#nightshade angel lights

[dani-the-toad]

the one who was right all along

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I stumbled on this article about 29 Western Gothic Nursery Ideas and I'm so impressed. These ideas can be used for baby, but why not for inspiration for older children's room and adult decor? You gotta see these. This one is called "Mythical Creatures." According to the article, it introduces fantastic beasts like griffins and unicorns into a nursery. Deep jewel tones mixed with soft pastels create a magical yet calming space, perfect for stimulating imagination.

Moonlit Haven brings the peaceful charm of a moonlit meadow indoors. Soft blues and silvers mimic the glow of the moon, while plush moon-shaped pillows and serene meadow-themed wall art enhance the tranquil atmosphere.

Twilight Magic captures the whimsical charm of twilight. Deep purples and blues set a mystical tone, while twinkling fairy lights and mythical creature toys spark curiosity. 

Starry Enchantment brings celestial wonder, combining deep navy hues and silver accents. Star-patterned walls and a night sky ceiling inspire dreams of galactic adventures, while plush star-shaped cushions add comfort and charm.

Mystic Moonlight creates a dreamy nursery, using pale colors and silvery moonbeam motifs. Delicate, floating fabrics and lunar landscapes inspire a sense of wonder and calm.

Gothic Grove brings the charm of an ancient garden indoors. Rich greens and earth tones, paired with floral and vine patterns, create a lush, calming atmosphere. Dark wood furniture and soft lighting enhance the theme’s historic feel.

Eclipse Dreams features a theme inspired by the mystery of an eclipse. Dark colors contrasted with gold accents mimic the sun’s corona, while celestial patterns create a cozy, restful space.

Nightshade Nursery embraces deep purples and soft blacks, creating a secret garden vibe. Subtle botanical prints and shadowy decor inspire storytelling and imagination, while plush rugs ensure a cozy, magical space.

Willow Whispers brings the gentle grace of willow trees. Soft greens and earth tones create a serene atmosphere, while willow branch wall decals sway peacefully, making it the perfect setting for a soothing nursery.

Windy Whispers captures the gentle flow of the wind. Airy fabrics and soft, flowing designs bring a dynamic element to the room, while soft blues and grays create a serene space.

Celestial Dreams brings the night sky indoors. Starry patterns and glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars create a soothing, cosmic environment.

Fairytale Dungeon offers a playful twist, transforming the space into a whimsical medieval fantasy. Castle-like furniture, dragon toys, and soft, ambient lighting create a space full of adventure and charm.

Gargoyle’s Lair incorporates mythical Gothic elements with gargoyle figurines and rugged textures. Stone-gray tones and plush gargoyle toys create a unique space. 

Castle Dreams transforms a nursery into a storybook castle with royal murals, plush thrones, and regal fabrics. Purple and gold accents add a touch of nobility.

Midnight Meadows features calming nocturnal murals. Large wall art depicting moonlit scenes sets a peaceful tone, while indirect lighting enhances the magical nighttime atmosphere.

Gothic Spires draws on cathedral architecture, incorporating pointed arches and soft gray tones for a serene, collected space. Angelic motifs and stained glass details add to the calming environment.

Enchanted Sanctuary creates a magical nursery filled with mystical books and lantern-like lighting. Soft, muted colors and luxurious textures make the space feel warm and enchanting.

Ghostly Playroom introduces playful ghost motifs that create a fun, cozy atmosphere. Soft, pale colors and plush ghost-shaped pillows add whimsy without being spooky.

Lavender Maze brings intricate patterns and soft purples. Labyrinthine designs on wallpaper or rugs add a touch of charm, while simple furniture keeps the room calm and soothing.

Wraith’s Playground is a whimsical take using light, ethereal fabrics to create an airy, magical space. Pale colors and ghostly motifs make the room playful and calming.

Shaded Comfort focuses on muted grays and soft blacks, creating a subtle, shadowy atmosphere that’s perfect for quiet comfort. Soft, plush materials provide both coziness and sophistication.

Cheerful Spirits brings friendly, playful ghost motifs. Bright accents and ghost-shaped pillows add fun to the room, creating a stimulating yet cozy environment.

Twilight Cuddles captures the soft light of dusk. Dusky purples and shimmering fabrics evoke a peaceful, twilight sky, perfect for soothing before bed.

Storybook Charm brings classic fairy tale elements. Deep colors, ornate frames, and vintage toys create an enchanting, adventure-filled space.

Peaceful Tombs embraces the serenity of Gothic architecture. Arched doorways, soft lighting, and muted earth tones create a tranquil, retreat-like environment.

Mystical Reflections uses mirrors to create a sense of depth and magic. Reflective surfaces paired with enchanted forest-themed decor add an element of surprise and wonder.

Raven’s Haven brings the mysterious beauty of ravens into the room with dark, rich colors and plush raven toys. Artwork of ravens in moonlit trees adds a touch of Gothic elegance.

Sapphire Dreams creates a Gothic nursery with deep, calming sapphire hues and silver accents. Dark wood furniture with Gothic detailing completes the serene, magical space.

Gentle Guardians softens the traditional gargoyle motif into playful, friendly figures. Stone-gray tones and whimsical gargoyle toys create a balanced, inviting space.

https://learncalifornia.org/western-gothic-nursery/

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Two

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through their meeting in a pleasure house in Hewn City.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. Again this is inspired by From Blood and Ash but next chapter we start to deviate from those vibes.

Death came to me at dusk in the guise of a man; swathed in shadow. Haunting and prophetic. In flashes of seraphic, blue light and age worn bone. A voice shaded in nightshade calls out from the antechamber of the pleasure hall’s private apartments. A male cleaves through the darkness. He cuts an intimidating figure in the pallid sapphire light; stalks through the dark as though he was born from it. A scarred hand reaches through the veil, that glitters like spun spider silk, between my body and his. All thought and sound eddies from my mind.

“You are so much lovelier than I remember.” The low tenor of his voice is a whisper of darkness as his scent shrouds my senses.

Night-blooming wisteria and the depths of the Illyrian wilderness. 

He is a thing of dark, lovely beauty, I think as he steps into the light. Beautiful in the way some ancient mercurial God must be. Cut from the same onyx stone of the mountains to the North. Night incarnate. The darkness from which all light is born. 

“I’d have sent word, but I was already in the city.”  Scarred fingertips ghost the length of my arm. 

The glare of Illyrian steel, lethal and vicious, pierces through the blanket of the dark and reality comes flooding back to me with all the force of a raging tempest as the sapphire lights casts his beautiful face in shadow. 

I’d know him always. I would know him even in Hades, shrouded in the darkness at the end of the world. By the threads of fate that bind us both to this infernal mountain. 

Azriel.

The High Lord’s Spymaster. 

Everyone in this infernal city has heard the harrowing stories of this brutal, beautiful male. I am no exception. 

At first it was his beauty that commanded me to search for him in every darkened corner of the Moonstone Palace. It was the graceful hollow of his throat, the onyx curls that framed the elegant planes of his face that made a slave of me. The way that he towered over me like the embodiment of the dark-stoned mountains from which he hails. I had visited the Illyrian mountains once as a girl, when the Old High Lord lived. The long shadows of Ramiel had veiled the world in a shroud of black, save for the pallid moonlight that bleached the darkness. There was a temple. Its ruins lay in some long forgotten grove, shaded in wisteria and moon flowers. 

But it is his inherent violence that speaks to my innate darkness; it calls to me in a language so old, and long dead, that only fate itself might infer some meaning from the whispers of it, carried forth on a night wind . The terrible darkness that bleeds from him like the veil between the worlds. It is that darkness that feels somehow kindred to me. I saw him once, in the training yards of the Moonstone Palace. He had looked like some avenging angel; sweat-slicked and savage. His body and blade a weapon that he had honed to a fatal sharpness. 

He came to me that night in a dream, prophetic and elusive. In flashes of sapphire and star-flecked night. A harbinger of my undoing. It wasn’t until years later that he came to me again, in the Temple of Astarion. The dreams followed me for weeks after. Even in my waking moments I saw him. God of plagues and prophecy. A great chamber beneath the mountain. The dark waters of a salt-lake. The darkness at the end of the world.

 “Come here, pretty girl.” Azriel says, a small smile curves around the sulk on his lips. 

It occurs to me then that he has no idea who I am. That he has mistaken me for some other Female; some lovely thing who touches him tenderly. These stolen garments could belong to anyone, and without the veil there is nothing that marks me as the Lord Protector’s favorite. 

Tonight I can be anyone. Tonight I can be her.  

I had never considered myself to be beautiful but standing here now, my figure reflected in his hazel eyes, I see something. The vision of some ancient Goddess. Violent and volatile. 

A storm incarnate.

I summon that storm as my gaze sweeps over Azriel again. He’s splayed across the small day bed, dressed in an unbuttoned tunic that bears the contours of his chest so beautifully. The broad expanse of his back is framed by large, membranous wings and his onyx hair is tousled with messy curls that frame the delicate curve of his ears. 

If I had any sense at all I’d run back to the Palace and never look back. Unfortunately for me all common sense I might have had abandoned me when his palm skims the curve of my hip over the thick, woolen fabric of my cloak as he beckons me closer. 

“You look so very lovely in this light.” he sighs deeply, the broad splay of his hand curling around the cradle of my hips as he draws me into him. When he looks at me, there is only darkness in those golden eyes. 

Dark, arresting eyes. 

I offer him a gentle smile in lieu of thanks in a meek attempt to assuage his desire. 

“Now get on your knees.” He insists, like a priest intoning his mass. There’s a strange sense of threat in his voice that commands me to sink lowly before him. As if my body is little more than a conduit of his intent. 

“Look at me.” Something innate compels me to comply. The Shadowsinger takes my chin roughly between his scarred fingertips, brushes a calloused thumb over the plush of my lips. 

I shudder. 

“So very lovely,” He observes me in the low light. One star-flecked hand reaches out to tangle in the unbound lengths of my hair to expose the column of my throat to his shadows that coil around me like the tendrils of a serpent. 

Guilt and shame festers in me; turning my insides to rot. 

“I-I…” I try to speak but any confession dissolves on my tongue like a prayer when Azriel’s fingers ghost over the lapels of this open tunic; exposing his sculpted shoulders and the expanse of his broad chest, all contoured muscle that looks as if it were carved from the mountain stone. A fine dusting of hair forms a dark constellation that descends from his navel, down to the carved marble of his Adonis belt and dips beneath the material of his breeches. 

My half-lidded gaze dips lower and heat blooms in my chest and flowers along the exposed skin of my chest and cheeks. Even in the dim light, I admire the elegant curve of his calves and thighs and how his leathers caress his sculpted frame.

Heat takes root in my body again. A coiling, feverish heat that pulses in the deepest parts of my being. 

The Shadowsinger rises from the chaise. He towers over me like the imposing shadow of the mountain that shrouds the world in its dark veil. My fingers instinctively curl around the dagger at my thigh, through the swathes of heavy fabric that form a dark corona around my body. 

I am an acolyte. I have taken my vows and made my oaths in sight of The Mother. I am coveted and revered. For the prophecy that curses my blood. And this…

This is forbidden.

And yet, there, in the sulk of his lips, I relish in a heaven that only exists when he is looking at me. As though I am an altar he could pray to. As though he would forsake every solemn vow he has ever made if I would permit him to put his lips on mine. 

And I will. 

Amber eyes burn ardent gold against the black as he stalks towards me, wading through the shadows with the grace of some dark-winged God.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice is desperate and fervent as he advances towards me. The feverish heat of his breath on my neck feels something akin to absolution. 

“Please.” A tremor of anticipation reverberates through my spine and my heart beats thunderously in my chest as it heaves against Azriel. A broad hand pulls me into his bruising grip. The other holds my head as he braces against the wall.

Azriel’s kiss is a devastating thing; a claiming, a devouring, a begging to be believed. I suck in a sharp breath and he deepens the kiss, the sharpness of his teeth grazing the sulk of my bottom lip. Guilt and shame coils in the pit of my stomach, a dreadful tempest that stakes its claim to me. Until I feel the delicate stroke of his tongue against mine. That storm manifests itself as a throbbing ache between my thighs. Tentative fingers curl around the cradle of my hips and Azriel growls into my open mouth. 

The vision comes to me veiled in shadow and flashes of age worn bone as it stakes its claim to me again. The shadow of the great mountain looms like some ill-fated omen over the valley and a blue star bleeds into the twilight, casting Ramiel in a halo or sapphire light. The mountain trembles in my wake; the Old Gods whisper my name like a prayer. There is a temple; carved into the stone of the mountain, a great antechamber, shaded in the musk of hemlock and incense as I pass between the sandstone pillars. The antechamber of the sanctum is shrouded in climbing ivy and blooming moon flowers that conceal the frescos on the walls. Through the shroud of shadow, I can make out the apparition of a man, cloaked in death. He wears it as some ancient King might. Proud, beautiful and lethal. His great dark wings spread across the landscape and the faces in the crowds kneel to him in reverence. The onyx stalactites become entangled in the light that bleeds from the surface and I come to a stop at the foot of the altar when that myriad of dancing light falls onto me. 

I am pale moonlight light;  refracted and broken divinity. The memory of some undying Goddess in the pallid light. 

The emerald dias is littered with the remnants of the offerings left to a dying God; wilted jasmine and orchids, silver coins, minted with the faces of an ancient king, amphora’s of faerie wine. I sink to my knees at the foot of the altar and I swear I can feel the whispers of the Gods long dead. I run a fine-boned hand over the collection of offerings laid in revereven, made in earnest. The gleam of thinly drawn steel amongst the dying jasmine beckons me further still, into the heart of the temple. Veiled in the shadows of the mountain; a bloody scythe. The hilt and pommel, like cool marble in my hand as I raise it to the light. The blade itself is coated crimson and rust and the ferrous smell of blood hangs heavy in the air.

Only false idols are worshiped in flowers and wine alone. True divinity requires sacrifice.

Out of the devastating darkness steps a figure; shaded in wretched shadows and a devouring black mass as he approaches the dias. As he steps to the altar all the sconces are afire with bluelight; sapphire and cerulean as his robe falls to reveal him in all his divine glory. The saints whisper my name and his figure, wreathed in shadow and light materializes before me.

God of plagues and prophecy. 

He whispers to me. Prophet girl, chosen by the dark, do you hear the Gods whispering those silent stardust words? Cursed daughter of ancient blood, do you regret taking the vow?

Without warning the tenuous connection to the Otherworld is broken. And I am left raging, seething, as the storm breaks against me. 

“What was that?” The Shadowsinger accuses sharply, unfurling his great, dark wings as the last of the vision ebbs away from me. The draw of Illyrian steel, lethal and dangerous, rings through the air like the peal of thunder and presses against the hollow of my throat.

“I-I I don’t- I think it was a dream” I ramble. My voice little more than a high arching sound under his dark, arresting gaze. I press a trembling hand to his in an aching plea for him to surrender his blade. 

The Shadowsinger is unrelenting and the sting of his blade kisses my neck. 

“Please, Azriel.” I beg as silver tears cloud my vision in a milky film.

A resounding pound against the door silences the Shadowsinger. 

“Azriel?” The velvety timbre of a male voice comes from behind the door.  Azriel stiffens against me, the heat of his breath fans across my throat again, half-lidded golden eyes still burning into my own. His hand passes over his chest as if trying to soothe the violent storm of emotion that rages inside of him. 

It seethes when the pale light dances in his eyes. When he looks at me there is only darkness there. Night incarnate. 

“I need you back in Velaris.” The male says sternly. It’s a voice I have heard before in a dream or a memory. The scent of moonflowers and citrus drifts on a night wind. 

“I’m sort of in the middle of something, Brother,” Azriel responds, his voice low and dangerous, thick with malicious intent. His grip on my hip is still unrelenting and strangely tender.

“Azriel open the God's damned door.” The male pounds on the door again, his gravelly voice full of wrath and dangerous authority.

“I think you should answer him,” I whisper.

“Rhys,” He curses. Azriel curls a deft finger around the loose treses of my hair and inhales a shaky breath, “I swear to the Mother -- you were the one who told me to come to this hellmouth in the first place and now you --.” 

“It’s important, Brother,” The Male replies before knocking again. Azriel looses a shuddering breath in response and the longer strands of his hair brushes over my shoulder as he bows his head in frustration “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

“Pay the whore and be done with it.” I frown.

“Brother,” Azriel warns, his voice like cold death and his thinly veiled violence dances in his golden eyes like a taunt. I can’t help but think of him softly then, as a scarred hand curls around my arm, applying pressure that is both tender and bruising. 

“Give me a few moments.” Azriel relents. Azriel’s face darkens considerably and those great, dark wings seem to stand sentinel. A testament to the Shadowsingers rage. A heavy black mass materialises about him, cloaking him in wisps of dark, ancient magic. 

Something dark and uncomfortable stirs in my soul then. A foreknowledge that speaks to a coming storm. 

“You must leave?” He nods solemnly and untangles himself from me. The absence of him feels something akin to drowning now. Having grown so fond of his comforting weight and the dark magnetism that seems to exude off of him in plumes of shadow. 

“My High Lord needs me.” He explains cooly. 

I nod in reply, still clutching desperately at his open tunic. For a long moment, neither of us dare to move. Bound in our silence. So we wait. Until he tires of it. Azriel sheaths his blade, it’s blue hilt shimmering sapphire in the pallid light. The dark material of his tunic is discarded on the bed and he procures his leathers from the materialising darkness before me. It’s scaled armour, an austere garment that looks as if it too was born from the shadows which seem to cling to him now. 

The male that had touched me tenderly is all but gone then, and from his shadow an Illyrian warrior steps into the light. His blades are honed to a wicked, deadly point, intended for the brutality of warfare, their serrated edges designed to carve through flesh and muscle. 

“I-I will come back here, when the fighting is done. Then we will talk - about this dream of yours.” 

His voice is flat and lethal, a warning and taunt. I nod once more.

“Will you wait for me, angel?” Azriel’s dark, piercing eyes fall on me again and I feel at home, there, in his thrall, under the blanket of his darkness. 

“I will.” My heart flickers violently in my chest. 

The shadowsinger turns and I watch forlornly as he walks to the door. I say nothing as he steps into the shadows. 

I won’t be here when he returns. 

As I, too, turn towards the door I hear the whispers of it again. SOmething dark and ancient calls my name. 

Prophet girl, chosen by the dark, do you hear the Gods whispering those silent stardust words? Cursed daughter of ancient blood, do you regret taking the vow?

TAGLIST: @bravo-delta-eccho @tiredsleepyhead @that-one-bibliophole @azzyslittleshadow @lalaluch @laramcflyyyy @teenagellamaangel

[vivalarevolutionxd]

Plants that unalive people.

Project 2025 (if it is voted in) will get rid of a woman's right to divorce her husband and her rights to her own body. This means we need to protect women from dangerous men. Here we go:

-Abrus Precatorius (Aka Crabs eye, rosary pea, Indian licorice, ect) causes vomiting, convulsions, liver failure, and death. Even one seed will cause it.

-Aconitum (Aka Wolfsbane, aconite, monkshood) causes disabled nerve endings, low blood pressure, cardiac irregularities, vomiting, and of course death.

-Actaea Pachypoda (Aka dolls eyes, or white baneberry) which basically paralyzes the cardiac muscles, not always deadly.

-Ageratina Altissima (Aka white snakeroot, white sanicle, richweed) causes milk sickness, which if you don't know it causes significant weightloss, polydipsia, vomiting, appetite loss, difficulty standing/walking, coma, and then death. Death occurs 2-10 days after eating it.

-Arnica Montana (Aka mountain tobacco, leopards bane, Mountain Arnica) causes bleeding in the intestinal tract, inflammation of the liver, paranoia, accelerated heart rate, muscular weakness, and death. Though a lot of the seeds/plant need to be digested for it to kill, though little amounts for long enough time can cause cancer.

-My personal favorite,Atropa Belladonna (Aka deadly nightshade) it's a long list but it causes: dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, slurred speech, dry throat and mouth, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, delusions, hallucinations, convulsions, necrosis(limb death), paralysis, and death.

-Brugmansia (Aka angels trumpet(cause you will see the lord)) causes hallucinations and losing connection with reality. Not 100% deadly by itself but causes severe paranoia, hallucinated pain, and delusions. The most notable case of Angel's trumpet is a young man self amputating his leg with pruning shears after consuming the tea of just two flowers, he died.

-Caltha Palustris (Aka marsh-marigold, kingcup) causes convulsions, burning of the throat, vomiting, bloody diarrhea, dizziness, fainting, blisters, inflammation, gastric illnesses, and patients usually die to the symptoms.

-Cerbera Odollam (suicide tree) the one just kills you within a few minutes, muted taste, undetectable in autopsies, and can't be treated once consumed.

-Chelidomium Majus (Aka Greater Celandine) this one also just kills you, but you need at least 18mg per kilogram of body weight, so a 50kg (110lbs) person needs at least 900mg to kill them.

-Cicuta (Aka water hemlock, cows bane, wild carrot, snake weed, poison parsnip, child's bane) this one causes just over and over seizures until death. Can't be treated.

-Colchicum Autumnale (Aka Autum Corocus, Meadow Saffron) causes burning in mouth and throat, fever, diarrhea, abdominal pain, kidney failure, multiple system organ failure, hypovolemic shock, fluid loss, damage to the gi tract, bloody urine, low white blood cell count (damages the bodies ability to fight off infections), anemia, muscular weakness, respiratory failure, and death. Death occurs in 42-74hrs from consumption.

-Another one of my favorites, Conium Maculatum (Aka Hemlock, spotted parsley, spotted cowbane) for the following symptoms to occur you need to consume at least 6-8 leaves or half a gram of the roots. Symptoms include but not limited to, necrosis (limb death) within 30 minutes of initial dose, and paralysis of lungs, this causes suffocation within the hour.

I'll make a pt. 2 later.

[lanitaminaj]

once upon a dream

a strange man, or an entity, finds itself plastered on your wall. toji, you begin to learn, finds himself intertwined within your life. inspired by this post.

cw; female reader, sexual themes, cussing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, paranormal, horror.

he simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you. 

you gazed back, your doe-eyes large and your babydoll-lips parted as they took in the entity etched on your lavender-purple bedroom wall. 

"are you going to hurt me?" you rasped, your voice low as you kept your sleeping parents next door in mind. 

he just smirked; the left corner of his lengthy, scarred lips were pulled mockingly upward.

"are you going to kill me in my sleep?" you whispered, your eyelids heavy as a tiny yawn escaped your plush lips. 

his chest bounced, as if he was laughing in a tone impossible for your human ears to gather. 

"okay," you shrugged, wrapping the pearl-white, cotton-soft blanket up to your shoulders. 

he was merely composed of a head and a chest; composed of raven-black, messy tresses. his eyes were almond-shaped, their sunken composure indulged in your form as if you were prey. all you could make out beneath his thick, veiny neck was a set of toughened, herculean shoulders. even covered by the hellish-cloud of ink, you could make out every inch and bulge of inhuman brawn. 

"what are you?" you questioned, your body comfortably entangled within the fluffy fabric. you knew he was outworldly, yet you couldn’t discern from where he’d come from. was he your guardian angel? a spiritual protector sent to guard you as you dreamt? or was he demonic, an impish spirit serving as a reminder of the sins living within you?

he, unsurprisingly, refrained from responding. his smirk dropped, yet his nightshade-eyes remained draped on you.

“fine,” you huffed, before you allowed exhaustion to envelop your resting form. Your feather-stuffed pillows molded themselves to accommodate the shape of your head, the baby-powder scent seducing you into succumbing to a peaceful slumber.

wordlessly, you blinked your eyes twice at the strange, ghastly man on your wall, before the world around you became pitch-black. 

-

there was a little bunny that often paraded around in the emerald-green grass of your backyard. some mid-days, when your parents were off at work, you would gather some baby carrots from the refrigerator and feed the little creature. it was a cute thing, you decided, with its long, floppy ears and fur which copied the pattern of cowskin. the only difference was that the darker patterns were a light, caramel-brown rather than a deep, mocha-brown. 

the soft baby chewed happily, a soft coo escaping your lips as its rosy-pink nose twitched happily. 

the little bunny was an adorable distraction from the source of your recent frustration: the demon in your wall. 

you’ve tried for weeks to try and communicate. on your side, you’ve provided a multitude of prompts to ask him. 

“where’re you from?” was one. “what’s your name? why’re you in my room?” were others. 

of course, there’d been a lack of answers from the demon, causing you to angrily cease your one-sided conversations. 

you’d even gone as far as to script a lengthy paper to him, leaving it on the cedar-wood surface of your dresser one night for him to read. when you’d awoken, however, you discovered the letter to be ripped up and discarded messily on your oak-wood floor. 

how rude. 

your parents had been gone; your father was harvesting bee-honey while your mother attended to her floral shop. 

you picked up the little bunny, holding its bustling form close to your warm chest. a light breeze whispered around you, an indignation of the twilight-purple evening sky’s soon arrival. 

your bare feet kissed the blades of the clover-green grass, ignoring how the sharp tips provoked slight pain as you stepped. you trekked through the vanilla-white door of the baby-blue painted cottage, the wood underneath you groaning as you inched closer and closer to your lavender-lilac room. 

your bedsheets had been in a disarray; all messy with the indent of your body pressed into them. your single window had been cranked open, the smell of ivory and pine-trees surrounded your room. your cotton, white blanket reminded you of the clouds you’d seen that morning. the bubblegum-pink tulip on your dresser was dying.

“there you go,” you softly cooed, gently setting the shaking bunny on your cloudy comforter. it settled in quite nicely, its little nose nuzzling the comforting texture and smell of your bed.

you peered at your wall. he wasn’t there. 

a timid grumbling caught your attention.

your eyes widened, your ears focusing on the rumbling occurring again. it didn’t take you long to realize the bunny’s stomach had been thundering, its doll-eyes peering up at you pleadingly.

“hungry?” you questioned it, as if the furry creature could truly understand your human words. it appears that it could, however, its whiskers twitching in response.

“okay,” you nodded, your legs setting for the kitchen. “wait here,” you commanded. “i’ll find you some food.”

there hadn’t been much, honestly. your mother’s produce jars had been empty, the only evidence of there ever being fruits were the royal-blue blueberry and scarlet-red raspberry juices that lined the glasses. you had honey-baked bread, but you weren’t sure if bunnies could eat loaves. a jug of lamb’s milk sat tranquilly in the refrigerator, but you figured it’ll make the tiny creature sick. 

suddenly, you remembered the strawberries that your father had been planting. sauntering out the door once more, you set forth to the patch that grew quietly near your home.

like a christmas tree, the bush stood soldierly while the blooming strawberries served as ornaments. 

you picked gingerly from it, making sure to pick generously in fear of your father being upset. 

somewhat alone, the wind’s embrace and the soft singing of the mockingjays accompanied you as you slipped into a daze.

you thought of your parents, how often tired, yet content, they seemed with their lives. your mother’s serene smile was a sight you adored, while your nose regularly basked in your father’s constant scent of honey. you thought of your little world, how you indulged in simple pleasures such as reading jane austen and producing grains of your own poetry. the other townies often depict these simple pleasures as boring, yet there was some comfort gained in you as you embraced your creative side. 

there wasn’t much time left to indulge in your deepest thoughts, of course, as you remembered the little bunny that laid hungry in your bed. swiftly, you gathered the harvested strawberries as you set off for your home, the tranquil little cottage soft in your honeyed-eyes. 

you trampled through the door, a whistle on your lips as you chopped up the strawberries in a tiny, heart-shaped ceramic plate. it was a ruby-red shade, messily painted with strawberry and tomato juice from when you were seven-years-old. 

“bunny,” you called, your voice sweet and high like a hummingbird’s song. the bunny refrained from trotting to the kitchen, its soft paws against the wooden-floor abstained from entering your ears. you turned towards your bedroom door, the pearl-white hatch suddenly closed and foreboding. you couldn’t remember if you sealed it before you slipped out, yet you disregarded it as an unimportant thought compared to the direness at hand. 

“bunny?” you called once more, crouching slowly towards your bedroom with the heart-shaped plate in your left hand. the door ahead of you was coated with hand-painted lavender and pink tulips that scattered beautifully against the colorlessness of the canvas. the sky behind you had turned into a hue of tangerine-orange and violet-purple. 

the door creaked as you pushed it open. the plate in your hand thunderously shattered as it dropped in shards against your bedroom floor. 

near the lavender wall, where the entity lived, laid your little bunny. 

a sob emerged from your throat. your beloved bunny rested in the hands of the entity, the furry creature coated in blood as the wall’s ghost ate from it. when it was done, it simply tossed the slain bunny on the ground, a squelch sound made as it dropped in its scarlet-red bloody pool.

you submerged the urge to vomit, yet couldn’t fight the urge to pass out.

-

a coral-pink bowl of tomato-soup laid carefully against the palms of your slightly-shaking hands. 

you observed the entity, the inhuman-man licking the bunny’s blood that had coated on his fingers. 

you hadn’t quite noticed it, but the entity was growing.

he grew arms, the muscles bulging and long. his hands were just as big, with veins coating throughout the flesh. or, form? you wondered if his veins contained blood, or if they were like plant vines. you imagined it was the latter. after the events from earlier, you were convinced that this thing was surely subhuman. 

and yet, you couldn’t halt yourself from showing some form of sympathy for it. “i didn’t know you were hungry,” you grumbled, your eyes darting down as you simultaneously spooned your soup. you weren’t very hungry; your appetite had been satiated for at least a week. “i would’ve gotten you something had you just told me.”

he simply stared, his sharp-eyes trained on your smaller form as he sucked. you could feel the little smirk that rested on his bloodied lips. barbaric, you couldn’t help but think. your thoughts translated on your face, a subconscious snarl present on your angry lips. 

“you’re evil,” you choked out, placing the soup-bowl on your pearl-white nightstand. “i’m not speaking to you anymore.”

you tucked yourself into bed, your pillowy-sheets brought up to your warm face. you could imagine that the entity was simply staring at you, that nonchalant expression on his face as if he couldn’t care less about eating your precious baby bunny. you tried your best to block out any thoughts of today’s events, your subconscious allowing your mind to dream of pleasant things such as your mother’s cherry-lime pie and your father’s lullabies from your childhood.

within a few minutes, you succumbed to sleep.

-

by the time you woke up the next morning, you feigned surprise at the entity not being plastered on your wall. good, you thought. yet, there was some wicked pulse in your heart that ached at the usual disappearance of the ghost.

your legs carried you out of bed, your yawning self delighted at the sight of your mother and father eating and chatting blissfully at the kitchen table.

“good morning, honey,” your mother greeted, her lips planting a small kiss on your rosy-pink cheeks. your father squeezed your arm. 

“honey,” his resonant voice boomed. “i think my strawberries have bloomed, can you pluck them?”

your back fought the urge to straighten itself rigid, your voice fighting the urge to say “i’ve actually plucked some yesterday”. 

you complied, however, like the good daughter you were. “i’ll go get them,” you beamed, grabbing the woven-basket near the front door before you set off for the meadows. 

it wasn’t anything peculiar. you merely picked the remaining berries, placed them in your basket, and set off back home. you arrived back to your parents on the porch, their tanned fingers wrapped around mason jars filled with what appeared to be peach-tea. 

“honey,” your mother sang your childhood nickname. “set the basket down in the kitchen. we left a glass on the counter for you.”

“thanks, mama,” you thanked, your steps echoing as you entered the tiny kitchen. you sat the basket down, yet something peculiar occurred. a thumping sound emerged, a noise consistent and erratic as it bounced frighteningly on what you determined to be on hardwood-flooring. you listened intently, before you realized the sound was coming from your own bedroom. 

your skin suddenly felt very cold. 

your crept towards your room, your heart pumping as your hand pushed gently against your colorful door. you swore your heart fought not to stop as the door creaked eerily.

the thumping stopped once you entered your room. you froze, your mind racing with a multitude of thoughts at once. oh god, you cried to yourself. perhaps i’m losing my mind. it wouldn’t be a possibility too far fetched. after all, what sane person sees a ghost in their wall?

but then, there it was. a bunny emerged from under your bed, the thumps it created verified that it was the source of the anxious noises produced. you sighed, but then you realized under sudden inspection that this wasn’t just any bunny. its long, floppy ears; its caramel-brown cowskin patterns.

this was your bunny. 

“what,” you breathed to yourself, its pink nose wobbling as it inched closer to you. you couldn’t believe it; your little bunny had been brought back to life?

you bent down to scratch the beloved creature behind its ears, but gasped as it disappeared underneath your touch. within a heartbeat, it was gone once more. 

you choked back a sob. 

“no,” you huffed, your throat tightening and your heart broken. “no, my bunny.”

a tear slid down your cheek, before something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. you turned your head, your eyes widening in pure surprise. 

there, on your wall, decorated with black-gunk, purple-ink and burgundy-blood, was a simple appellation. 

toji.

-

when you first started seeing choso, you refrained from bringing him home for select reasons. 

for one, you didn’t want your parents to flock and coo around him like doves. for two, you didn’t want him to be frightened by the man in your wall.

toji, you discovered, had gotten stronger as the days progressed. the wall carved out indentations of his thighs, the tendons within them muscular and large. similar to his arms, you noted. 

you additionally noticed how jealous he’d get, for reasons you didn’t quite know.

during late nights, when your parents were whisked away by either deep sleep or work duties, you found yourself gushing over choso to the shadow man. 

“he’s a gentleman,” you blushed, your fingers toying with the loose fabrics on your comforter. “he sometimes doesn’t have much to say, but he’ll bring me little flowers here and there. specifically baby’s breath cause they’re my favorite. i’m surprised he remembered i told him that the one time i did.”

toji kept that common smirk on his ghastly face, yet his features often altered when he heard you speak about choso. for one, his eyes switched. a fire ignited in them, a violet-purple glint in them that never went unnoticed. his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, with his nose flaring ever so slightly. 

there was one day you were enthused over choso so bad that it caused toji to completely disappear for three nights, only to smugly reemerge as you pathetically called his name in the dead of night. you’ve received the message, of course. you’ve refrained from raving to toji about your date after those nights. 

tonight, however, you’ve gotten the home to yourself. your parents had been flocked away to attend to some dire work obligations, their presence not revered as that meant you were able to bring choso in. you’ve forgotten about one presence, however, too blissed out to remember.

you ransacked your parents’ liquor cabinet, your fingers pulling out a bottle of jack daniel’s tennessee honey whiskey. your father’s favorite.

it was disgusting, of course, your lips pressing bitterly into each other as you took little shots of it. you were never a huge alcohol enthusiast, but you read somewhere that it was an aphrodisiac. from the way a sudden warmth blossomed between your thighs coupled with the way you could feel your tits hardening underneath your white-sundress, you knew the effects were taking place. with choso’s low-eyes and his palm practically caressing your bare calf, you could tell that the alcohol was affecting him as well.

“you’re beautiful,” he uttered above the soft voices of ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong singing ‘the nearness of you’ on the living room’s mahogany-wooden vinyl player.

“thank you,” you breathed before the sudden liquid courage got a hold of you. you got a hold of his hand, guiding it so that it reached the inner warmth of your thighs.

“do you wanna?” you asked sweetly, your cunt dampening as you heard choso rasp out a soft little ‘fuck’. 

“we’re all alone, right?” choso asked, to which you gently nodded your response. “no interruptions?”

“no interruptions,” you promised, before letting yourself be whisked away to your bedroom with your date in tow. 

-

he was so muscular; a fact you didn’t know as his body was constantly concealed underneath the robes and baggier fabrics that he donned. his buffed chest rubbed consistently against your softer breasts, causing them to swell underneath his touch. melodic moans and gasps escaped from your lips, your eyes pressed shut from intense ecstasy and pleasure. his cock, god. his cock was veiny and thick; your lips had previously been wrapped around his salmon-pink dick as it began to rise in your throat. currently, it was being punched routinely in-and-out of your tight, soaked cunt. your nails dug into the man’s pale-back, the ruby-red scratches contrasted beautifully against his canvas-like skin. 

it was all too much; you didn’t know if you’d be able to withstand how his cock was fucking you deeply and roughly as he breathed heavily in your ear. 

“yeah, you like that?” you could hear his heavenly, sexed-out voice question you. the boldness and confidence in his words caused your blissful eyes to open-up slightly, before they immediately bolted-open in shock. 

just a few centimeters from your face had been choso’s own, yet something had changed in his eyes. 

they glew a violet-purple hue. right there, just below his sweating nose, was his mouth; his lips were pressed into a familiar, hunting smirk. 

you could’ve died right there, but you would’ve found it absolutely humiliating for your tombstone to read; death by bomb-ass-dick. 

“yeah,” choso’s voice questioned once more, yet your heart thumped at you in both nirvana and in warning. was this truly choso? “you love this dick, don’t you?” he spoke, causing you to subconsciously moan in response. “love how your cunt squeezes on it, huh?”

“yes,” you nonetheless answer, too fucked out to ponder anything less in the moment. “love this dick.”

“love how it makes you go dumb, don’t you?” choso’s voice began to transform into something unfamiliar. the base in his voice lightened, yet changed its tone to that of something more cocksure. a voice you would later be able to put a face to. 

“choso,” you whined, an action that erupted voluminous noises to pass out your mouth as choso slammed his cock deeper in your throbbing pussy. a veiny hand snuck to grasp at your blushing tit, before the same hand trailed upward to carefully hold your throat. 

“you’re mine,” he hissed, as if something were causing him great pain. “all fucking mine. this cunt belongs to me.”  

“all yours, choso,” you swore, your head bobbing up and down the best it could against the grasp of his hand. you could feel the wave of your orgasm beginning to crash, your heightened ah,ah,ah’s the indicator of what was starting to arise. 

“gonna cum, aren’t you?” choso solicited, his fingers rubbing against your cunt’s pearl. “cum then, pretty girl.” 

and so you did. you cried as your cunt clenched around his cock. choso groaned at the vanilla-reminiscent ring of cream you produced, the man pulling out just as he filled the trojan wrapped around his tip with his own salty-flavored cream. with a huff, he pulled the condom off his cock before he tossed it in the midnight-black tiny trash can behind him, his naked body then collapsing adjacent to yours.

you laid like that for a while, your bare breasts rhythmically rising up-and-down with each deep breath you took. you allowed your left forearm to press against your shut eyelids, allowing yourself a moment to recover from the orgasm that passed you. 

“that was good,” you laughed through a string of heaving breaths. “did you like it?”

“yeah,” choso replied, a hint of confusion inked his steady voice. a pregnant pause filled the air, his arm draping across your bare shoulders. “would you find it crazy if i said i didn’t remember any of it?”

“what?” you chuckled, taking his words to be some form of a joke. your laughter halted, however, once you took in his serious lips contorted to that of a flat line. “did you black out?” you then question, your breasts bowing shamelessly as you sat up against your soft pillows. 

“i might’ve,” he shrugged, allowing his form to press into your blanket underneath him. he left it as that, causing you to sigh out an ‘oh’ and nod your head dumbly. you wanted to say how he seemed normal, his usual self except for the fact he was a much bolder personality in bed. you blamed that on the arousal, however. wasn’t it normal for one to act more daring during sex? 

“i’ve got to get going, anyways,” choso suddenly remarked, his taller figure swiftly bouncing off your bed which left you downhearted. you loved company; those fleeting moments after sex never failed to even be cherished by your heart. “your parents will be home sometime soon, won’t they?”

“yeah,” you smiled, although it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. it was sad. you felt like a pathetic little puppy dog all depressed once its owner had to leave for work. “do you want me to walk you out?”

“sure, honey.”

-

you then quickly threw on your discarded sundress from off the floor, trailing behind choso as his fully-dressed form strode casually through the living room, his right hand clasping around the front door’s handle. 

“are you free next saturday?” you asked him, a blush on your face as he bent down to kiss your warm cheek. “yes,” he replied, flicking your cheek as if wiping an invisible tear from it. “i’ll call you. goodnight.”

and then he was off. “goodnight,” you called after him, closing the door behind him as you did. you didn’t lock it, of course, for your parents’ sake.

trailing sadly back to your room, you screamed at the sight before you. 

it was toji, but he’d been out of the wall. there he was, in all his cruel glory, sitting nonchalantly on the edge of your bed. he’d developed his lower limbs; his legs and thighs, of course, just as muscular as the rest of him. yet, there was something about him that contrasted his buff appearance. maybe it was his clenched waist, a waist you slightly envied. maybe it was his fringed hair-style, an unserious look for a demon. 

he looked, nonetheless, dare you even say it, normal for an evil creature. in evil creature standards? 

and then you felt ridiculous for casting so much attention onto his appearance when there was a much larger issue at stake. 

“what are you doing on my bed?”

he didn’t answer, of course, his devilish eyes glancing up-and-down your swaying form. you wondered what he was thinking about, wondering if you could even touch him. you strode towards him, your thoughts governing your impulsive thoughts. your hand stretched to caress his cheek, but right before you did, he vanished. 

you gasped, goosebumps growing across your skin as you felt the presence of him running up and down your arms. his aura possessed you entirely, but not literally; in a metaphorical sense, toji’s spirit danced all throughout your shivering form. you could tell he reappeared behind you, the buzzing sensation of his arms interlocked across your waist as he put his ghostly lips just below your earlobe. it must be frustrating, you thought as you allowed him to quietly take you in. it must be frustrating to not be able to communicate, at least not in the vocal way. 

he bit at your earlobe a little, causing you to laugh angelically at the playful, ticklish feeling. you could feel his chest against your back bounce happily. at least you knew entities could laugh. 

he placed a little kiss at the nape of your neck, his arms unlinking themselves from you. you turned around, interested in seeing what clever expression toji would have on his handsome, evil face. your smile dropped when you discovered he wasn’t there, wasn’t hiding away in any little corner of your room.

“toji?” you called, but to no avail. “toji?” you nonetheless tried again, your legs pacing across your room and into different parts of the cottage room in some attempt to find him. he was gone.

that night, he hadn’t returned to the wall, either. you’ve gotten used to his glowing eyes staring you down as you slept, a strange conformality you so desperately missed. even when your parents returned home, kissing you a goodnight on the top of your forehead, you still found yourself crying to sleep.

the sorrowful cries continued throughout the duration of two-weeks, the fever of your sobs heightening as you would soon discover choso had been found expectedly dead the week afterward. 

-

everything felt the same to you these days.

your bedsheets had gone unwashed for four weeks, the comforter stained with the scarlet-red residue of your menstrual and your pillows damped by your constant tears. you’ve been planning on washing them, of course, had your father not reminded you that the blueberries were ready to be harvested.

“your mother had been planning on making blueberry compote,” he explained, clearing his throat as he reassuringly rubbed your arm as you laid motionless in bed. “blueberry compote over those buttermilk pancakes you like.”

you thanked God you at least had parents who loved you. if it hadn’t been for them, you would’ve hung yourself with your soiled bed sheets. you’ve been having those thoughts at least once a day, now. 

puffy-eyed, you zoned out as you carelessly plucked at the blueberries, chucking them in your mother’s woven basket. why couldn’t your father pick his own blueberries? you tried to think positively, this outdoorsy excursion providing some form of distraction from your own thoughts. 

there were no bunnies hopping aimlessly around the grassy-patch. there were no songbirds chirping melodically among themselves. there was only you, the woven basket, the fucking blueberries.

then there was a snapping. your head jerked in the direction of what you determined to be an animal stepping on a fallen branch. you hadn’t seen anything; your eyes narrowed before they darted back to watch your own hands work.

another snap. you tilted your head once more, your heartbeat beginning to race. two more snaps commenced, causing your legs to rise up to your full length. 

and then, emerging from the bushes and branches of the forest just to the right of you, there he stood. 

“choso?” you gasped, the blueberry basket in your grasp collapsed towards where your feet rooted. 

there were clear indications that it was him; his exhausted, heavily bruised eyes, his cocoa-brown tresses, the scars that laid across his delicate nose’s bridge. yet, there was something sinisterly new about him. his eyes were narrowed, his gaze pointed hungrily at you as if you were a delicious bambi-doe. his lips curled upward into a simper, as if there was some inside joke between him and only him. his irises, interestingly enough, glowed a soft, orchid-purple hue. 

realistically, you should’ve known that it wasn’t truly choso. he wasn’t Jesus, the simple human unable to rise himself up from his perish after months. perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the desperation that constantly lurked through every crevice of your brain. you ran to him, ran to the figure who you presumed to be your beloved choso. 

“choso,” you sobbed and heaved pathetically against his chest. you hugged your arms tightly around his waist, so tight that the man could die again. your body mournfully bounced against his, your tears so intense they stained the entire front of his tunic. he merely patted your head with his right hand, his left hand softly held your waist. “you have no idea how bad i missed you,” you hiccuped, your body suddenly heaving over as if you were about to throw up.

his hands, their softened nature, tenderly held your damp face. he peered deep into your eyes, as if he was opening the gateway to your soul. 

“choso,” you rasped once more, before he pulled you in to plant an amorous, long kiss on your lips. you hadn’t quite known what ghost lips tasted like; maybe Earth and rot. you internally gagged. you thanked God, however, that ghost kisses tasted exactly like nothing. there’d been no smell nor taste, similarly to those unscented soap bars your mother would make every first of the month. 

you kissed for quite a long time; his tongue suddenly found itself slipped deviously inside your mouth. you moaned, his ghostly hands curiously exploring the mounds and curves of your body. 

you don’t recall how or when, but you do remember finding your back kissing the bark of an old sycamore tree. his hands roamed throughout your body, his hands cupping the softness of your tits and the plumpness of your ass. you squealed in his mouth, feeling his cock harden against your thighs. 

he fucked you right there and then, his cock suddenly in his hands before he slipped it between the warm folds of your cunt. 

you moaned, the songbirds above you seem to chirp along to every little sound you made. he ripped the top of your baby-pink dress, your hardened tits peeking out at him as he pinched them. he nipped at the soft of your neck, his bite becoming intense as you began to reach nirvana. 

“fuck,” you rasped, your eyes shut in ecstacy as your mouth formed an erotic ‘o’ shape. “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

you peeked an eye out, your movements and noises suddenly stilling as you noticed toji’s face smirking back at you.

you then orgasmed, your screams of both pleasure and horror scattered the crows that were once perched on the tree branches above you. you fell to your knees, your screams growing in fervor as tears began to stream down your trembling face. 

you remained in your state of shock, even long after your father had ran to you and carried you home. the basket of blueberries had been left on the ground. 

-

everyone had thought you were crazy; you were sure of it. you were beginning to think you were truly crazy, too. 

you were in your bed once more, a bowl in your hands. hazelnut soup this time, another one of your mother’s delicacies. 

you felt awful; your head was throbbing, your eyes were puffy, your ass hurt from falling on it. you were sure your hair looked disarrayed, but external beauties didn’t mean shit if internally you felt suicidal. 

your parents had left you at home again, your father heading off to town to find a shrink while your mother set off to find some medicinal treatments. town wasn’t too far, thankfully, so you wouldn’t be left alone for too long. 

in the window behind you, something tapped irregularly. you ignored it, at first, your perpetual state of numbness too strong to escape from. you only managed to snap out of it when something hard was thrown at your window, the sudden bang of it making you jump in place. you scurried to the sill, your shaky hands swiftly opening the pane to peek your head out. 

nothing save for the cool breeze and howling owls were out there. peculiar.

closing the window behind you, you immediately shouted when you turned back round to face your bed. 

there he was again; choso’s form, but toji’s face inhibited it. it was something out of those stephen king novels, something so eerie it couldn’t possibly be reality. 

“leave me alone,” you howled, falling to your knees and scurrying to the corner of your room where the evil entity prowled closer. “leave me the fuck alone.”

“why?” choso’s raspy, creaky voice questioned, when in truth it was truly toji’s. his smug face sneered, his sharp teeth bared and shining. 

you screamed, your hands interlocked as you dug your face into your shaky knees. you rocked madly back and forth, the stench of rot and swamp drawing closer to your trembling form. 

“what’re you so scared of?” the terrifying tone questioned, his hands resting on your moistened-from-sweat thighs. you timidly glanced from between your tresses, your heart suddenly stopping once you took in toji’s face. you could feel the pumping in the organ coming to a halt, your pupils dilating to the extreme as your mouth was opened in a silent scream. his purple-hued scleras coupled with the emergence of sharp, razor-teeth influenced every tissue in your body to remain very still. you could see the entity move closer to your horrified form, the teeth then sinking harshly into the skin of your neck. you couldn’t even wail; you were forced to wordlessly endure his brutal torture. 

your waterlines, to toji’s accord, began to kiss each other as your eyes found themselves closed shut. the sensation of an unexpected breeze whoosked throughout your entire body; had you could, you would’ve intensely shivered. the hair on your skin’s surface found itself raised, and then instantaneously rested. the world around you had grown quiet and dark, a fact you were able to govern even from behind the mulberry-colored darkness of your eyelids. 

-

you felt very light, like a fairy soaring over a beautiful field of dandelions. there’d been no weight on you, not from what you feel as you arose from what appeared to be an extremely restful slumber. you rubbed your eyes, your brain too foggy and tired to completely register the darkness that encompassed your glowy figure. you’d then noticed, of course, as you eventually would’ve had to, anyways. 

you rubbed your eyes once more, somehow convinced that this would’ve changed the trajectory of your current predicament. “mom?” you called out, your voice light and unsure as you contemplated if this was another nightmare you were in. no response from your mother, as predicted. you began to slightly panic, your chest labored and your airy legs began to pace in circles. “dad?” you wailed, your voice growing in tremor. “mom? dad?”

“they’re not here,” a voice – toji’s – captivated your startled form. you spun dangerously around, your vocal chords dancing as you screamed bloody murder. 

“where am i?” you sobbed, sinking down to your knees as you cried and shook. “where’s my parents?”

“they’re not here,” toji simply repeated, his muscular, whispery legs drawing closer to your woeful, tiny body. “you’re home.”

“no,” you hissed, crawling away from toji’s extended arms and handsome smile. “no, i’m not fucking home.”

his smile never faltered, but the little devilish gleam in his eyes subdued. “you are,” he insisted, your angry scowl and furrowed eyebrows challenging his claim. “this is your home now, too.” 

“the fuck are you talking about?” you cussed, your smart-mouth suddenly shutting as he presented you with an image. your sight was replaced with the visual of your cold, murdered body on your bedroom’s oakwood-floors. your beloved parents had been crying over you, crowding your form.

your throat tightened as you felt the urge to gag.

“no!” you wailed, your body shaking violently as you pressed yourself deeper into the deception-flooring beneath you. “nonononowhycouldyoudothistomehowcouldyoudothistomewhatthefuckareyou.”

toji simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you. 

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you could hear him question, a sheen of scarlet-red coated your vision as you peered up at him through glaring eyes. 

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“that one night,” he began, his expression and tone steady. “when you wrapped that fabric around your neck-”

“-that was not for you to fucking take,” you interrupted, unable to bring your dead spirit form off the floor. “that would’ve been on my fucking terms, toji.”

silence. you found yourself growing silent for a beat, too. 

“i’m enamored with you,” toji then admitted, your eyes softening not from love, but from pure defeat. 

“why, toji?” you couldn’t help but question. “why did you have to appear in my wall?”

“i saved you,” he responded, surprisingly without cockiness or smugness. 

you scoffed. 

“you had a mundane life-”

“-i had a happy life,” you corrected. “comfortable, even.”

“is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

“oh my fuck-” you screamed, burrowing your head into into your palms. 

“don’t fight it,” you could hear toji say, and you could hear the stupid little smirk he had plastered throughout his words. 

“what now?” you despairingly questioned his ghostly, vibrant form. “what do you expect from me, now?”

“i expect you to wed me,” he shrugged, his head cocked as if that statement had been fucking truly expected.

nonetheless, you did wed him. it was a simple wedding; a few other ghostly figures attended, none of which you personally recognized. toji tried to pass them off as your ancestors, but you knew he was lying shamelessly through his teeth. you hadn’t worn a beautiful gown, nor had he’d worn a luxurious tux. you’d both been adorning the outfits you’d passed on in the human realm. 

it’s funny, you noted; funny how the only marriage you’d ever have would not have come until you were passed into the spirit realm. you used to daydream about your possible marriage to choso, now here you were getting wed to his murderer. you wondered where choso’s spirit had gone, his presence not sensed nor seen in the small crowd present. you suspected that he’d gone to a better place, perhaps somewhere like heaven. he was an angel on earth with you, it would only be right for him to be where lightness constantly shone on his skin like crystals.

toji simply had his soul banished.  

“do you accept her to be your wife?” the unearthly priest-ghost questioned.

“i do,” toji answered.

the priest swiveled to peer into you, his pearl-like eyes sunken into his wrinkled-face.

“do you accept…” his cracked voice began. “...to take toji as your husband for eternity?”

you peered into the eyes of toji, his scalera’s enticing as they shone an adoring hue of orchid-purple just for you. 

“i do.”

[immoralimmortals]

Akatsuki Flowers! What a lovely ask. Let's look at your suggestions first:

Hidan, prince's feather:

Ohhhh immortality! I think that's perfect. Apparently a nickname for this flower is "kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate"

Deidara, buttercups:

Youth, joy, play, simple pleasures? Interesting choice, I can see why you went this direction! Matches his hair, too. It seems awfully innocent for him, I wonder if he'd disagree!

Deidara, australian rose:

A couple of results say "you are all that is lovely", and my gut tells me that may not be what you intend? But nevermind that LOOK HOW PRETTY IT IS

Anyhow!

I've used a little bit of flower symbolism, as you've probably guessed, for my fic! Red roses (and their various states of life, death, and preservation) and forget-me-nots are pretty obvious, though. But I used two others, hydrangeas, and daffodils, and they both suit Kisame!

Kisame, hydrangea, daffodil:

I picked a hydrangea festival, for one because it's a real thing that happens, and two, it means heartfelt emotion! I think Kisame feels with all of his being, intensely. He, as many people are not, is someone very aware that he is not always aware, if that makes sense; he is wary of the way his blood can boil, rage heating under the skin. Goes along with him not always feeling "human." Daffodil, the flower I used for the lotion in my fic, is in opposition as it stands for truth and honesty. We all know "truth" is sort of Kisame's thing. It's his pinnacle of morals, his reason for living, and then dying. I think it keeps him in line, too.

Itachi, white poppy:

Consolation, Rest, (Eternal) Sleep, Peace, Dormant Affection. He's a man that is a nice comparison and foil to Kisame, because like him, he feels deeply and has to deal with that in order to carry out his sacred duty. He is a man that wants peace, and with the short time he has on Earth tries to use it to redeem himself, his brother, the Uchiha name as well as he can, all the while dreaming that things will eventually go for the better. Dead man walking, a ghost with work to do.

Nagato, flowers of the elm tree:

Protection, Warn of Others, Purification of tainted areas. He protects his village by summoning rain, keeping watch of who even so much as whispers dissent. His land is pure. And he will purify the world. Perhaps it's a warning about him, too.

Konan, white rose:

Honestly this is a pretty predictable choice lol. I think she's emotionally...stagnant. In constant mourning, even if by her definition she's entirely moved on. Like Nagato, she takes her pain and uses it to continue, define her existence. She is the right hand, that which Pain uses to purify, an angel who does not boast of her power. She merely acts upon the will of that which justifies death.

Kakuzu, spruce, chamomile

Spruce: Eternal hardiness, Endurance, Symbol of North and Cold.

Chamomile: Patience, Attracts Wealth, Energy in Adversity

Yeah, I know spruce isn't technically a flower, but it's a growth on a tree and something you'll see in the language of flowers, so I'm using it. Kakuzu's ring, of course, means "north", and I honestly think it's fascinating to think of that in comparison to the north wind. He is a man as hardy and cold as the world he's trudged through. He's the definition of withstanding the worst, both physically and emotionally. The chamomile goes along with that, with a tenacity to make things work. You don't get to live to be 91 and still an active rogue ninja without a willingness to crack some eggs.

(also my art accounts are all chamomile-carillon or some variation. I love chamomile. And I love Kakuzu. yea)

Sasori, the four ancient poisons:

Aconite: Lustre (reflected light), Misanthropy

Hellebore: A Beautiful Year Ahead, Wit Relieve My Anxiety, Relieve my anxiety, tranquilize me

Hemlock:   You will cause my death

Nightshade: Truth, Silence; Your Thoughts are Dark ; Falsehood ; witchcraft/sorcery

I at first was just going for poison but all of these are PERFECT for him in their own right. Misanthropic man who wants to feel numb, wants to cause death and ultimately chooses to die. The contradiction of nightshade being both truth and falsehood...reminds me of how contradictory he is. A man who is trying to gain all the time in the world, absolutely impatient and unwilling to wait a second. Oh I can see the art for this in my head now....

Obito, love-lies-bleeding:

Love-lies-bleeding (Amaranthus): Desertion, Hopelessness, Constant, Unchangeable, Immortal or Unchangable Love, Immortality, Fidelity, Everlasting Friendship

This one just kind of has it all for him. The way everything good that ever happened to him left his world, his steeled resolve, his extended life via Madara's help, his love for Rin... Hoo.

Zetsu, two-bloomed green rose, dock flower, astilbe

Two-bloomed rose: Secrecy

Green rose: alien, strange, We Are Worlds Apart

Dock: patience

Astilbe (false goat's beard): I'll Still Be Waiting

He's really defined by his patience-- black Zetsu especially but white Zetsu was also playing the long game too, sticking around Obito since his childhood. The rose is pretty self-explanatory; he keeps a lot of secrets and he exists in a way that is very hard for others to comprehend. I figure he has difficulty understanding others, too.

[cursecuelebre]

For my American witches that love or thinking about baneful magic, now is the time to shine best ingredients or ways to hex, bind, curse, etc.

War water

Poppet magic

Thorns

Cat claws

Nails

Pepper, the spicer the more uncomfortable

Baneful herbs but PLEASE DO BE CAREFUL AND DO PROPER RESEARCH BEFORE LIGHTING OR INGESTING OR HANDLING ANY POISONOUS HERBS OR MUSHROOMS. Belladonna, Lilly of the valley, Wormwood, Nightshade, hemlock, mandrake, foxglove, monkshood, Datura, Mugwort, Skullcap, Death Angel. BE SURE TO WEAR GLOVES AND USE SEPARATE CONTAINERS AND TOOLS IN CASE OF CROSS CONTAMINATION. IF YOU’RE UNSURE ABOUT THE PLANT PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH IT OR EAT IT BETTER BE SAFE THAN SORRY. THERE IS SUBSTITUTES LIKE TOBACCO AND LIKE I SAID SPICY PEPPERS.

[speedgifposting]

oh erebus. my one-eyed beauty. my fair lord of the dark. there's nothing and no one that could ever stop me from fawning over your unnerving elegance and horrific grace. how your brilliant blue quills shimmer a vibrant indigo in the right light, how lovely they are when paired with the pale gold of your jewelry. your petrifying gaze, which strikes fear in the hearts of all who gaze up at you, only serves to drive me further to you. hypnotic like a siren calling a sailor to the sea. you're every bit as deadly as you are alluring, but it could never keep me away from you. you have the mystery of the dark side of the moon, the power of a solar eclipse, all contained in a form that has the glory and awe of a star going supernova. your ferocity, oh, your brutality! how sorrowful it makes me feel that i cant have you without being burned by your cruel charm! you are a venus fly trap, and im but another damned fool who takes the bait, falls for the trap, and becomes another victim of your spell. how enchanting you are, my deadly nightshade, how gorgeous are your ways! yet how vicious and unrelenting you are to your adversaries! my dear, you are vile in the most endearing way possible. you are death itself in its most angelic form. oh primordial being of shadows and the endless night, birthed from the darkest depths of the cosmos, you drive me positively insane, and maybe, just maybe, that's what you want. and whatever it is you wish, i will hand it to you on a golden platter. i could give you blood, i could give you devotion, i could give you the souls of your enemies, if only you would let me, i could give you the world! i love you, erebus, i truly do. please accept my vow, or forever hold your peace.

[agbpaints]

Getting back into the swing of doing paint tutorials- I pulled a Spider out of a salvage box and I figured I'd do a quick and dirty davion scheme! This is the parade paint job for the First Davion Guards, AKA quintessential battletech 'good' guy mechs.

Paints you will need:

Black primer

Dark grey (citadel mechanicus standard grey)

Light grey (citadel dawnstone)

Off white (army painter spaceship armor)

Red (citadel mephiston red)

Light blue (citadel baharroth blue)

Green (citadel warpstone glow)

Gun metal (citadel leadbelcher)

Silver (citadel rune fang steel)

Dark wash (citadel drakenhof nightshade)

Citadel akhelian green cintrast

Citadel blood angels red contrast

Things you might want

Khaki (citadel zandri dust)

Fleshy orange (citadel ratskin flesh)

White (army painter matt white)

Dark green (citadel Caribana green)

Light red (citadel evil sunz scarlet)

Yellow (citadel averland sunset)

Black (army painter matt black)

Citadel aggaros dunes contrast

I started by basing my mini with my normal desert badlands basing scheme (paint base in glue, sprinkle on basing sand and let cure. Paint on more glue and stick down some aquarium gravel) and then priming the whole thing black with brush-on primer.

Once the primer is finished drying, load some of your dark grey up on a fat drybrush, wipe off slightly less than most of the paint, and then apply the remainder to the model in long up and down strokes. All of the panels should be grey, with some black showing in crevices and hard to reach recesses of the model. Next, repeat this process with your light grey paint, but wipe off more and apply less liberally- you want the darker grey color to remain in most places with the edges and raised details highlighted in grey. Finally, drybrush the model one last time with your off-white color only in the areas that will catch the light most like the head, torso, shoulders, the vectoring fins on the mech's back, and the outstretched left knee.

Now that the mech has been presented in greyscale, we can make it blue. Akhelian green is going to be doing the majority of the heavy lifting in this paint scheme- I find it to be a pretty easy contrast paint to work with. Apply it undiluted to the model, looking to spread it in a single coat like a thick wash, and then leave it to dry for 20 minutes. Afterwards, you might want to brighten the blue up in places as I did- drybrush on some light blue in the same areas you used off-white earlier.

At this point, I got a little excited and decided to do the Davion stripes. Start with your red, pretty well thinned on your palet, and a thin detail brush. To make this easy on ourselves, we're going to look for vertical panels on the left side of the mech's torso and leg and basically connect all of those with a straight line. In the case of the Spider, the easy ones are the shoulder and that panel that runs down the upper thigh. Apply a thin edge highlight of red along those panels and then carefully continue the line down the rest of the leg, terminating at the ankle. If your hand is steady enough, run a thin line of red around the mech's ankle where the vertical line ends. Then, go back with your off-white and using the red line you made already as a guide, run a parallel stripe down the outside edge of the red (if you swap these battletech nerds will dunk on you online).

At this point, I also striped the ridge running down the Spider's helmet, but it's not super necessary.

Now that we've got our blue sorted out, we've got a bit of a 'draw the rest of the owl' step. First, you're going to want to go back over any of the parts of the model that you want to be exposed mechanical elements with your dark grey. I painted the joints in the legs, the shoulders, the lasers and the big vent on the chest, the 'chin strap' under the spider's canopy glass, and the jump jets in this color. Then, wash the grey with your favorite dark wash- I really like the deep blue of drakenhof nightshade but something like nuln oil will also work well for this. Finally, apply a light drybrush of your light grey to the shaded grey. If a part is too recessed to easily drybrush, you can leave it as is or do use a small brush to carefully highlight it. You should also add a small dot of green to the inside of each of the laser barrels at this point.

Next, paint the mech's canopy glass silver. Once that's dry, paint over the silver with blood angels red or any other colorful contrast paint for a vibrant metallic color.

If you're following along with my desert basing, paint the sand on the base khaki and the larger pebbles with your fleshy orange. Then paint over everything with agarros dunes contrast or a dark brown wash like agrax earthshade.

And with that you have a Spider that's fully ready for tabletop with 3 colors, shading, and a textured base. There's still a couple more things we can do if you have more time and patience that I'll detail below.

To apply some quick and dirty jeweling to the lasers, start by painting a half circle of light green on each barrel, focused on one of the bottom corners. Paint the recess of the barrel with a dot of dark green and put a tiny little dot of white opposite the half circle of green, which should now be more of a crescent shape with with dark spot in the center.

While the white is still in your pallet, you can also highlight the parts of the off white stripes on the mech most exposed to overhead light like the lower thigh, knee, and shoulder. Do the same thing with the red stripe using a light red as well.

At this point I also added unit numbering to the mech's shoulder. Basic numbers are a really good way to practice your fine control and I try to consistently add a couple to each of my projects. Use your off-white well thinned and a fine detail brush, lock your hand holding the model against your hand holding the brush just below the wrists, and then draw the paintbrush 'downwards' with a pulling motion. This should keep you your line relatively straight and fine.

While you can keep the jump jets on your mech dark I prefer to paint mine with some orange in them. Using the fleshy orange from earlier, paint most of the interior of each jump jet, then add a dot of yellow at the very deepest recess of each one.

Finally, let's add some hazard stripes to the mech. Pick out a few areas near joints or vents that seem like a bad place for an Astech's hand to go and paint in a thick 'edge highlight' of black. Then, going back to yellow find the center of the line and add a diagonal tickmark there. You may need to go over this more than twice to get a strong color depending on your yellow. Once your centerline is marked, work out towards the edges, painting another ticmark at regular intervals until you hit the ends of the Black.

[dani-the-toad]

rose lacking thorns

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, November 16

WILLOW: It is nice. He's great. We have a lot of fun. But I want smoochies! BUFFY: Have you dropped any hints? WILLOW: I've dropped anvils.

~~BtVS 2x15 “Phases”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Haunting Echoes (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by veronyxk84

Secrets (Drusilla/Lilah, not rated) by Nymue

I Am (Buffy, not rated) by Nymue

[Russian language] Баффи Саммерс выходит замуж (Buffy/Angel, T) by B_E_S

Vengeance (Buffy/Angel, E) by Belladamon29

Tell Me (Buffy/Angel, E) by evesock

Midnight streak (Angel/Cordelia, Buffy/Spike, T) by Bl4ckHunter

"Are You Trying To Get Yourself Killed!" (Giles/Jenny, M) by Alexistiel

wolves of my want (Cordelia/Faith, T) by mistyheartrbs

Saturday 9:13 pm (Buffy/Giles, M) by Sdhuskerfan

[Chaptered Fiction]

Shadowed Suspicion Chapter 349 (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure xover, T) by madimpossibledreamer

The Ripperverse AU, Chapters 1-3/6 (Giles, ensemble, E) by AvicusKing

In the Company of Witches and Slayers:, Chapter 172/200 (Willow/Tara, E) by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)

[Ukrainian language] Forward to Time Past//Вперед у час минулий, Chapter 65/67 (Buffy/Spike, E) translation by Uraniya

BtVS : Judgement Day, Chapter 6/? (Buffy, Terminator xover, not rated) by AntonioCC

Out of Time: 1942, Chapter 60/? (Buffy/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter xover, M) by Aynn_Ward

Bring Me To Life : A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event, Chapter 72/? (Buffy/Angel, not rated) by Jean_theGuardian

Okay Dad, Chapter 3/6 (Ensemble, T) by Work

The Yellowstone: A Safe Harbor, Chapter 12/? (Ensemble, Yellowstone xover, G) by Buffyworldbuilder

Painting Flowers, Chapter 7/? (Buffy/Angel, T) by crowncitydreams

Ghosts of Sunnydale, Chapter 2/? (Buffy/Spike, T) by VThinksOn

Soul Mate Magic, Chapter 18/20 (Giles/OC, M) by Emma_M_Black

Indecent Proposal, Chapter 10 (Buffy/William/Xander, M) by thetherealman

Bring Me To Life, Chapter 77 (Buffy/Angel, T) by Jean-theGuardian

Double date, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Giles, M) by Rippertish

Incarnate, Chapter 22 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Sigyn

Little Light, Chapter 17 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

A Man in Shadow, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, 13+) by Zab Jade

Christmas at the Folly, Story 1: Room 3 (Buffy/Spike, 13+) by myrabeth

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: faith/drusilla commission (worksafe) by loopnoid

Gifset: Every Tara look: S5E06 Family (worksafe) by lovebvffys

Artwork: [Doodle of Spike] (swear words, worksafe) by yarboyandy

Crafts: Bored now [cross-stitch pattern] (worksafe) by batstitchnerdycrossstitch

Artwork: [Drawing of Spike] (worksafe) by isevery0nehereverystoned

Artwork: Collage # 236 (Buffy, worksafe) by thedecadentraven

Gifset: If anything could fall at all, it’s the world That falls away from me (Buffy, S1-S5 finale parallels, worksafe) by theveryunlikelywonderland

Gifset: (im)perfect for you… (Buffy/Spike, worksafe) by clarkgriffon

Cosplay: Ready to start casting spells? (Vamp Willow cosplay, worksafe) by lauren-delorean

Gifset: Lifter Puller by Atmosphere (Buffy/Angel, worksafe) by andremichaux

Costume: Willow Cosplay - Lauren DeLorean (worksafe) by lauren_delorean

Demon design: From the Archives: Ubervamp (Turok-Han) - Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 7 (worksafe) by Christopher Burdett

[Reviews & Recaps]

Angel - Episode 5.11 – Damage by rock-and-compass

PODCAST: S4. Ep15. Orpheus Ft. Prophecy Girls Podcast by Investigating Angel

[In Search Of]

ISO: Original Buffy DVD sets still in production? requested by Bright_Wolverine_490

[Community Announcements]

Revamped IWRY Marathon 2024 — week two masterpost by iwillrememberyoumarathon

12 Days of Calendilesmas: Asks open from now till 25th November! by hal-1500

Secret Santa: Sign Up Thread by nightshade

[Fandom Discussions]

BtVS - Redemption Through Violation by itsnotmymind

Cordelia Chase [ask game] by moistvonlipwig

[POLL] Pick your favorite of Wesley’s two main ships by ohrupie

HOW ID REWRITE ANGEL: THE SERIES by xaeyrnofnbe

[POLL] BTVS Fans: Pop Quiz hot shot! by juanabaloo

Wait so Angel (sadly) is the shadow of her father in the form of her romantic brooding hero by magpie-trove

Angel should have fallen in love with Giles. by thequeenofsastiel

[POLL] Choose your favorite of these mostly comedic, self-contained (non-arc–I refuse to call them “filler” :)) BtVS episodes! by ohrupie

sooooo many thoughts on buffy constantly telling spike to leave her alone when she’s clearly enjoying his company by lesbianmarrow

Tara was a true friend buffy deserved by Jamieo1111

Does Angel The Series have superior fight scenes to Buffy? by LouvrePigeon

Buffy is insane by No_Introduction_4136

Buffy resurrection question by

I love Primeval as a season finale simply because… by _theoneandonlyyyy

Which old horror movie franchises do you think inspired Buffy and Angel the most? by PlaneAutomatic4965

The fandom's changing reaction to Willow... by stillhavehope99

I don’t care want anyone says, Giles is a trusted adult. by Familiar_Recover8112

What's something you choose to ignore in the Buffyverse? by PristineSituation498

what's the worst Buffy remake you could imagine by alb5357

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PUBLICATION: The Top 10 Buffy The Vampire Slayer Secondary Characters Ranked From Least To Most Powerful by Looper.com

PUBLICATION: The 15 Best Willow and Tara Episodes in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Ranked by CBR.com

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Join the editor team :)

[selkiechild4998]

Dark Reflections

I'e wanted to write this for so long! I even have this published on AO3 if any of you prefer reading fics there!

Gene- Light Horror

Tw- mention of needle

Wordcount- 1,345 words

AO3 Link Here

The moon hung high over the grounds of the Ministry, the crisp autumn air chilling any surface it touched. Fall was here, and the Minsitry was busy preparing the needed rituals only possible when the veil between the living and dead was at its weakest. Normally, a certain Cardinal would be assisting with these rituals, but his attention was brought away by the former Papa he was following.

"Papa Primo," Copia began as he carried an old, silver-lined mirror in his arms, "Why exactly do you need this?" He asked while straining to hold the old mirror.

"You'll see," Primo answered, "You said Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil had chosen you as the next Papa?"

"Si," Copia nodded.

Primo nodded, leading Copia into his garden of death. Copia knew immediately how important this ritual must be for Primo to allow him into his precious garden. He looked at the plants around him, the bright crimson leaves of red sumac, twisting vines of poison oak and ivy wrapping around the trunk of a manchineel tree, even the clusters of Angel's Trumpet hung from the well-maintained potted plant that Primo needed to bring to his greenhouse.

Speaking of the greenhouse, Copia tensed, seeing Primo open the door into the large glass and iron structure. "Inside, before someone sees us," Primo instructed, and Copia knew better than to hesitate. Inside the heated greenhouse were even more poisonous plants. Blooming white, pink, and red foxglove mixed with oleanders. Wistaria hung from the support beams, brushing gently against the bushes of deadly nightshade. Copia swallowed hard, seeing the assortment of deadly plants, and jumped when Primo placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Just don't touch anything, and you'll be ok." And with that, Primo led the way to the small sunroom attached to the back wall of the greenhouse. The sunroom was cleaned beforehand; a broom and dustpan were still leaning against the wall by a full compost bin. The furniture had also been moved; the chairs that were normally around the iron tea table were stacked neatly to the side. "Set the mirror down here," Primo gestured to the table as he walked to a small cart filled with garden supplies.

Copia did as instructed, setting the old mirror down on the table, wincing as he stretched his aching fingers out. When he glanced over at Primo, he saw he had a small candle and lighter in his hand, placing them on the table.

"Breathe on the mirror, make sure it fogs."

'Huh,' Copia thought to himself, 'Odd request.' But the Cardinal did as he was told. Breathing on the mirror until he saw a small patch of fog form on the smooth surface. He then stepped back, watching Primo do the same, fogging the mirror with his breath. "Papa, what ritual is this exactly?" the Cardinal asked worriedly.

"The Dark Reflection," Primo answered, "I performed this ritual the night I was to become Papa, as well for Secondo and Terzo."

Copia listened with a slight frown. He had heard of this ritual, a game of cat and mouse with the fates in exchange for years of good luck. "Are you sure this is safe?" He asked, "This isn't exactly the best ritual to perform for good luck."

"It'll be ok," Primo assured as he lit the candle, "I have completed this ritual many times, and once it's complete come morning, you'll have the fates on your side." He stated with a smile before bringing the flickering flame to the mirror's surface, holding it there until it burnt the surface, a black mark scaring the surface.

"Once I break this mirror, you keep moving all night. Ok?"

"Yes, Papa."

Primo nodded, grabbing the small hammer he kept within his gardening cart for when he needed to drive stakes in to support his saplings. The sound of glass shattering broke the silence of the greenhouse. It only took one strike to break the glass, its shards scattering across the table. Once the mirror was destroyed, Primo nodded to Copia, letting the Cardinal scamper out of his greenhouse of death.

The eldest of the Emeritus brothers then got to work cleaning up the broken mirror. He was in no hurry, even though he knew the energy from it would linger. Quietly, he swept up the shards of glass into the dustpan. As he cleaned, he felt the suffocating energy around the glass shards slowly evaporate. He then dumped the glass shards into a nearby bin, setting the broom and dustpan down before walking from his greenhouse and locking the doors behind him.

Smiling, he breathed in the chilly autumn night air. He knew tonight he'd get no sleep. He planned on simply enjoying the night reading within the library, like when he would perform the ritual for his brothers. He was always safe there.

"Fratellone," A voice called to him, making Primo pause and look over, seeing his youngest brother. "Did you forget it's game night tonight? Secondo and I have been looking all over for you!" Terzo smiled as he approched Primo.

"Ah, right," Primo nodded, "Thank you for reminding me," he chuckled. When the two started walking down the hall, they talked, "So which game is it tonight?"

"Secondo insisted on uno," Terzo answered, "I don't know why; he's awful at it," he teased with a snicker that got Primo to chuckle as well. "I also have good news too," the younger man added.

"Oh?"

"Sister says we'll be returning to the road. Full regalia and all."

Primo was caught off guard by that, "Are you sure?"

"Si, she told me herself."

Primo had a hard time believing that, having seen the screaming matches Terzo would get into with Sister after he was dragged off-stage and his relationship with Omega was discovered. He didn't dwell on it long, perking up when they reached the brothers' game room. He wasn't expecting to see Special Ghoul standing at the doorway as a silent guard.

When he glanced at Terzo for an explanation, his brother frowned, stepping into the game room while grumbling, "Sister replaced my Omega with him." Which made Primo simply nod in acknowledgment.

"About time you two showed up," Secondo spoke from the table he was sitting at. "What took you so long?"

"The Cardinal and I needed to perform a ritual," Primo stated as he sat down.

"You actually performed that mirror ritual with him?" Terzo frowned, "He's not even part of the bloodline."

"Bloodline or not, he's still chosen to be the next Papa. I want to at least ensure luck is on his side," Primo explained before glancing around, "Where's Alpha? He's normally by your side."

"He's training Dewdrop for the next tour," Secondo answered, "Been pulling double to make sure he's ready."

"So, the Clergy approved the transition?" Primo frowned in worry as Terzo sat at the table next.

"Like hell they did! They aren't touching my water ghoul," He frowned while Secondo dealt out the cards.  

"So, he's grown on you, fratellino?" Primo smiled as he picked up his cards.

"Si, he's not my Mist ghoulette, but he's a perfect water ghoul," Terzo bragged.

"That's enough talk on that. What rules are we playing?" Secondo interjected, "Any bets?"

"You looking to lose again, Spooky Pitbull?" Terzo taunted with a smug smirk.

"No, I intend on winning my money back," Secondo stated before placing a green card on the table, "Your move."

Primo smiled as he watched his two little brothers compete against each other, the pile of discarded cards growing as the night stretched on. The game dragged on into the night as the brothers laughed and taunted each other. Blissfully unaware that the ghoul instructed to guard the room was given an additional order from his real master. The glint of the needle tucked away in his sleeve caught the light, shining in the moonlight before the ghoul stepped into the room. He paused for a moment, ensuring that no one was watching, and then silently slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

[dailycharacteroption]

Planar Tour Guide: Negative Energy Plane part 3

(art by Nexumorphic on DeviantArt)

Denizens

The Void may be empty, but that doesn’t mean that it’s uninhabited, a fact that makes it all the more dangerous. Of course, most entities are not truly native there, but were created from those who visit. With that in mind, let’s take a look at what entities linger in the depths of Entropy’s Heart.

Perhaps the most common type of undead on the plane are the many different varieties of spectral dead. Wraiths, spectres, allips, shadows, and more, all formed from poor hapless fools that were obliterated by the plane’s nature. Perhaps most horrifyingly of all, while they have no statistical difference in terms of gameplay, these spectral undead are less trapped souls and more like echoes left behind from where a soul was obliterated, with truly nothing remaining that could be brought back or reasoned with.

Similarly, nightshades are also a sort of inverse shadow of something consumed by Entropy’s Heart. When especially powerful fiends, blinded by ambition, are consumed by the darkest depths of the plane, they come back just as evil, with new forms and barely if any memory of what they once were. These nightshades, or darvakka, seek nothing else but the end of all life and light in the cosmos, their old goals forgotten. And while this may make their goals the same as daemon-kind, even the Abaddon-spawn are not safe from their depredations. (Side note, all the Second Edition nightshade art is a step down from the First Edition art in my opinion. Being able to see clearly all the details of what is supposed to be a shadow monster simply does not have the same effect).

Similar to nightshades are the devourers, though they are not created by the plane nor are they natives. Instead, the soul-stealing devourers traverse the cosmos at the behest of some terrible entity that waits beyond the very edges of the Great Beyond, and many of their errands seem to focus on the Negative Energy Plane as part of their “Shepherd’s” plans.

And then there are the reapers. Be they minor reapers or true grim reapers (or perhaps THE grim reaper. Nobody is sure if there are more than one), nightmarish undead which bring death wherever they go, and so find the Negative Energy Plane soothing or useful in their plans reap the seeds of life. They supposedly originated in Abaddon, but can be found in the Void as well, to the ill fortune of all that cross them.

Of course, not all mortals or immortals end up dead on the plane. Whether it be by huddling around a failing magical effect or artifact, or by being trapped in one of the rare minorly-negative parts of the plane, some living creatures adapt to the constant blight around them, becoming the void-ravaged. Such entities tend to be hateful and solitary, but not necessarily malicious. However, they can never return to the light, for even the neutral levels of positive energy on other planes burns them, slowly destroying them.

And then there are the entities that are neither undead nor tainted, but enter the plane anyway. The most benevolent are perhaps the movanic deva angels, who watch over the plane as part of their duties to the inner planes on behalf of the celestial forces. Less benevolent are the hunduns, whose interest in the cosmic entropy of the Maelstrom overlaps with that of the Void, which they sometimes visit to contemplate Unsurprising given their role as cosmic monks of chaos. And lastly, there is at least one danava titan dwelling in the Nothing, though none can say why or what it is doing there.

And this is where we get into the true natives of the plane, the most destructive of which are the masses of destruction known as oblivions, forming and hatching from egg-like structures, eager to slip into other planes to bring ruin.

Finally, we have the sceaduinar, the true children of the void. These crystalline bat-like creatures are born from great tree-like masses of compressed, crystalline nothingness, and hate both the living and the undead in equal measure. In truth, despite being classified as outsiders, these entities, as well as their cousins the sceazir, are not alive in the conventional sense, having no souls and no inkling of positive energy in them. It is as if they came to be from a process that is simultaneously like and unlike life.

This is appropriate, considering that according to the sceaduinar, they were robbed of the ability to truly create in the earliest days of the cosmos, perhaps by the formation of the Negative and Positive planes themselves. Whatever they might have been before that, the void-bats care not for the necessity of the Void’s creation in making the cosmos as we understand it possible. They only understand the pangs of their ancient loss, and that all other entities are responsible.

As for divinities, most have little interest in such an empty places as the Negative Energy Plane, and certainly none dwell there. At most, certain deities of undeath and entropy show an interest in the plane, sending their servants there, but that’s about it.

That will do for today, but it is interesting to see what lives in a place without life, particularly the strange ecology of the sceaduinar and the mystery of what their form of “creation” might have been like. Tune in tomorrow for a little exploration of the mysteries within!

[glitchy-creations]

I caved and made a Hazbin Hotel oc 🫣

Say hello to Belladonna, aka the Trickster Demon!

Credit to @cheseely for this lovely fanart they made that I referenced for the pose! I’m not familiar with the character, but I was really vibing with their art style 😌💕

(More info and bonus doodle under the cut)

So just a couple little things about Bella I'm going to add before I get into her background and such:

Bella is cisgender and uses she/her pronouns

She is also Demiromantic Asexual and is in a QueerPlatonic relationship with Alastor.

Bella is an overlord in Hell but doesn't often attend meetings b/c she can't stand Valentino

Bella runs a section of territory called “Sin Row” which is essentially a large entertainment district. The businesses in the strip range from speakeasies to host/hostess clubs to bars and more. It’s also comprised of both modern and “old-timey” spots likely to attract more customers.

She favours hard liquors like whisky and bourbon, though seems to only like bottles that have reached their peak age (12 years for Whiskey, 15 years for Bourbon). She also appears to enjoy red wine.

When alive, Bella's family were known bootleggers, as they lived during the prohibition, though Bella seems to dislike alcohol that has been diluted, even when she was alive.

Bella’s nickname comes from the fact that she was notorious for lacing food and drinks with a potential mixture of deadly nightshade to eliminate enemies. Ironically, Bella would die by being poisoned.

In life, Belladonna’s name was Allegra Falcone and was the only child of a New York Mafia leader in the 1920’s however, she died before the peak years of Mafia activity. She came from an Italian-American family who lived in and worked out of Brooklyn, New York.

While Bella’s father technically ran the group, many would say Bella was the one who pulled the strings. Bella is a very intelligent, sly, and calculating person which lead to her father often times listening to Bella’s suggestions above anyones. This is mainly because she’s proven that her plans not only work but are good for the families reputation. It’s rare that any of her plans backfired or cast the family in a bad light. Bella is also definitely a daddy’s girl, having been a lot closer to her father in life than to her mother. Bella, however, doesn’t act spoiled or bratty like your typical daddy’s girl; I imagine her father valued hard work and despite spoiling Bella from time to time, he still tried to instil the value of hard work into his daughter.

As Bella's father got up in age, Bella would often take over as a makeshift leader. because of her closeness with her father, none of the other mobsters questioned this. However, some would say that Bella was manipulating her father for a long time so that she would one day be chosen to take over the crime family when her father eventually passed. This would lead to her being called a "fox" due to her sly personality and intelligence. Bella also had an overall mischievous and playful personality which played into her being likened to a fox. This is also why her demon form is based on a fox rather than a spider, like Angel and his family.

In life and in death Bella and Alastor are good friends. Bella would visit New Orleans at least once or twice a year (sometimes more depending on how busy she is) to spend time with Al. I imagine they would go out drinking together when Bella would visit, likely visiting Mimzy’s club more often than not. They also have a lot of similar interests such as enjoying jazz, dancing, hard liquor, cooking, etc.

I also have this stupid little headcanon that Alastor was the Axeman of New Orleans (check out this post for more) before changing his MO and I imagine that’s how they first met in person. Bella would have known of Alastor through his radio show which Bella often listened to, however she only knew of his name.

Ngl, Bella was just in a silly goofy mood when she decided she wanted to go to a town that had an active murderer walking around just to meet her favourite radio host 🤷🏻. Bella absolutely finds the Axeman letter really funny because of how it’s worded and she likes to tease Alastor about it. She doesn’t do it constantly, but if she can make a reference to it somehow she will.

I should also mention that while they were both alive, Belladonna was only a year or two younger than Alastor. However, Belladonna died six years prior Alastor so there is now a larger age gap between them.

Similar to Alastor, Belladonna isn’t a huge fan of modern technology. However, she doesn’t seem to despise it like Alastor does likely because the entertainment district under her control includes very modern establishments. The more modern the club/bar/arcade/etc the more necessary modern technology becomes. Bella will admit that she doesn’t really understand it, and outside of the modern locations, she doesn’t put technology in the places like speakeasies. The closest thing to “modern tech” that she has at these places are security cameras. The club that she personally operates and uses as her base of operations has security cameras alongside a panel of tv’s connected to the cameras so she can monitor things but that’s about it. Bella also owns a smartphone at the suggestion of one of her employees, however she doesn’t really know how to use it. Angel has shown her how to text, take photos, and make phone calls with it, but Bella is uninterested in social media. She literally just uses her smartphone to call people and take pictures 🤧. She does have people who have been hired specifically to make sure all the modern tech is working right and is up to date.

Aside from valuing hard work, Bella views promises very highly. She despises promises breakers and has been known to never break a promise herself. Because she takes promises very seriously, punishments to breaking one are severe especially if one were to break a promise made directly to Belladonna. This is tied directly with her death, as she was poisoned by someone who promised their loyalty to her only to betray her later.

Belladonna’s general personality is very laidback and fun-loving. I imagine her personality is somewhere between Lucifers and Rosie’s; she’s not quite as theatrical and silly as Lucifer but she does have a mischievous side. Bella enjoys joking around with others and often shows her affection through light hearted teasing. Aside from teasing Alastor, Bella has teased Angel for his thin figure while offering him something to eat (this was a one time joke). She also has a love for slight-of-hand/stage magic, being much more impressed by a simple card trick than by actual feats of magic. Husk has used slight-of-hand magic tricks to cheer up Belladonna in the past because he knows she enjoys it.

Likewise, Bella has a soft spot for children and has a motherly side to her. She currently has a young hellhound in her care and has been known to include places like arcades and themed restaurants into her territory to appeal to a younger audience. She’s also really good when it comes to respecting people’s boundaries (with the occasional exception). The biggest example is with Alastor. Bella can be a physically affectionate person -typically touching someone in some way or just standing near people she cares about- but she also knows that Alastor doesn’t like to be touched unless he’s initiated it. Because of this, she often waits for Al to welcome or initiate any sort of physical affection before touching him. She’s usually really good about this, however should she get excited (such as when she saw Alastor after his 7 year “sabbatical”) she may act more impulsively and hug Alastor without thinking first. I imagine that because they’ve been friends for so long and Alastor knows Belladonna is just happy to see him, he doesn’t mind all that much.

She’s also a very welcoming woman and seems to judge people as individuals rather than who they associate with. She was originally wary of Angel due to his association with Valentino, however it didn’t last long after seeing how much he also hates Val. I’m talking, within the same interaction Bella went from being wary of Angel to becoming very caring of him. Bella has even told Angel that, should he need to get away from Val, he is more than welcome to stay within her territory as Valentino is permanently banned from entering the strip.

She also seems to be rather neutral about Hell’s hierarchy. Aside from her having a young hellhound in her care, I imagine she does business outside of the Pride ring such as getting Beelzejuice (and perhaps other alcoholic beverages) from the Gluttony Ring or ordering toys and such from Lust to be used in her clubs. Because of this I imagine she employs both hellborn demons and sinners to work for her directly or in her businesses that way if she needs something from another ring she has people who can leave Pride. She typically hires hellhounds as bouncers, however, they are also hired to take over other jobs where they’re needed (ie. Bartenders, hosts/hostesses, managers, etc). Similarly, Succubi and even Imps can be found holding any working position in any of the establishments throughout Sin Row according to what spots need to be filled. Overall, as long as they are willing to work and aren’t causing trouble, Belladonna couldn’t care less where a demon sits in the hierarchy; she’ll hire whoever she thinks fits the position. She’s also known to treat all of her employees well, making sure they’re paid well, are respected, and have whatever they need.

The only jobs she’s more strick about filling are the spots directly under her within her mafia family. While her normal employees have the Mafia’s protection, they aren’t necessarily considered part of the family and they don’t have to sell their souls to Bella to work for her. The primary members are those who were part of the Falcone family while they were alive, those who have proven their loyalty to Bella, and the souls she currently owns through deals she’s made. Again, no matter what position they hold in the family, Belladonna treats everyone with respect unless they’ve done something to cross her.

Following that; Belladonna is typically an even tempered woman, however when angered she can become explosive. Bella’s club has a large picture window (you know, those windows that replace an outer wall) next to the front doors that have since been set with reinforced glass because she’s thrown tables through it when angry. During the Overlord meeting about the extermination (one of the few meetings Bella went to), Carmilla was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about Bella causing collateral damage as Valentino was not present.

In addition to her explosive temper, Belladonna can hold a nasty grudge. Valentino is the biggest example as Bella can’t stand to hear his name let alone be in the same room as him. I imagine, before his ban, Val would try to recruit Bella’d workers. But with Val being Val, he would become aggressive and violent when he was rejected by whoever he was trying to recruit which would obviously piss off Belladonna. She eventually got sick of the assaults and after a particularly nasty incident Bella permanently banned Valentino from her territory. Even to this day she can’t stand Valentino. In short; Valentino is to Belladonna as Vox is to Alastor.

Given that Helluva Boss and Hazbin are in the same universe, I wouldn’t be surprised if Belladonna and Crimson have some kind of rivalry or animosity going on between them. I can’t think of a specific reason they would dislike each other aside from them having a traditional mafia family rivalry. Or perhaps Bella dislikes Crimson as a person given he’s pretty chauvinistic and sexists; there’s likely been some incident between them where Crimson was sexists and he majorly offended Belladonna. Maybe he said something along the lines of not believing Bella could be an overlord or be in charge of so many crime organisations (I imagine a lot of her deals were done with other mafia families or smaller gangs) because she’s a woman.

This got longer than I originally planned so here’s a little drawing I did of Alastor and Belladonna’s matching pun mugs 💕 I might post more about Bella on my main blog ( @glitchy-anime-fan ) for the sake of keeping my blogs consistent, but here’s what I have on Bella for now!

[alexanderlightweight]

First of all, how are you and your partner doing with the puppy? I hope you have a great day

Second, maybe for writing Wendsday some HOTI!Alec? So I have the belief that there is alot of extra classes and training along with experience to be a HOI that may be known to high up shadowhunters but not really talked about to anyone else (especially obvious siblings). That they have to know a bit of everything from politics to seduction to torture for information. Thus Alec shocking everyone with his knowledge and experience, but to him it is common. So what do you think?

hey! yes wednesday was a great day and today is also a good day, not a lot of sleep but more time to write! my partner is doing great except that @saeths keeps hitting their posting limit.

Nightshade finally has his pool back (it's a new one but don't tell him that, he popped the last one) and is relieved because it's rather hot here and we both dislike it. But he's very happy and snuggly now that he can cool off (which means damp cuddles but oh well, c'est la vie)

I completely agree with this and I have feelings especially because of a specific part in the show and it went a bit differently (i feel like i say this almost every time) but i hope you enjoy!

--

Alec scoffs, derision loud as Imogen pauses from where she’s proudly handing over the Institute to her grandson.

“A problem, Mr. Lightwood?” She asks, an insult because Alec is a commander, and she knows it.

“Has Jace Herondale completed his tests?” Alec asks calmly, “has he been ranked as a nephilim commander? Either by a test supervised by the clave, or during a mission led by our Elders?”

There is silence and Imogen glares at him, furious as she tries to figure out a way to shut him down.

“Now, Mr. Light—”

“I’m a commander, Imogen.” Alec reminds her, because while she is Inquisitor, she is not and never has been an active duty shadowhunter. Imogen has made politics the bed she sleeps in, and Alec isn’t nice enough to let her rest there. “Is there a reason that you’re ignoring that? The loss of my Institute doesn’t take away my rank, or were you hoping to ignore that as well?”

“Commander, then!” Imogen grits out, “this nonsense—”

“Is it nonsense?” Alec asks, interrupting her and he smirks, “what does your grandson know about running an Institute, Imogen? Or are you just hoping for a golden little angel attacking everything you point at? Because the boy you are trying to promote is a soldier. He’s not a leader.”

Alec gives Jace the look his actions and inactions deserve.

“Jace Herondale, have you completed your training to be a commander? Do you know how to run an Institute? Are you prepared to be responsible for the lives of almost four hundred shadowhunters? To keep the peace in the shadowworld? Do you have the strategic knowledge of how to form teams and how to hunt on the various terrains? Are you capable of holding your temper during negotiations?” Because Jace isn’t and they both know it, “I was raised as your brother, Jace Herondale and I know that you haven’t earned the rank of Commander, let alone to lead an Institute.”

Alec steps back and he nods to the hunters — some of them ones he handpicked and trained and so many more than slunk in on the tailcoats of Lydia and Aldertree.

“I see that my expertise is no longer needed or wanted here. I’ll see about my transfer or whether I’ll retire in a few days, be sure to tell Jia to expect my messages.”

“You’re leaving?” Imogen looks more shocked than Jace, “but you’re needed to—”

“To what? Run the Institute while Jace gets the credit? To stay in his shadow and behave, a little shadow commander for you to tug around and blame things on? I’m done.” Alec scoffs, “I have better options than lingering here while you try to tear the downworld apart. If you wish to talk to me, you can submit a formal request to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, it will be his choice if I can spare the time.”

Because Alec has to make a decision and he needs to make it now.

The one who needs him the most right now is Magnus and that is who Alec will stay by, remain by. So, he leaves, knowing that anything he needs Magnus will get him and that even the clave can’t keep his weapons from coming when Alec calls.

Alec sits on the balcony, because he’s tired and sore and his very soul and body feel battered and bartered with.

“Imogen still hiding the soul sword information?” Magnus asks him, coming out to run cool hands and rings over Alec’s face.

“I don’t know.” Alec shrugs, “I’m no longer an attaché of the New York Institute, Jace is it’s leader now.”

Magnus is staring at him, something soft and pained but also viciously gleeful. It’s not that Magnus enjoys seeing him exhausted and worn thin, but Alec knows that Magnus enjoys knowing that he’s right.

“Yes, yes. You told me so.” Alec manages to mumble out, faceplanting in Magnus’ chest and there’s a soft tut above him.

“Darling, I’d never be so crass as to point it out when you’re this upset. Though, if you’re bringing it up. How unattached are you, would you say?”

“If the Institute or the clave want to talk to me, they’ll need to request a meeting with you first.” Alec tells him, which is essentially saying that he belongs to Magnus’ now, in his entirety.

“Oh, sweetheart. You really do bring me the nicest presents.”