glued on his bleeding finger. 

As she steps closer, Yuuma takes an equal step back. He knows there’s no running, but his body won’t listen. Years of having to fight to survive are urging him to run away while he still can. His muscles tense. Shinoa grabs one of the whole apples off of the counter as she passes it and continues to close in on him, the same sweet, disarming smile on her lips. 

When she gets into his space, Yuuma can only stare down at her helplessly. She fiddles with the apple in her hand and looks at him like a particularly fascinating insect... that she’s about to have pinned down. 

“Here, hold this for me,” Shinoa says, holding out the apple in one small, soft hand. Yuuma apprehensively reaches for it. There has to be a trap here. But Shinoa cuts in, “No, no, open your mouth.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Open it.”

Yuuma obeys. Shinoa places the apple between his teeth and tells him to bite down. And to hold it there. Again, Yuuma does as he’s told. He has no idea why she’s doing this, but with his mouth held wide open and his teeth sunk down into the sweet flesh, he can’t help but drool around the intrusion. Shinoa takes in his embarrassing face with rapt attention. 

“Aw, with that apple there, you look just like a little piggy,” she giggles. Yuuma grimaces (as much as he can) at the nickname. Tsukasa had started it and the rest had soon joined in on the mocking version of “fun”. 

Shinoa reaches over and snatches an apple slice off of the cutting board. She pops it into her mouth and chews slowly, eyes slipping closed. Yuuma watches her tensely. What is she going to do next? What kind of torture is going is she going to decide to inflict. 

“Mmm, how sweet... I know what would make it taste better, though.” She takes his large, calloused hand, finger still oozing blood, into hers oh-so-gently. “A bit of your blood. You’ll give it to me, won’t you?”

[tiredassmage]

5 and 14 :3c

Fanfic Writer Asks!

I know right off the top I'm gonna ramble, so this is all just gonna go under a read more cut so I'm not drowning people in my after-work-posted-next-morning... whatever's about to come out of my brain. xD

5. What makes your main ship so compatible? Or what makes them so incompatible? What do they see in each other?

So, I'm nothing if not incredibly indecisive and also incredibly attached to basically all of them, so let me answer this for three whole ships because they're all my mains and I love them all very much.

I'll start with Gaius x Astor because it's, admittedly, the one I've overthought how to "justify" using a starting point like this. I put off actually leaning into them being a pair at all because all I'd really known was there was a very notable distaste for him and gods, don't bring conflict into my little happy zone, please, it really was as simple as he showed up in the STB afterstory and I thought he was hot, that was IT, it really did start that way, let me have this.

But, anyway, the TLDR of why they get to me so much is because I'm very set on them having a level of intimate understanding of one another that a lot of others can't or won't for them because of their previous accomplishments, their titles, their history, their past. Through the course of the story, Astor feels the weight of all of these expectations and hopes he carries as a Warrior of Light weighing on him more and more and more to the point where, sometimes, it feels like it's just impossible to ever truly find peace for himself. He's not quite sure if he's really in touch with who he is or what he wants, when he stops to think about it, as being the hero doesn't exactly allow for a lot of time for it.

And Gaius is a man with two whole decades on him. Twenty plus years of more life experience. And an intimate, just as unsettling familiarity with the idea of trying to find a new way forward. Realizing your previous path isn't working, for one reason or another, yet possessed of the fortitude and resolve to carry on, anyway. To find a new way forward. Astor would be an absolute liar if he tried to say that wasn't appealing, that it isn't a part of the massive comfort being with Gaius has provided. And because of this mutual understanding foundation, they've been able to trust each other with a lot in a relatively short period of time. Astor is comfortable expressing his doubts to Gaius, how the praise and the commendations all feel almost sickening sometimes, how "you've done the impossible before" has started to become so exhaustively draining rather than a warm sentiment from a caring friend and coworker, and, in his own ways, Gaius has been able to do the same, though he's not exactly the same brutally bleeding heart Astor is. Where Astor might more easily be able to collapse unto words, finally putting sound to the myriad struggles that have plagued his mind for years now, Gaius is still a seasoned soldier and commander, and settled comfortably and almost without thought into this more protective role in the relationship - he's the unyielding rock, ready to catch his Warrior when he stumbles, reassure him that there is a way through this all. I think he's used to this sort of... take command of the situation kind of role, so Astor's comfort tends to be more of the being physically present, knowing what little tells and ticks the Garlean has that says more than words ever would. The way his eyes drop when there's more on his mind than he'll say. The way the muscles feather in his jaw when he's upset or angered by something, but holding back. The careful way he folds his hands together when considering something, or mulling over his next words. The subtle shifts in his eyes.

Really, they just have an understanding of one another, and they're two people that are struggling to find something new and solid to hold onto and plant their feet on while they feel out new, unstable territory, and they're doing it together, and that's what makes them a good support system for one another! And... I've already prattled on WAY longer than I should have, oh boy.

Somewhat related, kinda, then, is the reason why I fucking love Astor x Eden (@fatewalker-phoenix). They're our wholesomely good domestic couple that Are Just GOOD and they're just sO GOOD FOR EACH OTHER OKAY sobbing noises. Again, I'd really boil it down to them knowing each other well enough to know each other. They know what kind of support the other needs and when they need it. They also benefitted from starting off as friends and fellow adventurers, and the slow, steady progression from friends to lovers is definitely a part of their appeal to both of us involved. They're so good for each other, in fact, that Astor has clear desires for what kind of future he wants with her and for them. He knew he wanted to marry her, and he did!! And he wants to have a family with her one day!! And he believes that's possible! Because they're together! And they've got this! They've been through so much of everything together, so they have already seen each other in the highest highs and lowest lows. They get it, and they know it's okay! They know they fuck up sometimes, and most of the times... it's because they love one another. They so clearly take care of one another and it's just... It's the kind of good relationship I think everyone should have. Get you a fuckin' man that loves you as much as Astor loves Eden, okay.

It's a long running joke turned canon that, like, Astor knew he wanted to marry Eden going into Shadowbringers, but, y'know, the whole First thing happened, so he... didn't exactly have time to bring it up with her, and then the Lightwardens happen, and, basically, tldr, by the end of Shadowbringers, an exhausted by fighting multiple Lightwardens and containing all of that nasty aether Astor is toddling around telling people how he needs to find his WIFE and they're. They're not married yet. He hasn't fucking proposed to her yet. Hasn't even mentioned it to her. But she's wife. She's totally Wife. Have you seen how cool his wife is??? Yeah, she's fantastic. Incredible. So skilled.

Of course, he then actually gets to wife the girl, and he could not have possibly been happier than when she said yes. Except for maybe y'know... Just every time he gets to look over at her and realize... they did that. They're here. Them. This.

They did this. They're... them.

[ilikeyoshi]

prompt 9 time!!!!! i think i MIGHTVE posted a scene like this ages ago but i definitely like how this one came out. :3c zenos is the nastiest character and i genuinely just don't like him but he's weirdly satisfying to write about. disgusting grease man.

anyway here's a thing about the time l'aiha literally died! she got better though, thanks unrealized ascian super powers.

content warning for LOTS OF BLOOD AND DEATH SOWWY. stormblood spoilers, 520 words

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fri·a·ble

/ˈfrīəbəl/

adjective

1. easily crumbled.

"What a pity."

The Garlean prince's voice rung bored, a dissonant tone amidst roaring fire and dying men. Yet as he looked down upon L'aiha, thrown to the dirt by his own hand, it was certainly pungent, skull-splitting boredom that glowered behind sunken eyes and a curtain of oily, stringy hair.

"This is one of Eorzea's so-called Warriors of Light?" Zenos asked, though not L'aiha—as if she were but a beast unable to answer herself. No, he seemed more expectant of the very smoke in the air. "I had almost felt a tickle of excitement when she came barreling out of the darkness at me. Such anger in her eyes... I wonder, was it the conjurer?"

He gestured vaguely with his katana, where Y'shtola laid bloody and motionless. L'aiha ground out a miserably angry sound, pulling in her arms and legs in an effort to stand.

"Or perhaps the dragoon?" Zenos carried on, glancing next to the beaten form of Kamui. "That Resistance goon?" Meffrid, this time, dead and cooling.

"I... I..." L'aiha's whole body shook with the strain, pushing herself higher. Her elbows, then her knees, then her hands...

"It matters not. For one fleeting, blissful moment, I saw a creature worth spilling the blood of." Zenos sighed as if inconvenienced. "Yet the moment I raise my blade to face it, the pup crumbles. Yes, such a pity indee—"

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

He was cut off by her scream, and the magic-fueled lunge of the so-called pup he'd put down with nary a bead of sweat. L'aiha came at him with all the force and rage broiling in her core—reddened and stained by the blood of her friends around her.

For the first time, Zenos met her eye. And swiftly, inhumanly, his blade came between him and her. Her rapier met the katana with a sparking screech of metal, her body still suspended in the air as the magic of her lunge pushed, pushed, pushed against Zenos.

The blades shivered and whined against one another. L'aiha dared believe she could overpower him.

He smiled. "I tire of this."

With just a swipe of arm and blade, he tore through L'aiha's rapier. The weapon rocketed out of sight, slashed in two. L'aiha was thrown back by the force, soles skidding in the dirt. Her focus crystal remained, and so she brought it to bear, summoning forth every ounce of black aether she could spare.

She was fast, but he was unreal. Suddenly he was upon her again, and she could barely choke out a gasp before he drove his katana through her abdomen. The magic she'd gathered dispersed at once; blood bubbled up at her lips.

Wordless, Zenos wrenched the stained blade back out of her, releasing the wound to bleed heavily at her feet. Tears stung her eyes—scalding, angry—but all she could do was crumble.

Zenos frowned at her still body, and the light of life that drained from her face. He sheathed his sword.

"Perhaps one of your comrades will come at me next with that savage bloodlust, as you did."

[tenebriiis-archived]

Hallucinating ( what if the disturbance of magic from the Ruination has effects on a poor fae as well? :3c )

𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒴 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒’𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝑒 (𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒) 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈

{ ⟡ } — Fortitude had always been a quality she was proud of; for despite any hiding trepidation daring to surround her heart, it would not take her far from her duties & goals: & therefore, as her bright hues gaze upon the swirling & tempestuous ebony clouds at the horizon, the Enchantress' mind was focused into planning how to approach this impervious foe...

" Those Lands would never bloom again "

A sudden voice whispered behind her; making her turn around & face the nothingness of her office. Silent & lacking even the delicate glow of her butterflies. Where had they gone? Had they been afraid of the blazing nightmares coming forth, or have they felt the same oddity as--...

"Emilia, do you enjoy all the diamonds & crowns you wear~?... " The same voice, clearer this time seemed to speak to her ear once more, making her turn around once more to be met solely by the gales coming from the open window - The view of this Manor's office allows her to witness her favorite Rosarium, & she almost stumbles in astonishment: How-- all the Roses withered?

" --Was it worth, Blanc Papillon? -- Spilling our blood for your selfish desires?"

It came without any warning; for fear & trauma had always painted her memories, engraving merciless & cruel voices in her mind; & so endearing names. Now spoken with bitter derision & contained hatred. Why? Why his voice of all of them?

"Stop it now! - whoever you are, when I get my hands on you for such intromission-..."

& yet when she steps away from the window; all calm is broken by the image of attackers coming in her direction; the garbs they wear, the many faces... ---The shrill screeches & screams suddenly broke the pure silence of her office, stealing her breath away as her magic & instincts are reactive, attacking the sudden enemies...

...Vases break & grimoires fall out of their shelves, entirely ruined but she's incapable of seeing them; for what is at her feet freezes the dark blood of her veins: people of her previous Coven, with their blood, spilled across the entire -stone?- floor...

"You didn't care for any of us... "

"... --That's a Lie!" She hissed, trying to avoid the fact her digits were trembling, as the impervious & cruel voice had traversed her ears, leaving her breathless - for she had recognized it. It couldn't be; could it? they weren't here, were they? All the people she had loved so dearly; all those bodies she held in her frail arms after her own magic had consumed them in the obscurity of oblivion. "I cared for all of you!"

"You filthy, ungrateful liar! !" Another familiar voice screams, & thousands of insults are yelled at her, seeming to come from every single place around her. Is it the Guilt held for a thousand years finally coming after her to consume her whole as a ravenous monster would? As her Nightmares had tried over & over again as the stolen magic would ache her bones & burn in her blood. Her weathered soul was suddenly finding such hesitancy to distinguish reality from unhallowed fantasy.

No help would turn in how the voices turned in more of those familiar faces, coming after her; & even the delicate-decorated words were inexistent now; for all was fire & stone; IRON & CRUELTY. -- She felt terrified; relenting once she saw his face & the scars in her back seemed to bleed & hurt once again, & Emilia couldn't bring herself to relive the same experience once again, fleeing & relenting from there as far as possible.

The dream - Nightmare? - won't let her go nevertheless; escaping her enclosed office was nothing compared to how many more foes seemed to wait for her. All yelling her name; derisive laugher coating their existence as her magic was the sole thing to keep them silent; yet as the myth of hydras would tell: cutting one head only would bloom into more & more & more...

... The smell of blood was so intense; the sounds of broken furniture & screams of innocent souls...

Oh; how would she look to the naked eye?

Terribly frightened & defensive; with all confidence shattered & breathless as her mind was dancing in those terrifying instants. Were those even real? Was that sudden low & reverbed laugher even real as she ran away, dashing & reappearing as far as she could? The metallic sounds; the ethereal emerald flames & suddenly, coming into where the ballroom shall be; his figure would stand, mighty & frightening; unnerving as ever...

...It was now her voice hissing & yelling insults; words so ancient those could not be comprehended in any current tongue, at him: Her former Master...— — —

... ... ...

——— ...When the Grand General would appear through one of the many secret passages into this favored state; it would be oddly silent & the fragrances would be a saccharine blend of spring & death. Some people of the adored staff Emilia may had handpicked herself laid across the halls, with their bodies consumed by florae & dark sorcery, furniture had been ruined all across the place & finally coming into the ballroom, the view could be one of a kind, for it was her — quite so at least.

Yelling at empty spots, as kneeling into the floor & breathing with difficulty. Her nails had turned into claws, piercing into her arms fiercely, calling for the vision to leave as nothing she had done would had made it disappear. Her whole semblance trembling & paler than any other occasion, & it may be any word or sound Jericho may provoke that makes her raise her gaze at him.

"Go away! "

She would scream; with tears dark as ink running down her porcelain countenance & foreign blood staining her dress, skin & jaw. Had she ever shown herself so broken & terrified in front of him? Yet equally murderous as all the place is a profane & tenebrous symphony dedicated to the Wolf.

" — Let me alone! " This time her voice was stuttering & breaking despite the growl. Unable to recognize yet if Swain was, there again, another horrifying hallucination seeking to crumble the barriers of her mind for more hours to follow. How long has it been since this disturbance on the vibrations & energies had affected her? All her stance was after all one that could resemble a frightening & menacing wild creature, instead of the prideful & confident Matron.

" Please... not you... ... don't make me hurt you too— "

@vixtionary