#imagine if skulls was alternative rock

[stillavoidingbaddays]

Not my best work quality wise but I really like how these two work together :)

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Black Out Days

Gale x F! Tav

18+ chronic pain, drug use (weed), unintentional aphrodisiac (slutweed), groping, dry humping, breast worship (f!), fingering (f!), body caging, roughness, sub/dom, tenderness

Tav's pain rising to an unbearable level, she indulges in some found herbs to find relief. But her sanctuary is laced with some heated side effects...

Masterlist

-

"Please, please I've had enough." She moaned, head resting against cool river stones.

The pain had been spiking over the base of her skull all day in excruciating arcs. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open, force her face to be impassive.

Between every horrible thing that had been happening to them, her chronic pain was her own burden to bear. She hadn't told anyone besides Halsin, the sweet man helped her as much as he could with what was available.

Nothing made her feel worse than being a burden, so she trudged on in silence. Still the leader they needed. Gods only know how she ended up in that position in the first place.

Crouching at the riverside, she gripped at slick stones, whimpering. Finally letting go of her lovingly crafted mask of health. Wanting to slam her insolent head into the earth, but knew that would offer no relief.

Scrambling hands reached into her pack. At the goblin camp, she had pocketed a jar of promising looking herbs.

She brought the unsealed jar to her nose.

Musky, sweet, near sulphuric.

Yes, praise the Gods. Halfling weed.

Packing Halsins borrowed pipe, she leaned back on haunches, the new movement making her stomach spin threateningly. If she could stretch this supply out it could sustain her, at least until she could slip into to an apothecary.

Flicking her fingers, she brought a small flame to the bowl. Breathing in slowly.

As soon as the smoke met her lungs, a spreading warmth caressed up the back of her spine. Gentle fingers splaying up, cradling the base of her skull. The agony dulling into a veiled hissing. Still crouched in the grass, but far from where she sat.

Tears of relief fell down her face. Gods, she could breath again. Body pulled down deliciously yet so much lighter.

She sighed, leaning her head back. Taking a moment to get lost in the crisp night air, the sounds of moving water, insects calling for one another in the dark. Finally able to perceive more than her anguish.

Standing, she headed back towards the orange point of their campfire. Body awash in calm.

As she re-entered their little world a new sensation sidled up to her spreaded peace.

A soothing heat slipped down her front, pressing an insistent touch inside of her pelvis.

Oh.

Kneeling near the campfire, she examined the jar more thoroughly. Lifting the bottom, she found a small scuffed label written in scratchy hand.

Halfing Weed; Succubus Spittle 5%

Hissing a breath between her teeth, she closed her eyes in defeat. Fucking goblins.

Slick already pooling between her legs, she groaned in frustration. Of course her savior came with a demand.

Already, she knew this was not nearly enough to deter her from the alternative. But it didn't make it any less vexing.

Hips already rocking against nothing, she was infinitely thankful that the camp had turned in for the night. Even Astarion off hunting for a few hours, at least.

Especially him, she knew he had the skills she needed in this moment. But she didn't want to do that to him. From one veiled mask to another, she could tell he didn't want her that way.

Dizzy with heat, she rose to head to her tent. More than willing to deal with this desire alone. She had a sure hand and a vivid imagination, it would be an easy burden to bear.

Her infatuation with the wizard could be tonight's theater of the mind. Wide shoulders, soft brown eyes, hair that brushed against his clavicle. The veins in his forearms when he pushed up his sleeves, large hands twisting and pulling with blue magic.

She moaned, and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Reign yourself in, Tav. Gods.

As if summoning him from her salacious imagination, he emerged from his tent.

Drowsily greeting her, he wandered towards the water pump, kneeling next to it. Pulling the lever, he opened his mouth and started swallowing what of the divulge of water he could catch.

She stood stock still, watching this innocuous moment like a wolf watches a rabbit. The desire pooled in her pelvis boiling over.

Wiping his mouth, he rose back to feet. Seeming to fully see her then.

"Tav, you alright? You seem a little flushed, in a haunted type of way."

Gods forgive her for what she was about to do.

Taking his hand, she wordlessly pulled him into his tent.

"What-" Her body cut him off, pressing hard into his.

Running her hands up his taut back, she buried her face into his neck. The curve of his waist bending up into shoulders making her moan softly.

He was so warm, so solid against her pushing. Smelling of old books and leather. Her hand rising to tangle into his hair, tugging gently.

His body seemed to go weak then, gripping onto her for support.

"Tav, Gods..." He shivered.

His voice bringing her back to herself for a moment, she made to pull away. But his hands held her anchor to him.

"Please, don't stop." He pleaded.

Like a flint sparking, she dove back in. Hips fluid and insistent against his. Gathering his sleep shirt in her demanding hands. Pulling his head back to release his neck to her. Pulsing, biting, suckling into the soft flesh.

The herb removing all inhibition, she was a growling animal against him. Hands pinning and pulling, mouth hungry and salivating.

He fell to knees, and she followed him down. Straddling over his lap, licking an obscene line up his panting throat.

His length already a pillar pushing against her. Hands catching her writhing hips, pulling them flush to him.

Her head fell back then, the friction Gods sent. The slick already pooled in her underclothes welcoming him.

Something seemed to snap in him.

His hands wrenched her sleep shirt over her shoulders. Caging over her body, pushing her down on his bedroll.

"Yes," She moaned, falling open for him.

His mouth pushed into hers, gripping the back of her head.

The heat coming off of him was making her head spin. Intoxicating her body into liquid, crashing against him in waves. All smothered soft calls and silent demanding mouths.

Tangling into him like it was all she knew. All her body could know was getting as close as she could without being inside.

He hitched her leg up over his hip and ground down hard. Groaning in the back of his throat. Chest lit up purple, eyes glowing.

Concern arced through her stifling heat.

She cupped the sides of his face, bringing his eyes to hers.

The question in her eyes reached him. Hips still pistoning, he nodded.

"Please, I want to."

"Then take what you want." She gasped out, leading his head down.

He dove on her breast, licking her hard tip into his warm mouth.

"Fuck," She hissed, back arching.

She tried to reach for his sleep pants but his hand caught her wrist, forcing it above her head.

Pushing her underclothes down her hips, he rubbed hard against her clit. Blurring his hand.

Choking out a moan, she writhed helplessly. His body keeping her pinned and open. Splayed fully against him.

His mouth switched sides, taking up her soft untouched breast. The slurping suckle his tongue pulled against her peak making her mewl.

"Please, Gale. Inside." She pleaded, bucking her hips as much as his hold would allow.

He pushed two fingers inside her, moan muffled against her flesh.

"You're so wet," He groaned.

"You. All you." She moaned, sentences and their structures utterly lost.

But those words must have been more than enough. His fingers began slamming inside her, hooking towards her navel.

Her head fell back, gripping his head to her breast. The force of his fingers rocking her back and forth.

He was the tide and she a ship, unanchored and tossing through the waves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She whined as the pressure in her pelvis tilted up, threatening collapse.

He pulled her engorged peak between his teeth and she was thrown overboard.

Her legs arched up, clamping around his hips. Back bending, the force of the pleasure striking through her was near agony. Completely stealing her voice away, only gasping out choking silent cries. The herbs making her reach new heights, unwinding like a tapestry pulled. Clenching hard enough around his fingers to make him groan.

She collapsed under him, head lolling. Eyes glazed and rolling.

He pulled his fingers from her, licking them clean. Leaning down to nuzzle into her neck, his beard tickling her.

"You didn't-" She started weakly.

"With the state of the orb, I think it's in all of our best interests if I obstained."

"Besides," He hummed, kissing under her jaw. "Your pleasure has more than sustained me."

"Though I am curious, what brought on this most welcome intrusion?"

She hesitated. Not wanting another person, especially him, who has so much to hurdle over already, to worry about her.

"It's this... pain I have. I found some soothing herbs and they helped. A lot actually. But with other effects."

She pulled the small jar from her strewn trousers, handing it to him.

Immediately he flipped it over to examine the bottom, and she groaned in embarrassment.

"See, that's exactly what I didn't do."

Grabbing for her shirt she instead landed on his, pulling it over her head.

He smiled at her, eyes lit up with appreciative glint.

"Ah, of course it looks better on you."

"Cozy." She sighed, the velvet material warming her through. Sleeves swallowing her hands.

He reached inside her pocket and retrieved the pipe, sparking up his fingers and bringing it to his lips.

Seeing her shock, he smiled.

"You're not the only one fighting pain." He knocked his knuckles on the burned circle in his chest.

"Besides, you seemed to be in a peaceful state. I'd like to meet you there, if you'd allow me."

"Deal." She smiled, sliding on knees to sidle up close to him again. "But only if you let me stay the night."

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain." He smiled at her, scrunching up his nose in that playful way that made her heart gallop.

As soon as he breathed in, she held his chin in her fingers. Pulling his mouth to hers, breathing in the smoke as it left him.

Starting to relax, he pulled her down with him. Sighing contently as she snuggled into him.

"Oh, careful. I could get very used to this."

~

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part Twenty - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: kind of kidnapping if you squint ; mentions of death ; violence ; angst ; nsfw kudos to @scarlettspectra and @lilspookymeh for being music gurus and basically inspiring my entire writing playlist ❤️

“John, I can’t stay here - I have work, Michael.”

“It’s not up for debate.” 

She scowls at the way he talks to her like a petulant child, looks over at Winston for help and finds none.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she grits.

He fixes her with a dark, mean look, clears the distance between them in one stride, and grabs her before she can think about running. “I can make you stay, but I don’t want to have to do that.”

He’s really just springing this on her. Because the death of Maria puts a target on his back and therefore a smaller one on hers, John thinks the best solution is keeping her locked in the safe house that is Winston’s massive hotel. No consulting her, no talking about options. Just cut and dry. Do as I say. She’s offered alternative solutions, even - “I’ll walk around with Victor’s - sorry, Viggo’s - bodyguards at my side!” - because, of course, her having a private little secret service of her own is now unnegotiable, too. Imagine that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she retorts, voice quiet despite her lionhearted words. 

“I’m not speaking in metaphors,” John says, “you’re staying here. Either way. I need you safe.”

She tries to tear her arm from his grip, but it’s like attempting to wrestle with a gorilla. “So what? I’m just supposed to stay locked up in your gilded cage and forget I have a life?”

He loosens his hold a little bit, lets her puffy flesh spring back from bruising, and softens, hard rock eyes turning molten. Still, there is fire involved. “You can hate me if you want. You don’t have to look at me or speak to me, but I’m responsible for your safety, now. I need you unharmed.”

Ah, there it is again, that fucking pang in her heart that leaves her whole being bloodless and aching when he reminds her why she’s ultimately here - pity. 

Sure, he’s told her otherwise a thousand times now, and his actions are testament to how much he wants her, but that admittance is all she needs to start thinking she’s a charity case again. 

Tears swell her eyes. 

She can’t believe they’ve gone from bliss to this in such a short amount of time. And now what? She’s trapped here and humiliated? Pitied? 

“No, I didn’t-“ 

“Yeah you did,” she whispers, looking down at the shiny dark floor, watching little tear droplets accumulate on its surface.

He lets her pull away and gathers every ounce of his willpower to avoid following as she walks out of the room and into the bustling hotel. 

“That went well,” Winston comments, flipping through the manila envelope of witness statements.

His knuckles ache to punch something. Marcus isright here, downing scotch like it’s his last day on earth - maybe he thinks it is - one little punch wouldn’t hurt him. 

More willpower used up to not hit Marcus. He decides to leave the room instead. 

Marcus thinks he did it. Winston might as well think so, too. The eight witnesses that put him at the location say he did. 

The only person that knows he didn’t do it - because he was instead with her when he supposedly took a round trip flight to El Paso and fixed a bullet into Maria’s skull - wants nothing to do with him when the only thing he wants is to curl up beside her and lament. 

He needs an outlet. 

———————————

“You need to call the police,” Michael tells her. His voice fades away for a minute while she hears rummaging in the background. 

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble Michael. It’s not like I’m being tortured or something.” 

“And?” 

“It wouldn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know, they could probably come get you out of there?” 

“I don’t think cops come here, Michael. I don’t think they’re allowed to be here.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, probably. She’s glad she called him. His usual antics calm her. “They’re not allowed to tear gas peaceful protesters either, but….. ”

“No, I think they kill them here.” 

“Sneak out,” Michael concludes. 

“That’s my next bid.” 

“Damn, your pussy must be god tier if this man is kidnapping you, though.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What?! I’m just saying!” She hears the no good grin and it puts a smile on her face. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna pay rent, Michael. I told work, but they’re probably going to fire me - if they even believe me - and then I won’t have income to pay my share-“

“ Are you serious?” Michael sighs. “You’ve just been kidnapped and you’re worried about me ? Babe, stop.”

“We made a deal Michael, and all I’ve done is fuck it up.” 

“Worry about getting out of there, and we’ll sort it out once you’re free of crazy boyfriend.”

“He’s not crazy,” she tries, “he’s just… worried.” 

“Uh-huh.” Michael takes another pause.  “Anyway, what is this place called?”

“You are not coming here, Michael. You’ll get hurt.” 

“Why? I’m not a cop.”

“Michael.”

“Right, right. You’re living the mystery novel life. Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous?” 

“No, I guess not. He just kind of makes it seem like he has to keep me here. I feel like a burden.”

“ You ? Feeling like a burden ?” The sharp sarcasm in his voice cuts. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Well, no, but I’m scared.” 

Michael sighs. “Jesus, hun, I’m not sure what to tell you here. Sounds like he’s a little bit dysfunctional. Maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship. I mean, he has to know that holding you against your will isn’t okay.” 

She sighs back. It’s like their own little angsty language. “It’s not like I’m normal.” 

“Ah, so maybe the darkness in you calls to the darkness in him?” Michael sounds like he’s reciting breathy Shakespeare.

She laughs. 

——————-

The Continental is massive, shimmering, crystal chandeliers and intricate, antique carpets. 

Spotless, open, airy, a few delicate plants dotted about. Every room or hallway or lobby she enters feels too big - like she’s a kid again, tiny in proportion to everything else. Even the elevators gold and glimmer and loom.

Private clubs with massive polished oak doors to guard against entry, workers in perfectly tailored suits everywhere; one around each corner, in the bars and shops, diligent and watching. 

If she had any hope before of getting out of here, now she definitely doesn’t. Seems like every exit has an individual posted on it who would put Benny’s hulking mass to shame. 

She sees a woman who is taller than John, in a sleeveless tuxedo dress, muscles rippling over her shoulders and neck. She doesn’t think she has ever envied or admired someone so much. Despite the bodybuilder physique, this towering lady moves like flowing water. She just stares at her for a few minutes, entranced by the otherworldly beauty. How can he even think of liking her when women like this live and breathe? 

It’s easy to forget the outside world exists, here. But, she stills feels trapped - heralded off to some magical realm where everyone has a gun tucked under their shirt instead of a magic wand. 

She gets lost in the place, always expecting John to be waiting for her around corners or down a hallway. He’s not, though, instead leaving her alone like he said he would. That pisses her off and disappoints her a little bit; she wants him to follow her, fight for her, extinguish her flame of independence, which must mean there’s seriously something wrong here. He can’t just lock her up and then leave. 

Ignoring the empty John shaped space in her gut, she walks until she finds the library. Wall to wall shelves, rolling ladders carved in intricate, braided designs, a few cozy reading nooks. Librarian fantasy says hello. 

She scowls at the thought, goes to the fairytale section, lying to herself about thinking of John in this instance, too.

As chance would have it, someone she recognizes is here. The older woman from the bookstore in the mall, still sans reading glasses, squinting at the cover of a worn yellow hardback. 

“Do you need some help with that?” 

“Oh, my dear, nice to see you again.” There is an air of poise about this woman even in her shortcomings. She hands the book delicately to her rescuer, smiling softly. “Would you mind?” 

“Oh,” she thumbs the cover, feels the carved gold letters on the front. “This is Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Lewis Carroll?” 

“Yeah, I can tell you about this without even reading it.” She grins, cheeks puffing, pleased to have someone familiar here. 

The woman takes the book from her hands and sticks it back. “As interesting as Alice in Wonderland is, I’d much rather talk to you. You don’t belong here, do you? In a place like this?” 

She looks down at her feet. “Ah, no.” Really, she could pose the same question, but she finds herself unsurprised that nice stranger books in this hotel. Maybe it was the men in suits at her side. Maybe it’s because she’s used to this by now - fitting in nicely, snug as a bug in a rug. Meant for the underground. 

“So why are you here, dear?” 

They end up sitting in one of the lounges. She offers to go grab them both tea, paying for it and tipping despite hospitality, and then settles in to talk. This woman reminds of her of Winston, or like one of the kind, witty grandmothers from sparse foster homes. No matter how mean the rest of the family was, usually the elders were double kind to make up for it. 

She ends up telling her small things. Not too much, but more than she can Michael. This woman is already involved in the ancient crime world, so she feels like she can divulge more info. Plus, she’s confident that anyone here could just type her name into some imaginary database and bring up every detail about her, anyway. 

“Ah, John Wick, Boogeyman.” 

“People keep calling him that. I don’t think he’s that scary.” 

The woman laughs. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard. Never met.”

“Well, he’s actually nice,” she supplies, sipping her hibiscus tea. “Stubborn, but nice.”

“And he’s keeping you here to protect you, so he can’t be all bad.” 

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.” 

The woman laughs. “Oh, there is a fire in you. Misplaced, but a fire all the same.” 

“Misplaced?”

“You desire hardness, outer armor, to be strong, but you don’t realize that your true power comes from your softness.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” 

“I’ve no doubt.” Her contemplative eyes assess the cementing posture. 

“Sorry, I’m just. I’m irritated that I have to stay here.” She drops her shoulders, relaxes her jaw. 

“You’ve got a free spirit. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Was it you?” She smiles again. 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, this old bird had her wings clipped long ago.” 

“Your wings are massive and amazing, still.” 

The elder beams at her. “You know, my children think I’m out of my mind.”

“Huh? But you’re not.”

She shrugs. “They want my empire. I suppose I am getting older - should probably relinquish it sooner rather than later.” 

Just like with John, she feels that deep dive questions would be too forthcoming and intrusive here. “So, they’re making up stuff to get it? Sounds like your kids aren’t that great.” 

“Ah, but isn’t that my fault if they are not great, then?” She sighs and leans back into cushions that swallow her small frame. 

This is a hard question. She’s spent a lifetime blaming foster parents for fucking her up so much. 

“See? You can’t argue with that.” Her crinkled smile widens. 

“Mistakes are mistakes. The past doesn’t define the future. You do seem lovely now, regardless of what happened when they were kids.” 

“What do you do for work, my darling?”

“I’m a nurse.” 

——————————-

After talking for a long time with Ella, her mystery bookstore friend, she goes to knock on Winston’s study door, surprised she can even find it again. It takes a while, and she gets completely lost in the process. 

“Won’t find him in there. I think he’s downstairs. Do you need something?” She turns to find a tall, tattooed, beautiful woman folding linens onto a silver cart. 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Sorry.”

“You’re John’s girl?” She holds out a hand, gives a soft smile. “I’m a good friend of his.”

Why in the hell can’t she repress the jealousy raging inside her as she takes this absolutely gorgeous woman’s hand in her own? “Uh, yeah.” She resists asking how everyone seems to know what she looks like and who she belongs to. Maybe it’s just that distinguishable? John Wick with a fat girlfriend. 

Ouch . Back to hurting her own feelings again. 

“Oh, it’s really nice to meet you. A friend of John’s is a friend of mine. I’m a bell hop, trying to work my way up into bartender. They make more money.” She fixes her pile of cloth and then looks up as if forgetting something. “I’m Addie.” 

She’s at a loss for words, feels incredibly sheepish around this girl for no reason - exposed and open, ready for final judgement. Harrowing.

She introduces herself back despite trepidation and tries to give a warmer smile than she’s capable of right now. “Oh, that’s cool. You like bartending?” 

Addie laughs at some inside joke. “Oh, God no. Not in this city. But in the hotel, it’s great. Not many other bar owners will let you punch their customers for getting too handsy.”

She laughs. “Serves them right.” 

“I don’t mean to pry,” Addie smooths over a crisp sheet. “But how did you meet John?” 

Oh, the million dollar embarrassing question. “The prison. I was his nurse.” 

“Oh, that’s cute as hell.” Addie’s melodic giggle helps lower her raised haunches. “He hasn’t gone steady in a minute. I’m glad he’s happy. I’ve known him since we were kids, I mean, and he hasn’t been this sunshiny in a long time.”

Ah, another one of John Wick’s long time friends. “He’s a pretty good guy.” 

Addie nods. “Ah, we’re not passing the bechdel test.”

She chuckles. “You’re right.” 

“We will next time, promise. I gotta get back to work.” Addie gives her a wink and then she’s off. She calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Winston you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, but you don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Addie grins back. “He’s not busy.” 

—————————

She gets lost a few more times, maybe just maybe hoping for a tall, dark hero to come swoop her up and apologize. She’s more disappointed than she should be when that doesn’t happen. 

But, she does run into Charon again when she finds the front entrance. 

He gives her a small smile. “I trust you are finding the provisions here adequate, Miss?” 

She leans on his counter, emboldened by the lack of patrons in the lobby. “Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.” 

“I was in the library, and I saw the book with you in it. Behind the big glass display case, you know? You were in an orchestra in the pictures. Do you play… cello, right?”

“That’s correct. Well, was correct. I haven’t played in several years. Do you play?” 

“Ah, no.” She shrugs. “I just saw you in there and you looked amazing. Like really in your element.”

“Do I look.. out of my element now?” His head tilts, smile broadening.

“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just meant - you really looked like you loved it.”

“I did. It was exhilarating.” 

“Why don’t you do it anymore?” 

“I suppose I just got busy with other duties. I enjoy working at the hotel. The light of the stage was wonderful for a while, but I realized I was meant for a quieter fate. One with less excitement.”

“This is less excitement?” She gestures around. 

“Continental ground is sacred. We rarely have to take action against our guests for violence.” He pauses. “I know your experience has indicated otherwise.” 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” His pleasant smile still lingers as testament to that. “It’s alright to be curious. Ask me anything you want.”

She does. She asks who can stay here, who is not allowed to stay here, how long it’s been around, who built it. She asks him about the cello, if his hands got scarred, if he would play again at some point so she could come to his concert. 

Charon is infinitely interesting, sports the same dark humor that John does, and she chats with him until he gets customers. 

—————————

John stays gone. All day, all night. The more time goes by, the more anxious she gets. She should be angry, seething, but instead she just wants him to be okay, to come back to her. She’s grown so miserably attached to this elusive man, and the insanity that goes with that attachment is eating at her like swarms of locusts on fresh fields of grain.

—————————

He’s all bruised knuckles and blood flecked, sinew and tendon and vein. The smell of diesel and sweet liquor and heavy iron. She can’t help but peak at him from under the comforter while he undresses. 

“Good morning.” 

Of course he knows. He’s got sonic radar. She flushes, and doesn’t answer him. 

“I’d ask if you want to join me in the shower, but that would make me a bigger asshole.” 

“I don’t remember even saying you could stay in the same room as me anymore,” she grumbles, shifting under the blanket so a few of her toes peak from the end.

He resists tickling her. 

“You’re right. Let me take this shower, and I’ll book another one.”

“Are you rich?” She asks. 

“I have money.”

“Like, rich money?” 

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks far too good standing nude and bruised on the cold hardwood. 

“Does it matter?”

“I feel like you’re trying to buy me off.” 

He snorts, rubs a flexing hand down his abdomen and yawns. God, he’s fucking delectable. “Would it work?”

“Fuck you, John.” She tries to make her words hurt, but they’re half assed and weak.

He’s got a smile that makes her seethe and clench at once. Infuriating bastard. 

“Want me to fix that attitude with my tongue?” He offers, watches her toes curl up as she turns the other way and becomes a smaller mound under the covers. 

“I want you to go away.” 

He gives her credit for the control in her thickened voice. Saliva, always giving her away. 

“You got it.”

When the bathroom door shuts, she flings the blanket off and goes to get breakfast. For herself. 

Winston catches her in the dining room. “Do the clothes I sent up fit?” He asks. 

“Yeah, they do. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks distraught, out of element.

He hums and threads her arm with his, walking with her to the serving bar. “I’m sure he’ll take you to get your clothes and toiletries soon,” Winston promises. “I offered to have Charon escort you, but Johnathan seems to have faith in your ability to weasel away.” 

She huffs a laugh. “I’m not promising I wouldn’t try to escape.” 

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, I get it, he’s a bully.” 

“Ah, can’t say it’s entirely his fault. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” Winston sits with her as she orders cheesy eggs and toast and orange juice. 

“If he would have just explained it better, maybe I would have compromised.”

“Unless you know how to kill someone, I’m afraid there’s little compromise for you here.” Winston pauses, rubbing at the slick surface of the bar top. 

“I’m still mad at him.” She’s not sure why she feels so comfortable talking to Winston about her relationship problems, but the man is more than happy to chat and advise. 

“I can understand that. What can I do to make you feel better?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, you’ve already done so much. I’m sorry for being like this.” 

He smiles warmly, amusement cresting the crinkles of his face. 

Normally, she’s wary of being touched, but there is nothing except reassurance in Winston’s hand rested over hers. “My dear, you are human. Flesh and bone. Your feelings and emotions are your power, no matter how overwhelming they may become. Never forget that.” 

She feels a little like she has stepped from the mortal realm into fae territory. Everything shines and dazzles, wise figures give her hopeful advice, and there is a beautiful, inhuman man terrorizing her with a small grin from across the room.

She quickly looks away from John, and Winston of course notices the pick up in nerves. 

“Do you want me to kick him out?” He asks her. 

She giggles. “Will he leave?” 

“It’s worth a try.” 

Avoiding John Wick is kind of like being a moth who hates light. 

When he looks at her, she’s looking at him. And vice versa. She tries to eat, but feels too nervous to finish with coal eyes burning the endless fire in her belly, asks for a to go box and gulps the rest of her orange juice down. 

He watches her while she walks out, sipping his black coffee, unabashedly staring directly at her beautiful bottom. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Winston tells him, taking the seat across the table. “And I believe you.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” John asks. 

Winston ignores his sour mood. “Someone is trying to frame you, Johnathan. Someone wants you dead. With eight witnesses, the high table will come for you. Especially concerning the public knowledge that Maria put a bounty on your head. This is a war that ends one way.” 

“I know.” 

“So, do something.”

————————-

“I’m sorry.” 

She turns around to find him leaning into the door jam.

“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” He motions between them. “But that’s no excuse to be an asshole.”

“I’m not good at it either, in case you didn’t notice,” she replies dryly. 

“If you get hurt, I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he admits. 

“But I can’t live like a clipped bird, John. And you’re just so forceful about it. I can’t get a word in when your mind is set. Michael has been nothing but good to me, and now I’m bailing on him. I like my job. It makes me feel like I have a purpose.”

“It’s not forever, just until I can figure this out.”

“Is it really that dangerous? If it is why did we start this in the first place?” That kind of sounds like she regrets the relationship, so she doubles back. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I would gladly meet you again and again, even if it meant more hardship, John, but I can’t just leave my old life.” 

He gives a deep, baritone sigh, running hands through his damp hair. 

She gets a little waft of the delicious shampoo he used, and itches to go to him. 

“Just give me a day. One day. I’m going to fix this, and I need you to trust me.”

She eyes him, makes him feel vulnerable - raw - with the power of her stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It sounds more like a plead than a demand, so she provides.

“Are you just doing this because you feel like you have to? Am I inconveniencing your life even more?” 

He looks at her for a very long time.

Then, pads over and tips her chin up with his fingers. “I live in a dangerous world. I’m scared to lose you in its chaos.” 

“But is it out of obligation or-“

“It’s because I need you.”

“You need me?”

He presses his forehead against her own. “Yes.” There is frustration in his voice.

She cradles the back of his head, inhaling spice and salt, quiet and still. Some kind of storm will rage and destroy her later, but for now she can keep it at bay while he is folding her up and pressing her into the bed. 

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she says, trying not to lose her resolve in the delicious wet of his mouth. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips trailing the sensitive bridge of her ear. 

She doesn’t. Lets him gather her hair back and lick behind her lobe, turn her into a quivering little mess of a human clinging to his sweatshirt. 

He can’t get enough of her in his mouth at once, uses his hands to make up for the loss, cups her tummy and groans at how soft she is. God, he could just sink right into her and never come out. 

“This is all I wanna do,” he says. “Every time I look at you, you just get more tempting. That cute little smile, pretty skin, soft little body. Who sent you here to destroy me?” 

“Th-the FBI.” She’s smiling that sunshine smile, animosity an afterthought, pulling at her new fixation which happens to be his velvet hair, rubbing her fingers into his scalp. 

His cock gives a little jump against her thigh, and he vibrates for her again. Ah, of course it’s the hair. 

“You like it when I play with your hair?” She asks, voice hitched high and tight as he sucks down her neck. 

“Yeah,” he admits. 

“I uh, yeah, l-like your hair, Johnny.” She sloppily threads a strand around her fingers, tugging just a little. 

And to think he was contemplating getting another buzz cut because of this mess always being in his face. Not now. Now he would never cut it again. Now it was his pride and fucking joy. 

He snakes his hands under her shirt, rubs at her bare tummy, pulls and feels and groans about how fucking pillowy she is - about how a bullet would probably just bounce right off of her. 

“Fuck, I love this,” he says, making her giggle and grab his fingers. 

“Tickles,” she tells him.

Immune to bullets, but not to soft fingers digging into her plump. He can’t help the hells grin while he indulges himself and makes her a giggly, frantic mess. “Where you going? Huh?” Chasing her up the bed, pressing her against the pillows, making her scream and curse his name. 

Only a little bit of fun, and then he’s kissing her ribs, pulling her bra up to let these beautiful tits flop in his face so he can nuzzle between them. Giggles into moans, the chant of her hips matching the rhythm of mewling sounds. 

“You’re so fuckin sweet.” 

Her hands make their way back to his hair.

Big cock pressing and grinding into her giving thigh, fingers running circles around her areolas to tease, mouth nipping at the tips of her breasts. 

He gets her begging, whining, needs her to ask him for it. 

“Pretty girl wants to cum on my tongue again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Little shimmering tears in her lashes, lips all puffy and big just like her nipples. 

“Tell me. Tell me, babydoll.” 

Flooding with hot embarrassment, biting her lip, trying not to crumble and break, she does her best for him, tries her hardest to make him happy. “John, make me cum. Please.”

It’s not good enough. “Ah, ah,” he scolds. “Make you cum on what?” 

“Y-your tongue. Want your tongue. Please, fuck.” 

“There you go.” And how could he ever fucking say no? 

How could he not spend a decade between these comfy thighs eating her sweet puffy cunt nice and slow. 

Fucking her on his fingers, tickling her little clit with his tongue and making her her hips spark up off the bed, giving her rug burn on top of rug burn while she pulls his hair and curses his wicked mouth. Sometimes it hurts, especially like now when she’s too drunk on his mouth to be careful or sweet - and he fucking loves it. 

He may never be able to convince her that he’s sorry with words, but he can still use his mouth to accomplish the same goal.

By the sounds of it, she, at least for now, forgives him.

[ditzyredrobin]

Before and After

Chapter 1

For Whumptober 2024 Day 27, Before and After, Alternate universe

-

So, I guess I forgot to post this one here? Originally, this was just supposed to be one shot—Dick and Lazarus!Tim bonding but 4,613, chapter 2 is on the way. 😂

-

In a blink, the knife is out of his hand soaring across the living room, towards the intruder. All the while without dislodging the bottle from the fussy pup in his arms. After hours of crying��of soothing, and changing, and singing, and bouncing, and burping she had refused to go down until now and Tim was Exhausted™️.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the black and blue costumed vigilante was another assassin sent by the League—Nightwing moved with easy grace, easing his way through the window, movement flowing like water and air. But not even the best of the League had managed to crack his security without electrocuting the shit out of themselves.

The room was illuminated by Friends reruns and the Gotham skyline peaking in through the crack in the curtains.

Nightwing ducked and weaved, only narrowly missing a knife through the delt. He rolled back to his feet without a hitch, shocking blue eyes wide and wild with the whiteouts down. The knife stuck in the wall with a satisfying thunk.

Without missing a beat Tim uttered lowly, “Breaking and entering is punishable offense. At the very least it’s C felony, at least 10 years in prison, and upwards of a $250,000 fine.” Not that he could actually get a judge in Gotham to prosecute without a hefty bribe.

Nightwing held up his empty palms in surrender keeping his feet firmly planted. “I’m sorry, we haven’t heard from you and I wanted to check on you.”

Tim discretely adjusted the cashmere blanket across his lap over the pup with a silent prayer she didn’t wake up. “Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. If I needed help, I would have asked.” He snarks, adding. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t need a keeper.

But that was the thing about bats—they had a tendency to be too nosey for their own good, to pick, and poke, and prod until you were on the verge of wanting to pull your hair out and scream.

Boundaries? I hardly know her.

If Nightwing noticed, he didn’t say anything, opting to remove his domino and tucking it away, his brows were furrowed.

Tim knew how he looked—gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes, cheekbones sharper than they should be.

Welcome to being a single parent.

“I know you didn’t ask but it’s what family does. I want to help.” Dick sounded painfully desperate earning an eye roll. “No matter what you will always be my little brother.”

Tim scoffed, “If I needed help I would have asked.” What part of he’s fine was not getting through that thick skull of his? Maybe it’s just all the years of vigilante-related concussions. “Maybe in another life we were family but I’m not your brother, Dick,” not anymore , “you don’t even know me.”

Dick breathed a heavy sigh, moving around the overstuffed couch to sit. It took everything in Tim not to bare his teeth and growl. “Of course I know you, Tim. You will always be my little brother.”

“But I’m not!” Tim finally snapped, startling Amalia awake. Her little lip wobbled, her nose scrunched, and Tim went into oh shit mode. Her wails made his inside twist and churn with the need to fix it , as she shook her tiny fists in anger.

He set the empty bottle down and adjusted her so she was upright in his arms to burp her. “Shh, ya Rohee,” he crooned, patting her back.

My soul.

She was his everything—his sun, his moon, to the moon and to Saturn. The only good thing that came of his time with Ra’s after the Council of Spiders and the Pit.

He could feel Dick watching him but didn’t look up, opting to instead rock his infant. She was small, even for a babe of her age, he still had a hard time imagining her anything other than fragile.

He nuzzled her, her patch of almost black, whispy hair tickled his nose, purring softly. It was a little uneven with disuse but it soothed her enough to bring her wails down to whimpers. She smelled milky and soft and like his . He did his best to ignore the hint of spicy incense underlying in her scent from her other father.

She was his and no one else’s. It would change in a few months and maybe he would finally stop seeing him in the shadows.

There was no way she was going down now but he’d lost all hope of that when Dick disengaged his security and decided to sneak in (an issue he would be working on a patch for later).

His eyes felt hot but he ignored it. He didn’t need a nap anyways, right? He’d worked more on less after all. This should be cake , right?

Eventually, as the pup calmed down, Tim dared to glance up at his unwanted visitor. There was a complicated expression that Tim couldn’t quite discern despite all of his training. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I don’t even know who I am.”

For a long moment, Dick sat with that, a complex flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling on something soft. A fondness, watching the small pup in his arms. “You have a baby?” Talk about understatement of the century.

Tim rolled his eyes, continuing to pat the pups baby. “Yes, last time I checked I did, in fact, have a baby. I have the stretch marks to prove it. You want to see?”

Dick shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. I just…How old is she? What’s her name?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees.

Tim had to think for a long moment, back tracking the dates. The escape had been four days following her birth, still sore and as unsteady on his legs like a newborn fawn. There hadn’t been a choice—it was escape or lose Amalia. She had been born weak, words like failure to thrive had been tossed around. Ra’s Al Guhl was gifted with another disappointing heir.

“Well, Timothy, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we? Surely you won’t disappoint your Alpha a second time.” The or else was implied.

He had still been on his back, bleeding from the long birth. His milk supply hadn’t come in and the tiny pup wailed across the room with the wet nurse.

“Tim?” Dick sounded concerned, snapping him back into the present. His grip on Amalia tightened just a hair, her warm weight against his shoulder grounding.

“Amalia,” he said remembering the question. “Her name is Amalia and she’s-“ If he had been in Gotham for nearly a month, days before being found out and the trek from the Cradle to Gotham had taken around two weeks… “Her birthday is July 19th.” He said instead.

Fresh out of the Pit, time was hazy, seasons and dates made little impact on his life and Gotham’s perpetually gray skies.

Dick had a worried look on his face. “What about her other the father?”

“Dead.” Tim said succinctly.

That he made sure of.

Dick made a soft noise of acknowledgement, continuing to watch the baby with a fondness in his eyes. He didn’t push the matter. “She’s beautiful. You did so well.” He croons softly, “I’m sure it was hard for you.” He didn’t know the half of it.

“It was hard,” Tim admitted softly, basking in the Alpha’s praise. Finally, Amalia burped. “I had a few people that helped—Talia and an assassin I saved after-“ before he died, after the Pit, and before Amalia. “After. They made it easier but Talia wasn’t around often. I don’t think she was overly fond of what he was doing.”

“What about the assassin?”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes felt hot. “I don’t feel her bond anymore.” There was a bone deep ache without her. Whether she had cut it herself to save him, or really hadn’t made it out after Ra’s death, was all up in the air. “I’ve looked for her but-“

“But she’s part of the League.” Dick filled in and Tim nodded. He was quiet for a long moment before promising, “We’ll find her.”

Tim looked up from the pup quickly, “What?”

“We’ll find her.” Dick repeated with all of the seriousness in the world. “For you. I promise.”

Tim held his eye for a long moment, gauging the whether or not believe his words but Dick’s resolve never faltered. He felt his pulse pick up and a bright blip of emotion he didn’t want to think about. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What about Batman? He doubt he’ll be a fan of having a member of the League in Gotham.”

“I’ll handle Bruce.” Dick promised. “Just focus on you and your pup. We will find her.”

Tim bit his lip nodding once. He didn’t trust it but maybe… maybe just this once he would try.

[rimouskis]

omg now all i want to know is everything about your music taste. what do u like. how do u curate playlists or do u listen only straight thru albums? if you had to pick your five favorite genres and one song from each genre, what songs and genres would u pick? what genre do you feel like u listen to the least? the most ? what's the three most fascinating albums you've ever listened to. i need to know 🫧🎶

I sincerely believe the question is more “what DON’T I like”!

Alright this is a fun way to spend my Friday night in after walking 8 miles today and then doing dinner with friends ahahah so 1. Thank you for this and 2. Let’s go through this point by point:

1. What do I like? Man… I like a lot of music. I’ve gone through phases in my life: I was raised on my dad’s love of 80s/90s rock (think INXS, U2, Melissa Etheridge, Peter Gabriel), I discovered KISS FM in middle school and was a fiend for Top 50 pop then (the pussycat dolls were my everything back then lol isn’t it hilarious that I didn’t figure out I was gay until my 20s. also timbaland was consistently on my favorite songs.)

then in seventh grade I did a heel turn and got really into metal after my older cousin lent me his iPod at thanksgiving (I really liked Disturbed’s album Ten Thousand Fists)... then within the same year I did an even MORE hilarious, second heel turn and discovered K-pop, which I lived & breathed for like two years (my favorite band was SHINee; I still sometimes pop into the K-pop world to sample what’s coming out these days, though I don’t know the new generation of bands well).

THEN in high school the indie alt pop phenomenon hit and I was all in on the bands of the time… bastille, alt j, the 1975 (before they really blew up, #hipster), glass animals, lorde, walk the moon, chvrches, x ambassadors, the naked and the famous, halsey, grouplove, milky chance… like, if it was on tumblr, I was listening to it, hahaha.

Then in college I got really into alternative music, like chelsea wolfe and susanne sundfør and son lux and ms mr.

In adulthood I find that all this musical influence has meant that I like all kinds of music. I like trashy pop country. I like heavy rock. I like top 50 pop. I like rap. I like hyperpop. I like 80s synth pop. I like indie folk. I like it all, man. I have been in a pretty heavy rock era for the last, like… four, five years, though, so I think I probably primarily register as a rock listener, and if we were to get even more granular, I really love guitar-forward rock.

2. I’m a HUGE user of playlists. Spotify is the only streaming service I pay for, and I’ll pay for it for many many years, I imagine, haha.

I have over 100 playlists on there and really enjoy curating them as a little art form for myself. I rarely listen to albums, which I kind of think is too bad, because I DO think the album ~as a cohesive piece of art~ is kind of becoming a lost art in the age of streaming, and I’m not helping the cause at all.

But, on the flip side, playlist curation is a really enjoyable form of curatorial art, imo, and I deeply love and appreciate it. I love making playlists for anything and everything. One of my favorite playlist I’ve ever made is actually a reylo playlist, lol. I also made a killer Batman playlist after seeing rpattz’s batman, and I have some good old check please playlists as well. Fun fun stuff.

3. This is HARD but okay, I can do this…

Alt/indie rock: “Change For You” by Friday Pilots Club

Pop punk: “Why Do I?” By Set It Off

Electronic: “Fake” by Mystery Skulls (BUT A VERY VERY VERY CLOSE SECOND IS “DANCEFLOOR” by NOISY and Charlotte Plank)

Folk: “Leaf Off/The Cave” by José González

Rock: “Thrown Away” by VAST

Since three of those are rock/rockish offshoots (I am who I am, sorry), I’ll give you a few more divergent others:

rap would be “Boss Bitch” by Doja Cat OR “Von den fernen Bergen” by Ali As

house would be “Derezzed” by Daft Punk

disco would be “You Win Again” by The Bee Gees [my dad loves disco lol so… so do I]

country would be any and all Orville Peck [though normally my country tastes veer WAY WAY WAY trashy country pop lol sorry but it’s catchy]

and my pop pick is obviously Most Perfect Pop Song Of All Time, “Lonely Dancers” by Conan Gray

4. The genre I listen the least to is R&B, probably. I wasn’t raised listening to it and I’ve never really gained a taste for it, even though other genres I wasn’t raised listening to (country and rap, for example) DID grow on me. That being said, I really enjoy THEY., who is technically categorized as R&B.

Like I said earlier, I was really raised on rock music and I think that foundationally I am just a Rock Music Kinda Gal. I love guitars so much, man. But a close second is probably pop. Just as I was created to love guitars, so too was I created to love synths.

5. What makes an album “fascinating”? 🤔 I think this is hard, because first and foremost I am not an album listener, but also I don’t think I examine my music through a critical lens of fascination. I usually operate on a pure “how-much-straight-up-dopamine-is-being-poured-into-my-system?” scale when it comes to music, haha. Like, I’m not even primarily a listener of lyrics. I pay attention to the music first.

That being said…

Album 01 is going to be “Strange Trails” by Lord Huron. To be very, very annoying: I was into Lord Huron since their first album, and when they blew up due to a song from "Strange Trails" getting included in the TV show 13 Reasons Why, I was very annoyed because I think their sonic output shifted, and for the worse.

Anyways, I maintain that their first two albums are as close to perfect as albums get, and “Strange Trails” is what I find to be their strongest narrative album. There’s a whole storyline through the album that follows a fictional character Ben, the frontman, created. There was a comic book to accompany the album too, and I think the storyline is very lovely and I love some tragic love and magic wrapped into my music:) My favorite song off of “Strange Trails” is “Fool for Love.”

Album 02 is going to be “Bad Blood” by Bastille, which I also find to be Bastille’s finest work. Dan Smith wrote all these songs by himself in his den and—I really believe—perfectly embodied and channeled the sound of the 2010s indie moment. The entire album is so strong, and not only is it so strong that it doesn’t have any skips… even the EXTENDED version, “All This Bad Blood,” has no skips. Whatever Dan was fermenting in the lead up to “Bad Blood”’s release, it was pure gold. Nothing else quite captures the feeling of it being 2012 as much as this album. My favorite song off off “Bad Blood” is “Icarus” <3

Album 03 is going to be “Dream Machine” by Des Rocs. Des is on a one-man cocaine-fueled mission from God to bring back hard glam rock and I sincerely could not support his mission more. He constantly churns out bangers (his EPs “Martyr Parade” and “Let the Vultures In” are also worth checking out) but I found his songwriting to be simply ~exceptional~ on “Dream Machine.” I think he’s wonderful at writing evocative, classic-rock inspired lyrics that read as poetry to me:) From “Natural Born Thriller”:

Roll, thunder, roll / Riding like a freight train down on the tip of your tongue

Rattle in your bones / Shockwave ripping through the sky, in and out of your lungs

Love, lock and load / Fire in your eyes and you’re ready when the fever gonna come

Way down the road / Big wheels turning to the rhythm of the blood-red sun

Half a man and half apocalypse / The chase, the thrill, that you cannot resist

Day and night, every time / That one there is a natural-born thriller

Like MAN... that’s poetry in action to me. That’s just good writing. I also find the lyrics and storytelling of “In the Night” fantastic, and “Dream Machine” is such a perfect tone-setting, atmosphere-building track for that album to open on. It’s just one of the best constructed albums I’ve heard, full of bangers. My favorite song off it is probably “Natural Born Thriller.”

Damn that took me like two hours to get through, mostly because I got to experience the joy of scrolling through all my music and painfully selecting a few. This was delightful. Thank you, anon!

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 29- 4 Minutes by Madonna ft. Justin Timberlake

Shepard, Garrus, Wrex, and Liara fight to escape the warehouse with the rachni. Enemies are closer to Shepard than she first thought. (CW: gore)

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, minor character death

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

Sixty seconds. This was okay, right? There were a million things Shepard could get done in sixty seconds. She could lace up her shoes. She could down a small container of carryout fries. She could braid her hair once down the back of her skull. She could get herself off-- twice, if she set her vibrator into maximum override mode. 

What she pointedly could not do was escape a warehouse with noxious gas threatening to gas them all out. Say what you want, but she was no miracle worker. She considered laying down on the ground in a fetal position and rocking back and forth. She also considered fishing out the one little last bit of sand she carried on her-- she wasn’t going to forget it like the last major assault she was apart of when she needed it the most-- and snorting it, rubbing her fingertips in her gums for that last little bit of high right before she died. She also considered grabbing Vakarian by the carapace and bringing her lips to his. Not that she imagined what it would be like kissing turians with all of her free time or anything; call it more of a scientific curiosity. 

Luck would have it, however, that for once she wasn’t the one who had to think quickly on their feet. “See that porthole to your right?” the voice in her comms, Nihlus, said firmly. “Blow it out. It’ll be a squeeze, especially for the krogan, but you’ll all fit.” 

“And if I don’t?” Wrex asked. 

“Well, it was nice knowing you then, Wrex my boy.” Wrex responded to that with a guttural yell, his head glowing blue before making contact with the porthole, shards of glass flying out onto the street below. “It’s a drop. Sorry if you break your ankles, but I think you’d rather a little sprain than suffocate to death.” 

[sunflower-ozzy-online]

A Wyll to Live

1st chapter of

Where There's a Wyll There's a Way - Masterlist

Wyll (Baldur's Gate) /Reader - Enver Gortash/Reader (more a warning than a promise)

Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage - Angst

You're raised to marry Wyll as you're also a duke/ duchess When Wyll is essentially disowned your marriage is called off. Years later your hand is promised to Gortash in a way to legitimize his Archduke standing and to save your land from the absolute.

Baldurs Gate Act one-three spoilers (NOT KIDDING)

You always knew this was where your road was leading. From the day you could understand what responsibility was you knew your responsibility was to be married off to protect your family's status and land holdings. There weren't many families at or above the duke level in Baldur's Gate, but as long as you didn't marry too far below your status you would be assured a secure future. You had hoped you would be able to choose your future spouse, even if you were handed a limited list to choose from. Unfortunately, life had shuffled the cards life had dealt to you when you were a young adult. So now you were heading to Wrym’s Rock in a small carriage that holds all the belongings you were allowed to bring with you.

You have only met your betrothed once after your parents discussed it with him and his advisors. They had talked for hours and had struck a reasonable deal. He was grimy and pompous but reasonably attractive. The way he looked at you unsettled you, sending a warning signal to the back of your skull and down your spine. Nothing you haven't been coached to ignore in company. Of course, when you met him his arch-duke status wasn't confirmed yet. The coronation was happening soon after you arrived at the fortress.

You looked across at your guardian for this trip, their face blank as they went over whatever paper they had in their hands. It wasn't a long trip from your town To Wyrm’s Rock. You had planned to spend the trip conversing with your parents for the last time as a family unit but they decided that with the absolute forces on the loose, it was better not to risk all riding together. You saw the sense in their decision but that did not mean it didn't hurt.

The carriage jolted to a stop like it did anytime there was something in the road. As you looked out the window to check for trouble you saw the stone roads and buildings you used to associate with childhood innocence and joy. Now all you see is the way they fall apart, suspicious-looking puddles, and worried citizens. Citizens you would be complicit in neglecting, policing, and taxing now. You couldn't bring yourself to make eye contact with them, not from above them in your lavish carriage, provided for you by Gortash. It broke your heart to be reminded of the spoiled memories you had spent surrounded by them. You closed the curtain and went back to picking at the seats. The carriage started moving again as the interruption was removed from your path. You knew you would be approaching the bridge to Wyrm’s rock soon. Wanting to savor the last few moments of freedom you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to imagine an alternate life.

You were unaware the carriage had pulled to a smooth stop until the door was pulled open, the carriage filled with the smell of the ocean with a distinct undertone of piss. You gathered yourself and stepped out of the carriage. Immediately you saw a big clunking figure, taller than any being you knew of that could fit in that lanky armor. You had always felt uneasy when confronted by helmeted authority but something about them was even more off than your typical shiny-armed anonymous knight. It seemed to be staring right at you without seeing you. You could never tell exactly where they were looking but no matter where you were, if you were in their vicinity you felt their eyes on you. Your advisor addressed them and the fists for you as servants collected your things. You were not surprised Gortash was not present to greet you, he had not seemed the type to make anything in life more comfortable for others. One of the Wyrm's staff came out and brought you through the fortress. You were led to the top, you had heard rumors Gortash was living on the top floor of the fortress. It seemed that you would also be occupying this floor as your guide led you to one of the rooms.

You were to stay in this room at least until your wedding tomorrow. She told you that your luggage would be brought up after you as well as delivered the invitation to your fiance's coronation. God was it gaudy. Was gold ink really necessary for a simple invitation? The flowy script could have fooled you into thinking it was for your wedding instead. You had not seen a single wedding announcement but you had seen his face plastered all over the city announcing his coronation as arch-duke from the second you got within the vicinity of Baldur's gate. Self-absorption was not rare in your social circles by any means, you did tend to not surround yourself with them.

You had to remind yourself that that was when you had prospects and suitors. Now you have only one and his face was in the back of the piece of paper you held in your hand.

The coronation was later today and you had a few hours before your presence was required. Having planned for a face-to-face meeting with Gortash you were already made up and corseted. That meant most of the preparation work for later was taken care of. You spent the rest of your free time roaming around your room. When you dared to look outside you noticed steel watchers stationed at the end of the hall by the stairs. For your safety or to keep you on the premises you were not entirely sure. You slowly and quietly closed the heavy door and turned back to the already familiar and boring room.

The sheets were obviously picked by Gortash, paying no mind to your tastes or opinions; they were black and embroidered with fake gold thread. They looked scratchy and rough, the look of them valued over their comfort. None of your things had been moved into your room an hour later. Maybe they were being moved into your future room? To save the workers some time. Were you to wear your travel clothes to the coronation? You doubted that they would meet the status of Mr. Arch-duke but you would rather wear them than be stuffed inside whatever he would prefer.

Thirty minutes before the coronation was due to start there was a knock on your door. It opened with a loud creak and there stood a group of women and a large dress bag. They gathered around you undressing you and taking you in before putting you in the hidden dress. When you were finally finished and allowed to look at yourself you saw the absolute abomination they had tied you into. You would put money on the fact that this dress was made with the exact same fabric your bedding was made of. It was itchy and scratchy and you hated it. It was too far big and stiff to be useful in anything other than standing at someone's side as a trophy. Yet that was all you were today. Someone to stand beside a man, and make him look better. That was what your life would be reduced to. For your people, you would go through with this.

The thought of the carnage caused by the Absolute wrecking the people in your town would be the sole thing pushing you through this marriage. You had a chance to protect them, to do something for them for the betterment of their lives, and that was what you were going to do. You were going to be married off eventually. What better reason for a political marriage than to protect people? Well, besides love. That was out of the picture now though. He left and left you behind in the dust with no explanation. You had finally brushed the dirt off and you were not going to look back.

Next

Masterlist

[knotty-pink-hair]

Pikmin Fanfiction

Hello. I am finally posting my horror pikmin fanfiction. It is also on ao3 with complete archive warnings and tags. I tried to make this fic approachable for pikmin and non-pikmin fans alike. All creatures or treasures have description brackets after them for ease of reading. Please enjoy.

***

Rescue Corps Incident Report

Investigation Status: Open, Ongoing

Charges Listed: Alleged Insubordination of Indentured Force (Pikmin), Breakage of Procedural Protocols in Daytime Harvest / Nighttime Harvest of Glow Sap, Deterioration of Authority in Harvest Area 65, Unlawful Alliance with Infected Subject (Leafling), Breakdown of Communications with Designated Superiors, Arson, and Untreated Psychosis of Employed Subject

Subject: Koppai x Hocotate Freight (KoCo Freight), Field Harvest and Security of Transport Unit 6321, Employee 9862i, Thistle of Koppai, Region of Residence Garrenoi

***

Log 1…“Arrival on PNF-404”

Four of us sat in the hull, unspeaking. There were windows, but I did not want to see outside so I stared straight ahead.

Our transport ship glided through space—I knew we were moving but it felt like nothing was happening—the moment we approached the exosphere of the planet, there came a shift. We passed through an electric field. It sent an inaudible hissing into my skull. For a moment, something like a flash, and I saw within my arms the bones white and glowing.

I closed my eyes. This was unreality.

Everything would be better after we landed, I thought. Just like they told us in training. Space travel is liminal.

The ship began its descent down down into the troposphere. In a moment, the pressure dropped as we landed on the planet’s surface. Three field workers shuffled past me, their single antennae glowing red, and exited through the hull door. One of them was a former coworker of mine at the juice plant. His name was Favinger. I did not know how he passed the physical tests to become a harvester. He was immunocompromised, prone to respiratory infections; anyone could find him in the factory by following the sound of his coughing.

Harvesters had the highest turnover rate on PNF-404. KoCo Freight would take whoever applied. But Favinger I feared would not last. He was avoiding the alternative—communal starvation. The emaciation of his family and friends. The dead-eyed facial expressions, the hollow cheek bones.

I exhaled slowly.   

We flew awhile before we began our descent once more. I carefully examined my arms, but the visual hallucination of seeing my bones did not happen again. Now I wondered…had I seen it at all?

***

We landed.

At the threshold of the hull door, I shielded my eyes. It was sunset. Long streaks of orange slanted through the flower stems around me. Above was the only break in the floral canopy where our ship had descended; this was a forest without end.  

The ground felt softer here than the ground on Koppai—was I imagining it? No wonder we could not grow enough food at home. Nothing but rock beneath our feet.

The pilot called out that he would be there in a moment; next he spoke indistinctly answering a radio transmission…something about the Chronos Reactor.

I checked the kopad on my wrist. Data had flooded into it from KoCo Freight satellites. Now I could see maps carefully labeled with structures, red creatures, and most interesting of all green dots that represented harvesters. I watched transfixed as they moved across the maps. There were dozens of them, but it was hard to believe it. It was hard to believe any of this. 

Suddenly there was movement. I snapped to attention, listened to only my breath in my helmet. Tiny white flowers trembled through a patch of clover. Little red faces peered out; pointy noses twitched and sniffed.

“Oh! Pikmin,” I whispered.

They emerged out of the clover, slid down flower stems, appeared from behind rocks in a swarm to surround myself and the ship. I stared at their little red faces and—unbelievably—tears filled my eyes. They took turns getting a closer look at me, touching my suit.

Mmm, mmm! They kept making that noise. Excitement! Like they had “discovered” me. Mmm!

I felt…there was something holy in this encounter. These little creatures had picked, fought, and died for the food we Koppaites processed into juice. They were the sole reason our population did not drop by 1/3 over the winter. And yet when I looked into their little faces, I knew it meant nothing to them. They had no feelings about it.

Through the clover appeared a rigid man—he walked like he had a knife in his side—and he whistled so loudly that I jumped. Were the whistles really that loud? How terrible! I felt it in my ribs!

The pikmin cleared a path for the man. Coming up behind him was a woman riding a black pup. These were to be my new teammates.

The man was Klark, the woman was Zileke, and the pup was Yew.

Klark hollered a greeting and asked for my name. Was…was he joking? I couldn’t believe he didn’t know my name. I told him. Behind us, the pilot appeared and threw my two duffle bags out of the hull door letting them crash at my feet. The pilot clasped Zileke’s hand, chatted with her as she typed on her kopad.

“Keep up, Thistle. Can you do that?” Klark asked without waiting for my response.

He led me into the flower forest. I ran to keep up with him. My suit felt like a layer of loose adipose—a blubbery wet swimsuit, but it did not slow me down. It enhanced the movement of my legs, tempered the effects of foreign gravity, lapped at my sweat to recirculate into my water supply. All of this—unfamiliar and fragile—kept me alive. It felt so uncomfortable; I kept pulling at the hem line down my thigh as it suctioned itself to my skin. The red pikmin however embraced my appearance: the bobbing of my antenna, the artificial sound of my breath coming through the filtered speaker. They ran alongside us in a membrane, eagerly looking back at me. I tried to count how many there were—30?

We arrived at basecamp a few minutes later. Klark ordered the red pikmin into the onion. They scattered quickly. As they cleared out, I realized they had carried my duffle bags and then dropped them on the ground. One of the pikmin paused as it climbed the leg of the onion and looked down at me.

An AI voice announced from the ship’s megaphone, “Perimeter motion alarms now active.”

“There we are,” Klark said, tapping at his kopad. “The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.”

How frightening to think about—a nocturnal attack from creatures. On Koppai, we did not worry. Wild creatures were rare to see.

“When it is nighttime, do we only worry about creatures?” I asked Klark.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Should we fear people out here as well?”

Klark observed me for a moment before answering. “Nothing but teammates out here. Familiar faces all with IDs attached. Anyone who comes banging on our door in the middle of the night is in need of serious help,” he said. “We’ve never had issue with castaways if that’s what you’re referring to. They’re not for us to worry about anyway. The Rescue Corps is responsible for them.”

I said nothing further.

Inside their ship—KoCo Freight 6321—we sat at a table with our helmets removed. I drank the bottle of juice Klark set down without asking any questions. I couldn’t believe how good it was—citrus and sour and pulpy. It filled my aching stomach. I lapped at the droplets on my lips.

God, it was so good.

“That was for Zileke, actually,” Klark said. My face burned with embarrassment. “You should not have drank that. Really. You are in for a long night.” He leaned back in his chair. The hull door opened, and Yew charged right at me, smooshed her face to the ground to smell my boots. Zileke came inside next.

When she removed her helmet, her long dark hair fell and rested on her shoulders. She paused when she saw the empty bottle, looked me in the eye, and then punched my arm.

“Ouch!” I barked.

My arm blared with pain—she’d punched me in the same spot I’d gotten 9 inoculations in over the past 30 days, and she knew it too.

“New recruits are not supposed to drink,” Zileke said. “Don’t say you didn’t know because I know they tell you that in onboarding.” She turned to Klark. “You sat there and let her drink that?”

“Well, she drank it very quickly,” Klark said.

“She’s going to projectile vomit everywhere.”

“Most likely. But she’ll have to clean up after herself.”

“I wouldn’t dare throw up this juice,” I said. How could they think I’d waste juice? I’d sooner lick my vomit off the floor then let it go to waste.

They ignored me.

“Listen, I was saving that juice. I fucking labeled it. It was the last of the pocked airhead [dekopon],” Zileke said. Klark handed her another bottle, said it was lesser mock bottom [plum]. She crinkled her nose at it. “I work all day just to come home and drink this muck.”

“Juice is juice.” Klark waved her away. “You’re tired. Go to bed, Zileke.”

I bit my tongue. I had never heard someone complain about food before. They even had a choice about what they wanted to eat! I stared at the empty bottle in front of me unable to comprehend.

Zileke patted her thigh. Yew chirped and followed her to the sleeping quarters. I rubbed my sore arm—she was a cunt for punching me. Klark smirked, reading my thoughts. 

He then asked about my training.

“Training? Oh yes, lectures about the creatures and the environment on PNF-404,” I answered. “As soon as we signed on, they took us to medical to begin physical tests and inoculation. They wanted us ready in exactly 29 days to be prepped and launched here.”

“Ah-ha,” is all he said to that.

I reached down to my duffle bag and pulled out a gaming tablet. Klark nodded, already knew what it was; he said the Dandori games were merely a preamble for the mental re-conditioning necessary for new recruits. [“Dandori is the art of organizing your tasks strategically and working with maximum efficiency”]

“Of course, you’re not here to harvest,” Klark said. “You’re our new security officer, but the work is the same. You need to be ubiquitous—watching me, watching Zileke, checking the path ahead, checking the path behind, checking your map, commanding squads of pikmin to cover the landscape—blue in the water, pink in the air—whatever is needed. You must live and breathe with eyes in the back of your head.”

He crossed his arms and looked at me a moment. “You seem a little feral, you know that?”

What does that mean?

I frowned at him, said, “How many pikmin will I get tomorrow? For security. What kind?”

Fifteen rock pikmin. He would be exclusively training me while Zileke and Yew harvested. They had eight treasures to excavate the following morning. He emphasized morning—they needed to harvest 19 total treasures tomorrow.

My mouth was agape. I asked him, “Is that all?”

He was incredulous. “Is that a—is that all?! You have no idea what you’re saying. More than 19 treasures in one day?” He barked a laugh. “You were a packer. I can tell just by looking at your chipped fingernails. You’re used to sealing boxes, moving pallets to transport ships. Easy repetition.” He exhaled. “What do you think it’s like for us out here in field work? I do want you to answer me that.”

“All I know,” I said to him, “is that it’s hard to concentrate, to lie down, to read, to talk, to do anything when you haven’t eaten all day. Everything loses meaning. That is what we deal with every day on Koppai. Food is very important to me.”

I stood up, took my duffle bags with me as I headed to the sleeping quarters. The door slid shut behind me. I unpacked—hairbrush here, lotion there, clothes folded and slid into drawers—and then sat down on the bed with my packing gloves in my hands. They were gray with a few oil stains.

Food is very important to me.

Part of this new job was being permitted several juices a day. I could…how much would I be able to accomplish without the distraction of hunger? I wanted to see that version of myself.

***

Come the early hours of the morning, I laid in a fetal position on the floor of my room. Sweat beaded my forehead. My gut churned with violence. Nothing on this earth would permit me to waste that juice.

So bad was the gut pain that I felt it even in my dreams. I was bent over a conveyor belt, labeling boxes with recipient addresses. The machine kept alarming; some of the boxes had been sealed with empty bottles, and these I could not open. I kept putting them aside to fix later.

Sometime in the night, I crawled to the bathroom to drink water. Or had I crawled across the factory floor? It had been sticky, I had my packer gloves on…my arms flashed in transparency like they had on the ship; glowing white bones. Outside my window, I saw a single red pikmin sat below the onion. It stared at our ship.

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Sam's Bedroom Discussion🛌

Sam's old room was def really interesting and memorable. With the spider web bedframe, the Chinese Lamp and all the music stuff she had. Ngl alot of it felt pretty punk and alternative rock which isn't bad. It def gave off vibes of someone who's serious and into different, obscure and usually darker things. But for my Sam I wanted to push her more to tradtional goth and also give off a kinda lighter side in terms of personality.

This is my Sam🦇

Made her walls a lighter but still neutral shade of purple to contrast with the floor. Also I can imagine her parents only let her have the walls in a light shade as really dark rooms can end up absorbing heat and don't want her to accidentally overheat.

Added more green as it's a part of my Sam's palette more and because it's good with purple and red. It also shows her love for ghosts and nature more💚

I added a lot of antique Victorian furniture and decor I imagine Sam would've restored and/or repaint to fit her tastes more. Very gothic and also eco friendly to use and restore older things.

My Sam LOVES ghosts so I added more ghost things in her bedroom such as a the lights, the books on ghosts and other cryptid related stuff, Ghostbusters picture and Ouija board👻👻👻

Added plants and other nature themes things for our nature lover Sam. By her window there's a venus flytrap(OG Sam actually had a pet flytrap in her greenhouse) a cactus in a Día de los Muertos skull pot and a pearl plant in a cauldron pot, like a bubbling cauldron. Beside those are purple leaf plant, African violets and a succulent. I was def going for plants that'd fit with Sam's gothic aesthetic and personality.

Gave her a coffin shaped Shelf. At the bottom, added a variety of books to show her love for the dark and macabre such as ghosts, vampires cryptids, Jewish Mythology, Occult and Junji Ito. The book that says “Hidden Worlds”, was inspired by a suggestion @a-sterling-rose​ made in reference for the unknown realms. I added a Junji Ito manga as it's said OG Sam was into anime and I can imagine horror anime and manga such as Junji Ito's work would be right up her alley.

In the middle crystals(Onyx and Amethyst), a chest with a Tree Of Life symbol on it and a geode. Crystals and gems r often used for protection against dark forces. I can imagine in the chest perhaps more stuff for spirit protection related things or something. The Tree Of Life is a religious symbol used in many religions, including Judaism and can symbolize many things such as infinite knowledge and even the afterlife and connection between earth and Heaven

On the top, Tarot cards, a crystal ball, Ouija Board and the little statue on the top shelf’s a Golem, a being of Jewish folklore(She totally made it herself out of clay). @wsoupofpain​ helped show me what to put on its head, it means "death" in its dormant form. I also was pushing to show more of her Jewish heritage in her room✡️

And on top of the shelf a gargoyle.

Made her window frames black and theater style dark red curtains.

Added fleur de lis symbols on her bed frame. Also added webbing on her pillows and darker parts on her bed sheets. Also on her frame a spider plant in a spider themed pot. Some version she had a canopy but I didn't want it to block the other details and when I tried it, everything felt smaller to me.

Replaced the skull doll she had for a bat plushy I headcanon her Bubbe(Grandma) made for her🦇💖 My Sam's fav animals r def bats.

Added cute bat slippers which she also had in canon beside her bed.

Gave her a nightstand, with a Tiffany lamp. To show she's in a well off fam, perhaps something thatd been in the family for a bit and cause it reminded me of a tree.

Added a vanity with a little stool. Girl deserves a station to apply her gothic charm on. Added a candelabra, a jewelry case, a mortar and pestle(for DIY facial and other beauty treatments) and skull makeup brush. And beside the vanity a Bat Jewelry holder, for some of her necklaces and chokers. Some of them Jewish symbols such as a Star of David, a blue evil eye and a Hamsa Hand🧿✡️

Above her vanity I added framed vintage horror movie posters. Dracula, Ghostbusters and Friday The 13th. @mylifeisweirdok suggested the vintage idea!

Replaced her British Flag tapestry for a moon cycle tapestry. The night in general and the moon's very popular in gothic culture but also plays a special symbol in Judaism. The Jewish Calendar following Lunar months and even having a monthly minor-holiday celebrating the arrival of a new moon. Rosh Chodesh🌔 a minor-holiday which also is very special for Jewish woman, the holiday being a reward for the woman who refused to surrender their jewelry for the creation of the Golden Calf idol. The moon has also often been associated with feminine energy and cyclical change.

Gave her a Victorian style floral carpet.

Replaced her Chinese lamp with a Medeival Chandelier. The candles along with the ones by the vanity aren't real and in fact solar powered. To avoid fire danger🔥

Gave her glow in the dark ghost strung lights. Great for a scary ambience in the nighttime👻

Also I can imagine she has a little crafts closet full of art stuff and other stuff she's found like from junkyards, forests etc to make something out of it and perhaps somewhere stored a scythe .

Danny-WHERE DID YOU GET A SCYTHE!?

Sam-From the Farmers Market. It was surprisingly cheaper than the produce.

What do you think? What do u think of OG Sam's room? I'd love to know?

[birdyverdie]

What is your favourite bird?

Oh my !! What a loaded question to wake up to!!

The truth is that I genuinely don't have a single favorite, I have so many that I adore! I ended up rambling, so here's a looong list ;;

I think, if I must choose a single favorite bird, it would be a red-headed woodpecker. Only because I had a childhood plushie of one. I loved it to bits. Her name was "Arbolita" (little tree in Spanish) and I'd carry her everywhere. But I have so many favorites that I have because they're cool as hell or because of sentimentality.

(Fun fact! Did yall know that woodpecker's tongue wrap around their skull when they're hammering into the tree to prevent them getting a concussion? Imagine that.)

Barn Owls! As a kid I watched Legend of the Guardians: Owls of Ga'hoole and adored barn owls so much, my first research project was about them!

Also they're not as pretty sounding as you think they may be. I got to visit a pair when I volunteered at a Raptor center, scared me half to death!

But fuuuckkk I adore Quetzals! My dad told me a story about them and it stuck with me all these years. How the Mayans and Aztecs coveted the acquisition of Quetzal feathers! It was like a source of prestige and importance for them, because they believed that their God, Quetzalcoatl, had some sort of connection to the Quetzal. (I don't remember if these birds were Quetzalcoatl's manifestation or messengers. I last heard this story about 7 years ago.) Anyways, these feathers were so important that it was illegal to kill the birds, they were only to be collected through natural shedding, or else the punishment was death. From what I also remember, it was thought that Montezuma's treasure--treasure that the Spanish conquistadors were after--was believed to not be gold, like the Spanish thought, but rather these feathers!

I don't know how much of it is historically accurate, but that bird is very important culturally to me as both a connection to Mexico and as a bond with my dad.

But oh!! I'm such a fan of Emperor Penguins! Especially the chicks! They're so cute I wanna squeeze them so much! There's a playlist that I've collected that's mostly the BBC: Snow Chick segment of a nature documentary, but also includes other random penguin videos. My favorite video about the baby emperor penguins is the one where a tiny Adelie penguin protects a group of Emperor chicks from a Giant Petrel.

(Btw do you guys remember Happy Feet? What the hell even was that bit of psychological-torture-through-boredom segment of the movie?? It feels like a fever dream.)

Cedar Waxwings! Goofy birds, don't drink and fly!

These birds don't really migrate, so sometimes they eat berries that have been left over on the tree from a long time ago, to the point that the berries ferment! And since these birds love berries...well sometimes they get drunk

!The concept is silly, i mean, imagine drunk birds! But it is dangerous for them because sometimes they pass out and predators get to them, or alternatively they bonk themselves on buildings. So while goofy, I always keep an eye out for them in my area. I've already had to house 3 of them for an afternoon until they're better ahah ;;;

Bearded Vultures! (Alternatively called Bone Vultures) they're super cool. Their diet consists mostly of animal bones. They grab the larger bones, fly hiiiigh up into the sky, and drop them down below on rocks to help crack them open to eat the bone marrow inside. Their feathers are also white, and contrary to popular belief, no they do not dye their feathers red with blood, just with iron-rich clay or red dust from their environment :P

The redder the feathers, the sexier for their mates!

The Kakapo! A species of parrots found in New Zealand! They're mostly terrestrial birds, and can't really fly, they mostly just use their wings to balance themselves on trees when they're eating berries. They're also endangered and there's current conservation efforts to protect them so that's cool as hell! They're also the largest parrots in the world. Kinda the size of your forearm (and much much thicker) :D!

Shrikes! They're the equivalent of a lot of rage in a tiny little body. They're known as butcherbirds, for the brutal way they store and showcase their kills. They ambush their prey and then impale them in branches or sometimes barbed wire. It's meant to store their food and also be a territorial display for other males. Though for females, it showcases their powress and attracts them!

(This one is a Southern Grey Shrike, which is part of the shrike family except that "grey shrikes" kinda became a subspecies.)

I'm a huge lover of cocktails! One of my pet birds, her name is Maggie, is a cinnamon cockatiel that I adore so much!! She has such a strong personality, all my other pet birds follow her lead because she's been with us the longest (over 12 years! She's an old lady! I love her sm <3!!)

(Terrible picture quality! Can't take one rn since I'm not at home. asdfghjkl)

I also have another pet bird whose name is Avalon and he's a little beast of a menace. He's a Quaker Parrot and is as loud and destructive as you can imagine! But he's adorable, and I hold him like a little plushie sometimes. He can say a few words! Like "pollito" (little chicken) "Avalon", "good boy", "pajarraco" (funny Spanish way of saying parrot), and unfortunately, by my dad's consistency: "pinche pájaro", which means 'fucking bird'. I'm currently in the process of teaching him recall, as in, he flies around and then comes to me when I stick my finger out and tell him to come. All of my birds are allowed to fly around the house, so that means that unfortunately I get wacked in the face when a bird tries to land on me and inevitably misses my shoulder.

(Eepy birdy....)

Honorable mentions because I belatedly realized that you can't post more than 10 pictures on tumblr:

Harpy Eagle (please look up a picture of them they're HUGE.)

Red Cardinal and Blue Jays ( the original red vs. blue).

Mourning doves.

Eurasian magpies.

Long-tailed tit. (They're so cute! Snowball bird!)

Bleeding heart dove.

Great eared nightjar. (Dragon looking bird....)

Painted Bunting (my dream is to see one of these in the wild! They live where I'm at but I've never seen one!)

Grackles.

Rock pigeons.

Crows and Ravens (of course! I have a flock of crows I'm currently befriending heehee)

And so so many more. Honestly, I genuinely don't think there's a single bird out there that I'd dislike. I think they're all awesome and cool and AAAAA <3333

Thanks for the ask! Hope you don't mind I rambled sjkahdhaja

[hatsexpert]

The Marlow Leather Top Hat and Skull Top Hat in Contemporary Culture

The Allure of the Marlow Leather Top Hat and Skull Top Hat: A Fusion of Tradition and Bold Statements

Introduction

In the ever-evolving world of fashion, certain accessories manage to capture the imagination and hold onto their appeal through time. Two such iconic pieces are the Marlow Leather Top Hat and the Skull Top Hat. Both hats possess unique characteristics and an undeniable presence, making them standout choices for those looking to make a statement. This article delves into the history, design features, and contemporary relevance of these two distinctive hats, exploring how they blend tradition with bold, modern flair.

The Marlow Leather Top Hat: A Timeless Classic

Historical Roots

The Marlow Leather Top Hat is steeped in history, dating back to the early 19th century when top hats were a symbol of sophistication and social status. Originally made from silk, the top hat evolved over time, with leather versions emerging as durable and stylish alternatives. The Marlow Leather Top Hat embodies the elegance and structure of traditional top hats while incorporating the ruggedness and unique texture of leather.

Design Features

Leather as a material brings durability and a unique patina that develops over time, giving each hat a one-of-a-kind appearance. The craftsmanship involved in creating a Marlow Leather Top Hat is meticulous, ensuring a perfect blend of traditional design and contemporary execution.

Versatility and Styling

The hat’s unique texture and classic design make it a favorite among those who appreciate high-quality accessories that stand the test of time. Its ability to adapt to various styles and settings is a testament to its enduring appeal.

The Skull Top Hat: Bold and Edgy

Origins and Evolution

The Skull Top Hat represents a bold departure from traditional headwear, embodying a rebellious and edgy spirit. This hat typically features a skull motif, either as an intricate design on the hat itself or as an adornment, such as a skull-shaped brooch or pin. The Skull Top Hat draws inspiration from gothic, punk, and alternative fashion, making it a favorite among those looking to make a striking statement.

Design Features

The Skull Top Hat often combines the classic structure of a top hat with dark, edgy elements. The crown is typically tall and straight, similar to traditional top hats, but the embellishments set it apart. Skulls, spikes, and other gothic motifs are common, giving the hat a distinctive and bold look.

Styling and Occasions

The Skull Top Hat is perfect for those who enjoy alternative fashion and want to make a bold statement. It pairs well with gothic and punk outfits, adding an element of intrigue and edginess. For a gothic-inspired look, wear it with a black velvet coat, lace-up boots, and dark makeup. For a punk aesthetic, pair it with a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and combat boots.

The Skull Hat is also popular at themed events, such as Halloween parties, gothic festivals, and steampunk conventions. Its unique design makes it a standout piece, allowing wearers to express their individuality and bold fashion sense.

Contemporary Relevance

Fashion and Subculture

Both the Marlow Leather Top Hat and the Skull Top Hat have found a place in contemporary fashion and subcultures. The Marlow Leather Top Hat is cherished by those who appreciate vintage and steampunk aesthetics, while the Skull Top Hat is embraced by the gothic, punk, and alternative fashion scenes.

These hats have transcended their historical and cultural origins, becoming symbols of individuality and personal expression. In a world where fashion trends come and go, the Marlow Leather Top Hat and Skull Top Hat offer timeless appeal and a distinctive edge.

Celebrity Endorsements

Celebrities and fashion icons have also played a role in popularizing these hats. From steampunk enthusiasts to rock stars, many have been seen sporting these distinctive headpieces, further cementing their place in modern fashion.

For instance, Johnny Depp’s portrayal of the Mad Hatter in “Alice in Wonderland” brought renewed attention to quirky and extravagant hats, while musicians like Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper have frequently worn skull-themed accessories, including Skull Top Hats, during performances.

Craftsmanship and Customization

Customization is also a key aspect, allowing wearers to personalize their hats according to their tastes. From selecting specific types of leather and choosing unique embellishments to adding personal touches like initials or special designs, customization options make these hats truly unique.

Conclusion

The Marlow Leather Top Hat and the Skull Top Hat represent two distinct yet equally captivating styles in the world of headwear. The Marlow Leather Top Hat combines timeless elegance with modern durability, making it a versatile choice for various occasions. Meanwhile, the Skull Top Hat offers a bold, edgy statement, perfect for those who embrace alternative fashion and want to stand out.

Both hats embody a blend of tradition and modernity, appealing to fashion enthusiasts who value quality craftsmanship and unique design. Whether you’re drawn to the classic sophistication of the Marlow Steampunk Hat or the rebellious spirit of the Skull Top Hat, these accessories offer a way to express your individuality and style. As fashion continues to evolve, these iconic hats remain timeless symbols of elegance, boldness, and personal expression.

[sskk-ao3feed]

I Can Feel Your Voice

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/a8AMJmU by Panda_nicecream Atsushi should have known that Dazai's band would be filled with... interesting individuals. From the fiery orange haired guitarist to the cold, closed off black haired kid, Atsushi knows he's going to be in for a ride. Can Atsushi overcome his stage fright when he's trying to make music with a group of idiots with the thickest skulls imaginable? And ugh, why do all the hot bassists have to be assholes? Words: 1138, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin & Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Dazai Osamu & Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke & Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Enemies to Lovers, Sort Of, they're not rlly enemies atsushi is just petty asf, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Alternate Universe - College/University, College, the age gap is less but chuuya/dazai are older, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, why is found family not a tag HELLO, please give atsushi some confidence, shin soukoku, Soukoku | Double Black (Bungou Stray Dogs), Mafia Soukoku | Double Black (Bungou Stray Dogs), How Do I Tag, My First Fanfic, My First AO3 Post, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Pining, Plot, Plotty, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Beta Read, please someone be my beta read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/a8AMJmU

[anatomic-adoration]

6/23/23

I made this blog with the intention of joining the studyblr community, but it doesn't hurt to throw some personal journaling in too.

It was warm today, sunny too, so I grabbed my most comfortable boots and headed out on one of my not so famous "adventures." It started off normal, of course, walking past the various bars and statues scattered throughout the college town. They were never my thing, but I've grown somewhat fond of the familiar territory. It's nice that there's plenty of things to use as landmarks since I can't find my way anywhere without a GPS. I gave the nose of the university's opossum mascot statue a rub for luck, then diverged from the sidewalk in favor of the "scenic" route.

It was peaceful, just enjoying the sunshine that peaked through the trees and climbing over rocks and run down fences. Rubbing the opossum's nose must've worked, because right by one of the fences was a dead bunny! The poor thing was half eaten and covered in those really pretty flies that have an iridescent green body. I took a picture and wished it a good afterlife. or reincarnation? or at least some peace in its eternal rest.

But none of that was new. The reason I felt the need to write this down is the woods spit me out right next to a bunch of cool stores I've never seen before. One of them was a coffee shop I'd never heard of, so I figured I'd give it a try.

The place was cooler than I could've imagined- alternative music was playing over the speakers, skull decor, and almost all the drinks had silly edgy names to match the aesthetic. I ordered a tea called "The Cure" (lemon, ginger, and just a hint of mint mixed together with some honey), then decided to do a little people watching while I waited for it to cool.

It was by no means crowded, but it was still fascinating to see that literally everyone there had an alternative look. There was an incredibly fun mixture of subcultures, but I found myself coming back again and again to this one punk looking guy there.

His hair was a grayish colour and he had a collection of piercings that complemented his jacket, which had a bunch of patches and some metal embellishments, including spikes. He was clearly pretty tall too; his chair looked tiny by comparison, and his legs didn't fit well under the table, leaving them pressed against the wood above them. Despite his obvious size and style, he still looked nervous to be there.

I know anyone can have anxiety, but there was something about seeing a man who would be labeled "trouble" by the average person being in such an uncomfortable state himself. I know it sounds mean, but the stark contrast was kind of amusing. I'd love to know how aware he is of the irony.

He noticed my staring, and I guess it made him uncomfortable because he rushed out pretty soon after catching on. As I drank my tea, I couldn't stop dwelling on the situation. I wish I could say I'm sorry; I never mean to stare for too long, but when something catches my eye it just... happens.

C'est la vie. I'll probably go back to the coffee shop again to try their other drinks, maybe a pastry too, so there's still a chance I'll see him again. Maybe I'll work up the nerve to apologize at this hypothetical next time.

Back to studying for the time being.

[relentlessgrief]

A rock.

Rocks held parts of the planet within it. Toril was a rich planet with a rich history, that much was obvious. Connor picks up the rock, imagining the weight of it that he cannot sense. A few tosses of it up and down in his palm, and then brings it to his skull, at level where his 'eyes' are. He admires the craftsmanship that the planet put into this compact set of minerals.

"This is a beautiful gift, Iago. I will treasure it until the end of my days." Another item to have buried with himself, should he ever actually find eternal rest. He'd like a grave with all the things his friends have given him, should he get the choice. All of the love with him in his tomb.

"You know. Back when I was in the village--the one I lived in," Connor continues, turning it another direction to admire it. "We would paint rocks. The children at the church would love that activity. It was a cheaper alternative to paper that often took far too long to make from wood pulp."

He looks at them. If only he could smile as bright as he feels, as light as his soul feels.

"Have you ever painted rocks? I'd recommend it, if you're ever looking for something to do on your downtime."

Iago listens intently as their companion speaks. They've made it a point - though with much less eloquence and serenity than Connor can give to it - to stop overlooking those things. They went so long without the feeling of wind on their cheeks and the sound of birds in the distance. How could they possibly ignore it now after they have so much catching up to do?

He says something on beauty that makes Iago pause, curious what he could mean. A moment longer of pondering leaves their ears pink and they nestle further into their cloak, unsure of why Connor is so needlessly kind to them. They wonder, maybe, if he wants something, but they refrain from asking and try to beat back the assumption.

“It's a new perspective,” they confess, following his gaze out beyond. Beautiful. “One that I don't know how I lived without before.”

When Connor turns to them again, they find themselves meeting his - well, as close as they can come to meeting his eyes. He speaks with so much conviction and easy vulnerability, it makes Iago feel both awed by it and horribly out of depth at the same time. They sit up a little from the retreat into their cloak and nod after a few moments of silence, still looking at him.

“Okay,” they respond simply, quietly, like they're taking it as an order. They know it isn't, but some accountability could do them some good.

They try not to feel too silly, then, when they finally look away just long enough to pull yet another small stone out of their pocket - one they picked up because of the pretty clay-red color and how smooth it had become from being tumbled by the river - and wordlessly set it next to Connor.

A gift. A thank you.

[dangeroustimemachinehologram]

Are alternative theories of human history true?

The origin of humanity and civilization has long been shrouded in mystery and controversy. Again and again, there is speculation that there once was an ancient civilization on Earth that possessed such knowledge in the field of astronomy and mathematics that it is difficult to imagine today. While modern science claims that human civilization is only 5,000 to 10,000 years old and that we evolved from great apes through natural selection, mounting evidence suggests that this theory may be fundamentally wrong.

One of the most convincing alternative theories of human history is that an advanced human civilization existed on Earth millions of years ago. This theory is explained in the book "Forbidden Archeology". It is a controversial publication by Nora Scott, Catherine Acholonu, and Michael Cremo, published in 1993. This book presents many controversial theories about human history and evolution. This publication presents abundant evidence of human remains and artifacts that date back millions of years, challenging the basic scientific understanding of human evolution.

The evidence presented in Forbidden Archeology includes artifacts and remains found in layers that are millions of years old, such as human footprints alongside those of dinosaurs, and anatomically modern human remains found in coal and Cambrian rocks. Cremo and Thompson argue that these findings have been systematically ignored or suppressed by the scientific community due to prejudice against the dominant version of human evolution. As they state in the book, "scientific evidence of a human presence millions of years ago is disregarded because it goes against the dominant paradigm of human evolution."

The authors of the book argue that there is evidence of advanced technology in prehistoric times, and that some archaeological discoveries indicate that man may have existed on Earth much earlier than currently accepted scientific theory. The controversial theories presented in the book include: the hypothesis of the existence of human civilization on Earth tens of thousands of years ago, the traces of which were deliberately destroyed by the authorities, as well as the theory of the influence of extraterrestrials on the development of humanity.

In the publication, they provide evidence of advanced humanoid beings on Earth millions of years ago, challenging mainstream scientific understanding of human evolution. Evidence for these ancient creatures, Cremo says, includes artifacts, ruins and remains found in layers from millions of years ago, such as anatomically modern human skulls found in tertiary sediments, as well as ancient cities and structures that testify to advanced technology.

Most scientists believe that humans evolved from apes. But evidence shows that advanced human-like beings existed on Earth millions of years ago. The evidence presented in these books raises serious questions about the accepted scientific understanding of human history and evolution. Had an advanced human civilization existed on Earth millions of years ago, it would have fundamentally changed our understanding of human history and our place in the world. This would mean that the scientific community has greatly underestimated the true history of human civilization and that our understanding of human evolution is fundamentally wrong.

Another theory presented in various books is that ancient civilizations had advanced knowledge of astronomy, mathematics and architecture. There have even been suggestions that the Great Pyramid of Giza was an ancient power station. In addition, theories have been put forward many times that ancient civilizations were advanced in astronomy, mathematics, and architecture.

In The Power Plant of Giza, Christopher Dunn provides evidence that the Great Pyramid of Giza was an ancient power plant. He claims that the pyramid's precise alignment, internal passages, and unusual features are evidence that it functioned as an energy machine. Dunn states that the Great Pyramid was not a tomb but an energy machine, a power plant that converted the energy of the Earth's rotation into electrical energy.

Ancient civilizations were also, according to these theories, advanced in astronomy, mathematics and architecture. Phillips argues that many ancient cultures such as the Mayans, Egyptians, and Chinese had advanced understandings of astronomy and mathematics, as evidenced by their accurate calendars, complex mathematical systems, and precise architectural alignment.

The evidence presented in these books suggests that ancient civilizations possessed a level of knowledge and technology far beyond what mainstream archeology traditionally attributes to them. From sophisticated astronomical observations to advanced mathematical knowledge, all indicate that ancient civilizations were not primitive but highly advanced. This refutes the idea that ancient civilizations were simply primitive cultures that evolved slowly over time, and instead suggests that they possessed advanced knowledge and understanding of the world around them.

Another theory that has gained popularity in recent years is that ancient civilizations were visited and perhaps even influenced by extraterrestrials. This theory was put forward, for example, in Zecharia Sitchin's books. These books claim that ancient texts and artifacts point to the existence of an extraterrestrial race that visited Earth in the distant past and played a role in the development of human civilization. Stichin claimed that ancient civilizations such as the Sumerians were in contact with alien extraterrestrial civilizations and received knowledge and technology from them.

According to Stichin, the Sumerians had knowledge of the cosmos and planets, about which science learned only many thousands of years later. Stichin also claimed that the Sumerians had contact with extraterrestrials who influenced the development of humanity and helped build ancient megalithic structures such as the pyramids.

Stichin's theories were widely criticized by scientists, who accused him of lacking scientific evidence to support his theses and of interpreting historical and archaeological sources in an unscientific way. According to many experts, his theories were just fantastic ideas with no basis in reality.

In The Twelfth Planet, Zecharia Sitchin claims that ancient Sumerian texts speak of an extraterrestrial race called the Anunnaki who came to Earth from a planet in our solar system called Nibiru. He claims that the Sumerians had detailed knowledge of the solar system and that the Anunnaki played a key role in the development of human civilization, including the creation of the first humans. The Sumerians were aware of the existence of the 12th planet in our solar system. This planet, known as Nibiru, is home to an extraterrestrial race called the Anunnaki.

According to Sumerian myths and legends, the Annunaki are beings from space who descended to Earth and helped people in their development. According to these myths, the Annunaki were gods or demigods who had the power and knowledge to rule the world. Modern interpretations of these myths, based on the work of authors such as Zecharia Sitchin, use the Annunaki as part of the theory of extraterrestrial influence on human history and development. According to these hypotheses, the Annunaki were supposed to be extraterrestrials who visited Earth in the past and interacted with humanity, teaching them various technologies as well as helping to build various megalithic structures.

There have also been suggestions that the ancient Egyptians had contact with extraterrestrials from the Sirius star system. Interestingly, similar theories are in the case of the African Dogon tribe, which has extremely advanced astronomical knowledge about this star system.

The Dogoni are an African people living in Mali and Burkina Faso. They gained the interest of scientists and researchers because of their traditions and beliefs that include an in-depth knowledge of the solar system, especially Jupiter's moons, which seemed unusual given their lack of access to advanced scientific technology.

According to researchers, the Dogon's knowledge of the solar system and the moons of Jupiter was passed on to them by members of their shaman caste during rituals and initiations. Scientists became interested in this phenomenon because it was knowledge that was unknown in Europe until the invention of the telescope.

There are also theories that Dogon's knowledge of the solar system was the result of contact with extraterrestrials who passed this knowledge on to them, although there is no scientific evidence for this. According to some researchers, the Dogon had an in-depth knowledge of the star Sirius, which seemed unusual given their lack of access to advanced technology. According to Dogon lore, Sirius is in the company of a twin star, and the two stars orbit each other. The Dogon also knew that Sirius had an unseen companion with an orbital period of 50 or 60 years.

However, there is also controversy about how Dogon acquired this knowledge. Some scholars believe that Dogon's knowledge of Sirius was passed down through initiations and religious rituals that used symbols and metaphors that could be interpreted as stories about Sirius. Other researchers propose that the Dogon may have acquired this knowledge through sky observations or through trade contacts with other peoples who knew this star, such as the Egyptians just mentioned.

The existence of advanced civilizations on Earth thousands of years ago is a topic of debate among researchers and scientists. However, there is still no clear answer to this question. On the one hand, there is abundant archaeological evidence in the form of the remains of buildings, tools, engravings and other artifacts that indicate that civilizations existed in very distant times. On the other hand, there is no direct evidence that the civilizations there had the same technological and scientific knowledge as today's civilizations. Many of the remains of the civilizations there are difficult to interpret and can be interpreted in different ways.

There are also theories that in the past there were civilizations on Earth that were more technologically advanced than today's, but they were annihilated by natural disasters or by wars. However, there is no generally recognized scientific evidence for this either.

[hereliesbitches--me]

Death

the living embodiment of the Void, the grim reaper, an entity of many shapes and faces.

Death is the equal and opposite to the creator God, and the father to all Moon entities. By this statement, he is also Rosie's creator who regularly peeks in to the state of the story in different unfamiliar entities. Death is always watching, always vying for a well done, clean ending to the life story of mortals, which is often difficult with Big G constantly adding "plot twists" and extending the lives of mortals.

While more of an NPC, death will be a character that will pop up more often in threads once you become closer to Rosie

Fun CharacterFacts:

the old reaper has cracks in his Skull, received while reaping powerful entities who did not want to be taken. While he respects the fight, he is inevitable and will always win in the end

The Scyth weapon he had is the storage place of reaped souls, to which he can transport or reassign souls. The length of his scythe has 13 grooves which represent the 13 dimensions, to which he can press and warp himself easily between realms for reaping purposes.

Personality facts: Death is not the warmest entity up front. He lacks true emotional understanding and perceives everything as a matter of fact. There is no place for social constructs or moral righteousness when Death comes to reap. But he's not wholeheartedly cold. He has a fondess for creatures that fight for survival, and has grown warm in regarding the Moons as his daughters. Especially Regarding Rosie's existence as an uncharted abnormality. He likes to collect vintage items through the dimensions and time -- he has a particular appreciation for classic rock and the alternative genre. MCR happens to be a favorite, he even has a shirt that was gifted to him

The bones are not interconnected, instead they are in fact held together by a tar-like substance that is manifested void solidified to act as a binder to give him that iconic skeletol look. Means you can technically pull his bone as far as you like and it will snap back in place like putty

Death is the embodiment of the oblivion, and everything about the multiverse actually occurs within his own body. The empty void lies within his ribs, voidborn are the first creatures to inhabit the oblivion are the equivalent of harmless skinmites to him, and yet that are one of the most dangerous creatures to anything that is living. The creation of 13 dimensional planes exist within oblivion to act like a viable biosphere for life to be planted by Big G Elohym and all their crafty creations. It acts like a protective barrier with voidborn desperately trying to tear and crawl into in order to feed their insatiable hunger

Death and God also have a complicated relationship in which God is best described as a manic out of ouch OC creator that adds trauma and major events to the story as a means of character development , while Death is the editor that tries to cleanly tie up story endings before Big G gets ahead of himself (I say he but can legit present in any shape that people want em to. He's a person shaped thing with a glowing face you cant see rocking the air moses 3000 sandals ) and goes overboard with a damage. Imagine Death's scroll like a shared google doc, hes in the middle of writing a proper character death in red ink, then suddenly blue ink manifests on the page and starts crossing out + deleting his work to overwrite what he has written down. It becomes aggressive note wars at the side panel of the scroll arguing with each other. Death screams in his crypt and the multiverse shivers in confusion. Big G laughs because Death just doesnt understand the masterpiece they have planned. Big G is not malicious, he has simply never had to live a mortal life and does not understand the extent of what suffering feels, only understands how it changes the course of a person's character through it. Like I said, manic creator

Death monitors the realm of the living in person, but also has it personified in his keep as a large garden. People can be plants, they can be insects, they can be the tiny animals that roam his greenhouse. The relationship of the living and their health is usually depicted in the wines vines entwine, take root, or how flowers wilt and how insects may burrow into other plants. Death is able to sift through his green houses to account for the state of the multiverse, even pruning the wilting flowers as a mercy as they head towards the end. Death is able to grow blooms out of himself, usually down his back and shoulders as a mean of making himself less imposing, but also because he likes that touch of life and color that is the opposite of everything he is

Death is an entity that is ever present in the lives of mortals in times of great suffering and mass death. You may see death in any different shapes, present in battlefields, hospitals, graveyards, refuge camps -- any place where great suffering has occurred. Death's preferred shape is a wiry eccentric older man out of time, but he can also borrow vessels of dying creatures and people as his means of wading through the world unnoticed. In doing so typically means the vessel has already expired and he has granted them a peaceful passing through himself in exchange for using their flesh as a disguise. When death takes his true form again, the meat body will decay and mummify in a matter of seconds, enlarging to make the shape of his robes while the bones reshape into his own original form. its p horrific to witness in person