#rough skies

[glitterslutz]

Need and a want

[wintersportism]

i’m honestly looking forward to the super team lineups on friday because it’s been wild so far, here are my predictions

germany: likely pius and welle, or they just let pius jump twice and hope nobody notices

austria: they’re def flipping coins

slovenia: žaba and timi most likely bc lovro can’t do shit at the moment and if they take domen they’ll end up getting dsqed or like, start catching fire mid air or some shit

norway: maybe they can borrow riiber for the day

switzerland: gregor and gregor if they want to have a chance

poland and finland: mate who even knows

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

happy new year everyone! being able to escape into this little space over the last twelve months has been such continued joy and solace. thank you so so much to everyone here for making my 2024 better, i’m wishing you all the amazing things you deserve in 2025! here’s to new and beautiful skies for all of us 💫🌟✨⭐️

[crimebaddies]

I broke into your apartment as you slept off all those vodka shots. I watch you toss and turn until my presence breaks your peace. Forced on your stomach, your wrists zip tied behind you. I’m just going to rob you. Well that was initially the plan, until your naked body began to struggle against the zip-ties.

My dick stiffened more as you thrashed underneath me. Your exposed lips twinkled in the moonlight and I lost my self control. You put up a good fight, until my gun found itself on your forehead. Suddenly your legs became a lot easier to pry open.

Your muffled protests fueled my adrenaline, my gloved hand blocking every cry. Your tears like wood for the fire inside as my hard cock punishes your soaked slit. Your thrusting back was the icing on the cake. I’m pretty sure the gun under your chin was good selling point.

[ghostsslutss]

Bitte write mating press with joost or even better aggu (／。＼)

glamour 💋

ski aggu x f!reader

tags/cw: mating press, rough , degrading

Shows after shows, falling off stage?.. Being in a wheelchair? Then jumping right up again to do more shows? Ski Aggu was one strange man. But when those goggles are off he finally has one little break. August runs to his lovely stress toy, his girlfriend.

You were sitting in the shared apartment with August in Berlin. Always clean and organised forever when Ski comes back from his tours. You sat on your phone, doomed scrolling through TikTok. You were off work today. It was so fucking boring to just watch Ski enjoy his shows and you had to work your shitty little law cooperate job.

Your head snapped around as you heard keys unlock the door, opening slowly it was Ski wearing his iconic goggles, baggy jeans, some sparkly belt, boots and a vest. August took his boots off, walking to you slowly. Each step felt like a year.

He was just teasing you slowly. So you can become more needy for him. God,

his arms looked so good in person. After months of not seeing him you just wanted to milk him dry, you thought.

“How are you, my love?”

Ski fixated on your movements, watching every blink you took. How you stared at him continuously. His problem how were you so shy still even after dating?

“I’m okay, baby.”

You responded, your eyes pleading for you to be touched by August. He smirked and chuckled softly.

“What is it you want, schatz? I can see it in your eyes. Do not act dumb, liebe.”

You snapped out of daydreaming about his arms around your throat. Ski walked closer towards you, sitting down on the sofa. Grabbing your thigh softly, you gazed into his ski goggles. He was handsome even with the goggles.

“Y/N.”

You looked down to his crotch. Not even focusing on what he was saying, you lifted your skirt. Revealing your wet panties.

“Ah. liebe you want me to fuck you. Such a naughty little slut aren’t you.”

He chuckled softly, spreading your legs out with his hands and then pulling them over to your head. Take off your panties and throw them on the floor. Ski removed his belt. Then pulling his baggy jeans off and threw them in the pile of clothes. Ski inhaled loudly as he saw your glistening pussy. His cock was already straining through his boxers. August took off his boxers, revealing his hard, bulging, veiny cock already leaking with pre cum.

“So feucht”

August’s smile widens, his grip on your legs tightening as he thrusts into you, your and his bodies meeting with a harsh, primal force. You moan, your body arching against him, your hands grasping at the sheets as claim them.

"That's it, Y/N,"

Ski grunts, his hips moving in a brutal, unforgiving rhythm.

"Take my cock like the good little whore you are. Beg me for more."

The room fills with the sounds of their bodies colliding, the scent of sex and sweat hanging heavy in the air. Ski's smile widens, his grip on your legs tightening as he thrusts into you, your bodies meeting with a harsh, primal force. You moan, your body arching against him, their hands grasping at the sheets as Ski claims them.

The room fills with the sounds of their bodies colliding, the scent of sex and sweat hanging heavy in the air.

Ski’s grip on you tightens, his thrusts becoming even more forceful as he hears their words. The sound of your pleasure, the way you beg for more, serves as fuel for his desire. His muscles tense, his breath coming in ragged pants as he dominates you, his body taking what it demands.

"You like that, don't you, Y/N?"

He growls, his voice thick with lust and power.

"You like feeling my big cock stretch you out? Make you mine?"

You nod, your eyes wide and glazed with pleasure. "Yes.."

You gasp.

"Yes, I love it. I love feeling you inside me. Please, don't stop."

Ski's smile turns cruel, his eyes never leaving yours as he continues to pound into you.

"Don't worry, Y/N,"

He rasps. "I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill. Until you're screaming my name and begging for mercy."

He leans down, his lips capturing you in a brutal, possessive kiss. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you as his own. His hands move to Y/N’s.

[transcendragon]

Primal - this is actually a portrait of one of the magical characters from my urban fantasy mystery novel “August Out of Time”. What is he? A werewolf? A monster? A wolf spirit? Something else? Someday I’ll publish my novel and you can find out…

My original art made in Procreate, image deception in alt

[acrowwithakeyboard]

The lightning was NOT Ieama's fault this time!

[patrice-bergerons]

O friends, I am drunk on sunshine

[glitterslutz]

[smokiedokie]

My sister (mechanical engineering major in a ski town) is trying to get into a ski building class next semester and asked me to come up with a design to put on them so naturally I’m going with a vampire theme

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 13: Check

Rating: M

Word Count: 1169

Warnings: Mild descriptions of blood

Summary: Persephone's made her decision, and now she has to go through with it. [Vampire AU, Hythazemet, Continuation of Prompt 12.]

Master Post

Persephone fidgeted nervously, rubbing her arms to try to chase the chill of the house away. Her warm and cozy robe they'd given her was set off to the side, so it wouldn't get dirty, Hythlodaeus had said. A little part of her brain still thought she was crazy, completely mad, but not only did she just desire to keep living, but her lavender haired host was kind and friendly, someone she could see wanting to get to know better and have in her life. Someone she wouldn't be afraid to ask questions of when…

No, not ready to think about that, it seems.

But his…friend? Roommate? Lover? She still wasn't completely sure what their dynamic was, but it was clear Hades was more cold, calculating, and withdrawn. A real hermit of a vampire compared to Hythlodaeus. She wasn't too sure what to make of him yet, but if he was willing to help save her life, then he couldn't be all bad, right?

Earlier that evening, after she blurted out her decision, he'd appeared in the library. Hythlodaeus had jumped up excitedly to tell him the news while she shrank a little into her robe, aware that the chair she sat in was Hades'. 

"Did you hear? She decided she wants to stay!" her new friend smiled, but Hades just scowled an exasperated frown.

"Wonderful. I suppose we're going to need to invest in extra furniture then," he commented dryly. He and Hythlodaeus then discussed how and where best to perform this ritual, and now here they were, in the smaller guest room. Hythlodaeus had mentioned it because he remembered having strong chills during his "infection" and figured a smaller room would be easier to heat without making the rest of the house unbearable. She winced as she reached up and started peeling the bandage from around her neck, dried blood pulling at her skin as she did. 

"That brute really did a number on you," Hades commented from just by her shoulder, causing her to jump. He took her chin and moved her head back and to the side to check the marks there. "You can rest assured I'll not be so careless."

"Uh, thanks?" She swallowed awkwardly as he released her, and he fell silent again, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Go on," Hythlodaeus gave her a little nudge between her shoulders. "I'll be right here." And somehow that did make her feel better about it, even though she'd known both of them for roughly the same amount of time. And that amount of time being hardly any at all.

"How do I know this isn't all just some setup to get me to trust you, hmm?" She meant it jokingly, but when her feet refused to move she wondered how much of a joke it really was. 

"You're welcome to wait out the bite you have and see what happens," Hades droned. She bit her lip. It's true, if she really thought they were lying, she could just say no and leave. And if she was wrong she'd turn into a mindless monster and do this to more people…

"No, no, I'll do it," she said more firmly. She walked over but then stopped awkwardly. "Um, what am I supposed to do?" Hades rolled his eyes.

"Told her everything, did you?" He quipped at Hythlodaeus, then addressed her. "Sit here, facing away." He patted his legs.

"I feel like I'm a kid going to see a mall Santa," she muttered, following instructions. "Now what?"

"Hold your arms out in front of you, wrists up. They don't have to be straight in front, you can rest them on your lap," he continued, and she obeyed, resting her arms with her wrists up on her knees.

"Why does it matter where my arms are?"

"Because there are magic symbols he needs to draw there," Hythlodaeus chimed in helpfully. It didn't ease her anxiety. 

"Magic symbols, right," she muttered, then felt breath at her neck. "Wait, wait, I'm not-!" Hythlodaeus knelt before her, resting his hands in hers and not breaking eye contact.

"It's okay, it won't be like before, okay?" He ran his thumbs over her fingers, trying to soothe. "It'll be done before you know it." She took a few steadying breaths before nodding. A comfy, well lit room, she wasn’t alone, wasn’t being chased… Yes, this was nothing like before. She could do this. Before she had the chance to say anything else, Hades sank his teeth into her neck.

Persephone couldn’t help but yelp and try to pull away, but an arm around her shoulders kept her still, and Hythlodaeus continued holding her hands; a moment later she would feel bad for squeezing so tightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. The initial sharp, stabbing pain faded, and she took a deep breath. It didn’t hurt as sharply now, only a dull ache. She felt fingers, Hades’ she realized, prod at her neck, then move to her wrists. Trying not not move her neck too much less the wounds pull, she glanced down to see him drawing an ornate sigil on one wrist with what she realized was her own blood. She watched him finish the one, then draw its mirror on the other. Persephone felt the pressure increase on her neck; she tried to stay stoic, but a small whimper escaped, anyway.

Then he released her, and it was like he’d done nothing at all, her neck feeling just the same as before. Perhaps even better than when she’d woken. Hythlodaeus helped her up, quickly cleaning her neck but leaving the sigils on her wrists where they were.

“How long do these have to stay?” she asked, peering at one as he led her to the small chair at the desk. A small mirror hung on the wall where Persephone could see that her neck had healed over, even where she’d just been bitten, leaving only some deep, dark bruises.

“Until the change is complete,” Hades answered as he stood, straightening his clothes where they’d wrinkled. She blinked at him.

“You don’t think it’ll, I don’t know, smudge?” Persephone asked, and Hythlodaeus chuckled.

“Try wiping it off,” he invited, and though she worried about messing up the process, she felt confident he wouldn’t set her up like that. Persephone scrubbed at her wrist with her thumb.

The sigil didn’t move, even a little bit.

“Magic,” Hythlodaeus said with a smirk. “It’s good for some things.”

“Why didn’t you use it to fix my neck in the first place?” she asked, with just a slight pout.

“It’s part of the ritual. The sigils fixed your wounds. The bruising will fade too before the process is done,” Hades explained. She gave a little acknowledging nod.

“So…how long until I start feeling like I’d really like some Nyquil?” Persephone tried to joke about it, but the worry was still there. Hythlodaeus’ face softened into an understanding smile.

“We shall see.”

[fairy-spring]

one day i'll get this thing done

[crimebaddies]

What she saw at 1:40am vs what I saw at 1:40am

[eggthew]

clip studio paint i missed youuuu

[bandcampsnoop]

3/2/24.

I received an email from Rough Skies Records (Hobart, Tasmania) saying that a few extra 7" copies of "Counting/Relief" by Melbourne-by-way-of-Hobart based band Heart Beach were available. Julian Teakle (Native Cats and solo cassette "New Hobart") runs Rough Skies. His solo work and Native Cats music together give him the utmost credibility.

I don't think I made it all the way through "Counting" before buying this 7". It sounds like an excellent midway between Teakle's two projects.

Mikey Young mastered this 7" and a few of their physical releases.

[offrozenmemoirs]

What Do You Fight For?

Seraph sits on the ground, exhaling softly. His spear and sword rest next to him, his eyes are closed, and the top half of his armor lay discarded on the other side of him. Meditation after his training sessions was how he grounded himself once more, working off stress from his duties, and the ever growing presence of Khorne within his mind.

He should be getting some sleep, but after his time with Soup, he was restless. He reluctantly climbed out of bed, redressing himself and heading out to the beachfront. The salty scent of the sea filing his nose, and feeling the sand shift beneath his boots. The moonlight itself looked rather beautiful, but bought him no reprieve from the thoughts in his mind. The beach is empty, given the narrowly averted catastrophe that just happened, Seraph understands their aversion to any midnight strolls along the beach. It was oddly quiet, aside from the sound of rolling waves.

He thinks of the future confrontation between the group and the leader of this tribe of Cetaceans. From what he recalls, they're big on honor and strength. He was banking on that to get a duel with the leader of this tribe, if he won, he would be acknowledged as strong enough to do as he wished. A duel doesn't need to end with the death of either combatant, but...

"Do you honestly believe such a proud creature like that would yield to you? How convenient would that be?"

The echo of the chaos god's words is still clear in his mind. He struggles with the urges that come with combat, to rend apart all of his enemies, and with how fiercely he can fight sometimes...To say that Khorne is pleased with that would be an understatement. Though, that's not to say he's the only one who apparently likes how Seraph gets in battle.

"Sometimes it scares me, a little... but you know what? I like it. I swear, when we were out cold... I was dreaming, wishing to experience some of what you unleashed near that lighthouse."

The words of his lover cause a faint smile to flicker across his face, before he steels his expression once more. It's odd, not having many voices in his head, to hold conversations with the Deathwatchers, or occasional conversations with his father. Seraph's mind has been mostly quiet, with the occasional comment from Khorne, or conversations with Freya. It's odd, and he misses the presence of his father and Pharasma.

"You were quite fierce in battle. Leaping into the skies to impale your foes and then scattering them...A spear suits you much better than that scythe you had. But then there's that sword of yours...What a marvelous piece of steel. Frigid to the touch, and it only seems to like you as its master. You've done well to christen it in blood as of late."

It was true that Skadi was temperamental about who touched her, giving people a nasty case of frostburn when they touched her hilt. Even Rok had spoken about how he never touched the blade after he forged it. It had been a comfort, to have a sword similar to Joseph, especially while his scythe was being reforged into a spear. It too, held a name, Susano'o, a Kitaian deity of storms, if he was recalling his studies correctly. He couldn't put his finger on it, but, it felt right to give the weapon forged from his very soul such a name. Susano'o was much like its master, seeking a purpose, to grow into what it was meant to be.

"What will you do if you cannot convince this 'Storm Thief' to stand down?"

Seraph frowns, knowing that in Cetacean culture, in some tribes, surrender was akin to being shamed. For someone christening himself as the Storm Thief, having stolen Rhalgr's trident, had the power to back up his name. Though it was a power that wasn't earned, and in a strange sense, perhaps he agreed with Khorne's assessment, another warlord looking to make a name for themselves.

"If he doesn't surrender, then I'll do what I must and end him. Nothing more, nothing less."

Khorne hums in acknowledgement of Seraph's answer.

"And if someone comes for revenge? If you kill him, you'll have to deal with the fallout."

The elf doesn't have an answer, and it's clear on his face, lips curling into a frown.

"If I can make a suggestion...Perhaps it would be better to kill him in such a way that any challengers would be petrified. Tear him apart, rip his throat out with your teeth. Bathe in his blood and let them know that challenging you is to court death itself."

Seraph opens his eyes, to see someone standing in front of him, he doesn't want to look up, knowing what he'll see. Yet, he meets the other's gaze, staring himself in the face, a wicked grin that was far too wide, filled with teeth sharpened like knives, and that damnable blazing, piercing red gaze. He wishes that Khorne didn't stand in front of him, the waves rolling past his ankles. The shadow walks forward, staring down at Seraph, meeting his gaze as he begins to speak.

"It's always better to be feared, Seraph. Many think of me as someone obsessed with killing, to see my enemies scattered to the winds. I enjoy my bloodshed, of course, but I know the power of a reputation as well. You know that you must do whatever it takes to protect the innocent. Even if they hate you for it, they will still be alive to do so. There's still honor in shedding blood for justice."

Seraph isn't naive enough to believe that. Even if he agrees that the innocent must be protected.

"I'm not foolish enough to believe that you have my best interests at heart. You tried setting Soup's blood on fire. You and I shall never be friends, nor allies. Not after all you've done to my family and loved ones."

A dark chuckle leaves the doppelganger's lips. Seraph hates looking at Khorne because he sees himself bulging with muscle, covered in ritualistic scarring and nails more akin to claws. He sees a vicious mockery of himself, and his once blue eyes are now entirely red, blazing with a crazed fury. Veins alight with an unholy glow, as if his very blood had turned to fire. Interestingly, Khorne didn't take his current appearance into account; instead, he had his original black hair, which was shorter, with daemonic horns. It's almost a mockery of his draconic heritage. It scares him more than seeing Makoto ever did. Perhaps it reminded him of the patient ward in Ingora, where that man begged him for forgiveness. It's a reminder of what he could've been had he continued on his path…Or what he could still become if he ever lost his way.

"Say what you will, Seraph. But you're a perfect candidate for my teachings. How many did you kill in that last fight? How many of your foes died screaming? Cetaceans don't often have fear struck into them, but you...You're something special. After all, I wouldn't have my eye on you if I thought you weren't worth my time. You have my favor...My blessings will give you strength beyond strength, if you would accept me."

Seraph says nothing in response, instead, grabbing Skadi. He unsheathes his blade, and cuts the mockery of himself down, watching as Khorne's form fades into the air. He almost expected blood and guts to spill out, but instead a black mist is the only reward for his efforts. He ignores the laughter leaving its lips, a deep, rumbling tone that he's come to associate with the god of blood. He would never accept Khorne's offers. Power always came with a price, no matter the source. He resumes training, not wanting to sleep any time soon, though he's sure he'll drag himself back to the shared hotel room, and get what little sleep he can...eventually.