#styx/thirst

[merakiui]

omg, dacryphillia with Azul like mentioned in your last post please, please, please, I need it-

>:) imagine wringing so many orgasms out of him that he can't cum anymore and he's sobbing because he's so exhausted and overstimulated, tears streaking down his cheeks in fat, salty globs. His makeup is an absolute mess, all smeared and smudged, and there's ink dribbling from his lips because at some point you made him ink with your ministrations. <3 you're telling him he can cum one more time, right? He's a good boy, right? He's your perfect, pretty, crybaby Azul, right? Just once more and then you'll kiss his tears away and let him fuck you if he's still feeling it.

Azul is so convinced he's an ugly crier because he hiccups and heaves and gets so snotty and whines and whimpers like the world is ending, so he always tries to avoid breaking down in his daily life no matter how tough things get. But then you get your hands on him and he's reduced to a squishy, crybaby octopus and he hates it because he doesn't want to be that, but you're mixing sweetness in with the bitter and it feels good. Yes, he's a crybaby, but he's your crybaby. Your cute, handsome, lovely crybaby octopus who's cumming dry and drooling ink and saliva; and his eyes keep rolling back up into his head and he's arching his back on the mattress, his fingers curling into the sheets. You send him to heaven every time you do this, and he's so addicted to you and your voice and the feeling of your hands and mouth wrapped around his poor weeping cock. :(

You take everything he's worked so hard to become: the untouchable, charismatic, silver-tongued businessman; and you reduce him to something pathetic and weak and blubbery with just a few skillful touches and kisses. But, oddly enough, he doesn't mind it. Because when he gets like this, you still love him and you always shower him with affection before, during, and after. He's so hooked on all of these feelings you give him, and the feeling of your tongue lapping up his tears is a heady ecstasy he's fallen for.

If you ever leave him, he'll cry an ocean and then you'll really have no choice but to drown in him.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

imo the glasses on the new guy are a nod to jack’s eye sockets LOL but i def think it would be interesting if his design incorporates elements from characters other than jack because there’s so many cool designs in the movie. also the way i thought he was ace in black and white what with the skeleton costume and that fuckin ass grin haha

[Referencing this post!]

I think that's totally possible too! The glasses could be interpreted both ways, maybe even at the same time. The lenses are definitely big enough to invoke Jack's large eye sockets, but the style just so happens to also invoke Dr. Finkelstein's goggles (albeit the size of them is much smaller). I did see a theory that the new Halloween character isn't twisted!Jack at all, but rather twisted!Dr. Finkelstein, since he could count as a "villain" in the original film. The suit and gloves are very "Jack", but some people have pointed out that the glasses, the headpiece, and the teeth also match up with the doctor's. ashfbaiyldbas THAT WOULD BE FUNNY IF IT WAS TRUE... Turns out everyone was thirsting for the grumpy old man/j The suit and gloves, however, are most definitely more Jack-coded. I think it's still too early to tell right now; we'll have to wait and see how they present him in future content. However, I still do personally think it's more likely to be Jack just because he is much more iconic.

ADLHBAFSOYASIYFA YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS ACE/?????? ? ? ???? ? Ain't no way he got that drip... 😭 (I mean, the new character did drop on Ace's birthday in Japan so I can sort of understand the confusion??) I wonder if the new guy will have a mischievous, kinda cocky personality like Ace?? Aaaah, so excited to learn more about him...

The concept of a white-haired Ace makes me think of an AU where Ace and Deuce aren't knocked out by Styx agents in book 6 and are able to follow Yuu and co. to the Island of Woe. Maybe instead of Riddle getting drained of his energy, it's Ace (and thus he is the one who emerges with white hair, not Riddle).

[kastalani123]

Since my Percabeth Parent Swap Au has recently been infesting my brain a little, I wanted to share some other ideas for it!

Sally got the invisibility cap from Athena in Percy's cradle and gave it to him before she was taken by Hades in PJO

(ig Hades would maybe get some minor prophecy connecting Percy to the lightning bolt to the point he wants to leverage Sally against him?? Or maybe he assumed he was Poseidon's kid bc he likes the sea and he was just. Wrong)

Annabeth obv grows up in Cabin Eleven so she's a bit more of a thief and trickster, but also better understands Luke's and the Titan Army's motivation on a more personal level

She also doesn't have that thirst for a quest since she doesn't want to draw attention to herself, and is internally warring between wanting to leave Camp to see the world and wanting to stay because of how strong her scent is

Annabeth and Percy get claimed around the same time to tie them closer together and give basis for Annabeth choosing him as a questmate

Probably in the same game of Capture the Flag, I'd say? Annabeth comes in to help Percy out when he's getting his ass kicked and they get claimed

(their parents are pissed that they chose the same claiming time)

Annabeth has to live alone in Cabin Three, which. Sucks

Percy gets to have siblings tho!

Annabeth gets Riptide

(the two soon swap their godly gifts for the one they like better)

Also Annabeth doesn't have that same devotion to the gods/her godly parent so she doesn't see Percy's disrespect as so outlandish

The TLT prophecy would probably be different, though probably still include a line about Sally

Annabeth is also dealing with her biggest secret being aired out at the worst moment, as well as going from "random unclaimed kid" to "child destined to save/destroy the world" in one day

Luke tries so hard to get Annabeth to come with him and she almost does but she doesn't want to be what everyone fears

She doesn't go back to Frederick and Co. because they decide it's too dangerous for all of them, at least until the prophecy plays out. They try to keep in touch, though

Tyson is Annabeth's brother. In her Cabin. She gets to deal with that, too

Zöe sees parallels between herself and Annabeth (girl gives Riptide to a hero she's enamoured with (even though Annabeth is "more" of the hero)) so it takes her a bit longer to acknowledge Percy's trustworthiness

(no idea if Annabeth would still be the one kidnapped in TTC or if it'd be Percy)

With Mt St Helens, I'd say Percy tricks Annabeth into blowing the volcano up while he's still in it? Like, he didn't mean to still be inside but it turned out like that, I dunno. Annabeth never gets over the guilt of killing her best friend, even if he turned up alive two weeks after the fact

Unbreakable Annabeth. Can you imagine? Annabeth with the Curse of Styx? Esp a Cabin Eleven-raised Annabeth? She's tossing herself off the Big House because the Stolls dared her to

(she has the same curse as her brother! How wonderful, isn't it?)

She's the one that has to make the cursed blade choice with Luke. She has to give her dagger, gifted to her by her brother with a promise of family, to her brother to kill himself. She is. Very far from okay after that

Her bitterness against the gods wins out over her hubris to get her to refuse immortality

Annabeth is the one taken in HOO. Do with that what you will, I don't remember the books well enough to go into detail

Meanwhile Percy gets to go on the Mark of Athena quest and fight Arachne, which is all very nice for him

Annabeth gets to go feral in Tartarus. And I mean feral. As in, we're throwing out that "afraid of poison-bending" thing because Annabeth is the one losing her mind here and Percy is. Well, his fatal flaw is loyalty, and Akhlys had messed with his best friend (after Grover) and girlfriend. He's not telling Annabeth to stop until he thinks she's completely lost it

Also! Annabeth is not suddenly dumb, nor is Percy suddenly serious! Annabeth is still into architecture and STEM and books! She's still a skilled strategist, it just comes more from her experience and practice than an inborn talent! Percy still loves Montauk and skateboarding and joking around! But without the worry of being a Big Three child, he could more easily get the environment needed for him to explore learning, so he more obviously enjoys it! They don't just swap personalities and interests because they have affinities for some different things now.

[whispersinthedawn]

Concealed in the Coriolis Chapter 17

“It irks me,” Apollo murmured, “that I am merely one of several to mark you. But I suppose one boon more would not harm the fragile fabric of your soul.”

Percy released a shaky laugh. “Blessings harm?”

He felt a fool the moment he said it. Few were the blessings that didn’t leave your life a ravaged husk.

Apollo smiled but something about the crinkle to his eyes, the way light flashed off the golden sheen of his irises like sunlight off the windows of a vacant house, reminded Percy of a play staged by puppets animated by strings, incapable of expressing emotion by any means other than bending their bodies.

“A true blessing marks you for eternity,” Apollo said lowly. “Even the Lethe only wipes your memory of it. It would take a dip in the Styx itself to destroy the marks left by a god.”

Percy swallowed. “And a curse?” he asked tremulously. “Can you detect curses too?”

Apollo’s smile widened. “Curse. Blessing. Who can tell the difference?”

“And who put it there?” Percy insisted.

The god chuckled. “If I recognise their sign. You don’t think I go around demanding every god out there show me what a mark of their attention looks like, do you?”

Percy trembled, some inkling of a plan coalescing in the foggy marshes of the past. Some part of him still lay convinced that this was a mere illusion, just something concocted by his mind. If Apollo named gods Percy knew, naturally, that part of him would be validated.

But if Percy believed this was reality, that he and Coronis were truly suffering underneath a curse – Coronis, blessed Coronis chosen by the Fates themselves to birth Asclepius and die, whose very name was reminiscent of the crows blackened merely by witnessing her infidelity, would Coronis not carry her own blessings?

Just as Percy carried his own curse.

Would Apollo not be able to feel the markers in the soul flitting about outside her body and the soul stuffed in another’s shell and find the common denominator?

If you could detect a curse – was that not the first step to cutting it off?

“Wipe them off me!” Percy breathed out. “Whoever marked me, in blessing or curse, I don’t want it. Cut it out of my soul if needed. No one … I do not wish the marks of any other god on me.”

He’d tolerate Apollo’s blessing long enough to survive what was bound to be an excruciating soul surgery – but afterwards …

Afterwards, Percy would be free to be Percy Jackson.

Apollo’s throat bobbed as he drank in Percy’s features with a unquenchable thirst. After a moment, the god seemed to recover his composure. “You … do not understand just what you ask for,” he said huskily. “I will take it in the vein it was meant and not … not what you said,” he finished feebly.

“I know what I said,” Percy stated firmly. “And I meant it. No one but you. I don’t want it.”

Apollo flushed – a slow suffusion of gold across cheekbones glowing bright as the Sun. “We will see,” he said weakly. “For now … you should rest. You will have to arise before sunrise tomorrow if you wish to be the first to see the Pythia.”

In desperation, Percy reached up and wrapped his fingers around Apollo’s wrist.

The vein running through the god’s wrist jumped.

“Does that mean you’re leaving?” he asked, panicked. The god couldn’t leave just when Percy had found his first hint at an end to this misery.

Apollo blinked furiously. “That … do not worry. I will watch over you.”

“Watching over me is not what I want from you at all,” Percy said fervently. Where was the archetype of the mad scientist willing to dig into living tissue in search of a tumour regardless of the patient bleeding out on the table? Why couldn’t Apollo be more experimental?

Apollo licked his lip, his gaze falling towards Percy mouth.

Was that where the curse lay? Percy had swallowed the cold air of Tartarus, been almost sucked in by the vacuum of the it – it made complete sense that Chronos’s curse had flown in through Percy’s nose and mouth and now lingered in his lungs.

Apollo’s fingers tightened around Percy’s cheek, tilted it to the side, and tipped it up. Percy watched in consternation, almost going cross-eyed, as Apollo’s face grew closer and closer.

Was he going to cut out the curse with his teeth? Was that what lay in Percy’s future? A god’s teeth digging through his flesh and soul until it ripped away a part of him?

Closer.

Closer.

Soft lips brushed against his mouth and Percy froze.

Apollo sucked at his lower lip, flicked a wet tongue across the crease of Percy’s lips.

Apollo kissed Percy.

This was not what he’d meant at all.

***

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[goest-and-fuckest-thyself]

Patroclus, 🍀

It has been many lifetimes since we have met once again. I thought, maybe, Briseis would’ve been my fate this time round. Though, now that I have gazed upon you, known you; I realise who you are.

In this lifetime we have been confused, my affluence in our first meeting being exchanged for your abuse and suffering. I would know it again, simply to comprehend your torture in our life before.

You do barely know or comprehend my soul in this life, how I would love you the same as I did before. Yet, I wait for your remembrance of our times in the ether, our energy and souls melding into one; for you to recognise my soul as your own.

I cannot say that I await you patiently; for I do not. I beg, plead, and pray for your return to me, knowing that in this life, we shall once again be separated by The Fates.

Oh, to know you once again, when I see our shared light in your eyes, without the prejudice of your forefathers, or the skepticism of your mind. Patroclus, I would once again give my soul for you, to await at the banks of the Styx for your preferment.

I shall forever be drawn to thee, my dearest friend. Though you have thirsted for the spoils of honourable life and death, I now hope to be enough to quench such thirst.

I love you. In perpetuity.

Achilles ✨

[mechanicalmechanism]

IDPack 〜 Tomura Shigaraki ✦

( Warnings for the following . . . blood , gore , murder , death )

꒰NAMES꒱ 〜 Aemilius , Almund , Ammiras , Amon , Ansel , Anselm , Anselmo , Anubis , Apollyon , Arius , Asmund , Athanasius , Atol , Atreus , Atreyus , Atrophy , Balor , Baltazar , Balthasar , Balthazar , Blight , Blighte , Casimir , Casimiro , Charon , Church , Coven , Decay , Doyle , Efe , Egesa , Eldrige , Ellender , Emiel , Emil , Emerence , Emerentine , Emerentius , Emereo , Emeric , Enzi , Eunan , Faramond , Faramund , Faron , Fingal , Fulco , Ira , Irie , Kazimierz , Kazimir , Kazmer , Khalida , Khal , Kuno , Leofric , Letum , Leviathan , Mal , Malice , Mallory , Malthe , Manibus , Merger , Miel , Monte , Montgomery , Mora , Morana , Mortem , Mortis , Mortimer , Mourn , Mourner , Nemesis , Nev , Newell , Orhan , Osiris , Oswald , Oz , Pastor , Perses , Perseus , Pharamond , Proserpine , Prosper , Renard , Reynard , Roric , Rory , Rot , Rust , Serdar , Shig , Sin , Sinister , Sovereign , Styx , Ulric , Vestige , Voss , Wane , Wither , Wolfric , Wulfric , Wyther

꒰PRONOUNS꒱ 〜 De/Decays , Rot/Rots , Vil/Villains , Fear/Fears , Scratch/Scratches , Order/Orders , It/Its , Thing/Things , Molt/Molts , Vis/Vis'/Visage/Visages , Gore/Gores , Kill/Kills , Hurt/Hurts , One/Ones , Power/Powers , Hor/Horrors , Cor/Corrupts , Being/Beings , Hate/Hates , Scar/Scars , Vis/Viscera/Visceras , Void/Voids , Suf/Suffers , Warp/Warps , Twist/Twists , Mal/Mals , Epithet/Epithets , Sin/Sins , Sinister/Sinisters , Stare/Stares , (

꒰TITLES꒱ 〜 Holder of One For All , He Who Hates All * , Enemy of the World , Collector of Hands , He Who Destroys * , He Who Yearns to Destroy * , ( The ) Symbol of Fear , Grand Commander , His Immortality * , He Who is Ambiguously Human * , Vestige of the Monarch , ( The ) Chosen One , ( The ) Antichrist , Your Villain , Hated by All , His Omnicidal Presence * , Omnicidal Maniac , Ruler of All Villains , Thou With a Thirst for Violence * , Transcendent One , The Berserker , ( The ) Dark Messiah , He Who Has Risen from the Dead * , ( The ) Blood Knight , Hands of Flesh and Blood , (The ) Mass of Hands and Flesh , He Who Has Been Reborn * , The Next One For All , ( The ) Monarch With Clipped Wings , He Who Has Shed His Past Self * , ( The ) Cosmic Plaything , ( The ) Plaything of the Cosmos , ( The ) Misanthrope Supreme , Death of a Thousand Cuts , The Merger , Heart of Malice / Sin , He Whose Heart Rots * , The Dreaded , He Who Cannot Comprehend Good * , Eviler than Thou , The Faceless , Humanoid Abomination , Parasite of Power , He Who Resents * , His Grotesque Assemblage * , His Unwitting Pawn * ( Any Title with * next to it includes a pronoun that can be changed and all titles can be adjusted two your liking . . . ! )

꒰TERMS꒱ 〜 Antagogender , Bodyhorroric , Corruptbeing , Crucifixic , Deadantag , Decaytemasc , Decayvoidic , Denigrafacieic , Evilembodiment , Fearix , Fleshbutterflyix , Genderdark , Genderdecay , Hatebeing , Humanish , Mortemvitic , Obsessrotic , Offhuman , Pasrian , Putregender , Ragebodiment , Rivonia , Scargender , Villaithing , Viscerarian , Voidinwatchic

[cherubchoirs]

Based on Fallen Gabe and your post about if the brothers fell, it seems like fallen angels bound to specific layers are physically affected based on whatever sin they've committed. What do you think would happen to an angel bound to the other layers (Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, and Wrath)?

(see this!)

yea i really like the idea of angels reflecting the layer that they are assigned to and being a sort of living embodiment of that torment. limbo would be seemingly be the least affected, of course - they appear as the perfect ideal of angels that humanity holds, statue-like and without identity. they are overwhelmed in hopelessness, left to mourn in the corners of limbo with little ability to interact with those around them. the angels of lust are shades with flickering physical forms that are unable to hold another but cannot be buffeted by lust's winds - i very much like the idea they are sometimes rarely seen stalking the streets of minos's city. those in gluttony are incapable of ever feeling sated, plagued by all number of material needs but never able to satisfy them - hunger, thirst, fatigue, discomfort, all things never felt by angels now forever tormenting them (though they seem unbothered by gluttony's acid or sleet). the greedy cannot bear to go out into their layer's sun for how badly it blisters their skin and burns their eyes; they are fully adapted to the darkness of greed's monuments and tombs, and they often chase sinners back out to the sands when they seek shade. finally, angels of wrath are in a constant state of drowning, choked by water in their lungs and so seized forever with the sense that they are dying. it causes them to act the most erratically of any fallen angels and can be exceedingly dangerous to sinners because of this - the ferrymen are adept at avoiding them, always looking out for the worsening weather that heralds their presence and dark silhouettes that walk over the waters of the ocean styx.

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

The fight so fraught Astarion and Karlach were separated in the chaotic fray. Their struggle near constant between themselves and devils. Oft caught between the warring factions as they sought out her heart. Some days they were lucky, others they were not.

Today, Tymora’s smile graced not their way. Astarion’s body torn and bled out. The regeneration processes halted. His injuries would not heal. The bloodlust within rose and rose. Clawing and scratching to keep him alive. It forced his battered body to move. His will subverted from the all consuming need to drink.

The blood flowed in the waters of the Styx. Cupped and brought to his lips. Just enough to quell the thirst and the monster beneath.

When Karlach found him, Astarion’s eyes were glazed and confused. The elf’s gaze landed upon her. Lips moving once, twice, three times before he recalled how to speak. He was alive in the sense the undead could be alive. Yet, something was wrong. Where crimson eyes once held his love and admiration. The softness at the edges when looking upon her, there was…

Nothing.

The flirtatious smile spread over his face, but held no warmth. The very same he bestowed upon a first meeting. An ingrained habit of luring in his victims from dark alleyways and seedy taverns. “Hello—“ A sultry singsong quality tempered by injury and exhaustion. “—beautiful. What can I do for you?”

Astarion no longer remembered her.

Unprompted Ask Angst || Always Accepting

Karlach could scream. She could cry and pull her hair out from the horror of it all. She could crumble to the ground and curse everyone within earshot. Or she could have gotten so incredibly angry. Shake him for his absolute stupidity. She had warned him of the Styx. It was easy to stay well fed in the Hells - they were not without so many enemies. Karlach could have sworn until she was blue in the face about his cursed hunger and how it clouded his judgement when he had such a good hold of it usually. Normally, she would have done just that. But something else just took over her instead. Perhaps she'll have her time to rage later. But for now, this was all she could feel.

Numbness.

Of course. Of course this happened. This was the Hells. Where everything is stripped away from you piece by piece until you are but hollow bones. If you are so lucky to even keep them. It was here Karlach's physical heart was taken. It only made sense that her figurative heart would also be taken from her. The one she rested with Astarion.

For him to look at her as if she was but a stranger. To resort back to instinct after working so damn hard on his journey to finding a deeper meaning to all this. Perhaps it was a good thing Zariel took her heart, for it would surely break...

She brought a hand to her face, as if to rub some blood or dirt from her eyes. He didn't need her tears. He needed her to get him somewhere safe. She would have to return to her own past self...to how they were at the very beginning. Unfortunately, she had the memories of everything they did together in between then and now. He no longer did...

Karlach forced on her mask. A tempting smile, a teasing chuckle. "Maybe it's what I can do for you, handsome." She tried not to choke on her words. "You look a bit worse for wears, there. Listen, come back to my place. Get you patched up and out of this fucking place, yeah?"

Getting him to their her taken shelter of House of Hope was his best bet. Maybe Hope could settle her scrambled brain long enough to help. Save that, they had access to the mirrors. Perhaps Gale could watch him and find a spell? Or better yet, Wyll. A familiar place to Astarion. Wyll would keep his word, to watch over Astarion until Karlach could return.

But return to what? Was there any point in trying to connect with him? Perhaps there was nothing to them aside from what the tadpoles provided. They were bonded together by that adventure. Without it? How could she reach him? Would he even want to? He had another chance after all...

"Come on, it's not far." She tried to be as enticing as she could pull off as she hobbled her way back to base - biting back her tears as she went.

[merakiui]

thinking about yandere!idia who uses sex as a means of conditioning you into obedience.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, captivity/kidnapping, conditioning, non-con/dub-con, stockholm syndrome, mindbreak, aphrodisiac use)

He’s not surprised when you fight your capture. Though it’s obvious you can’t win in a fight against a group of STYX robots, you still try to run, to attack, to kick and thrash when they seize your arms in an unyielding grip and drag you to Idia. Even if you aren’t capable of Overblotting and therefore there’s no real reason for him to kidnap you for research, he still wishes to have you in his grasp, to keep you forever and never let you out of his sights. It must have been nice to have the freedom to spend time with your friends whenever you wanted. It must have been nice when all of those useless NPCs fell for you. You never even noticed him—not that you could have when he’d confined himself to his room most of the time, and you’d only known him as the shy shut-in from Ignihyde.

Which he still is. But Idia has a job to do—a very important one at that. He prepared himself well in advance so that your reactions wouldn’t surprise him. It’s a shame you’re so averse to him. So full of hate and fear. It saddens him greatly to see you avoid his touch, to see you scowl with the most poisonous abhorrence, to listen to your cruel remarks about how he’ll never get away with this and how he’s the worst person in the world—how he’s gross, creepy, perverted scum who deserves to rot for an eternity.

Idia has considered every plausible means of wearing you down until you accept him, and even though he could subject you to solitary confinement he thinks of other alternatives to get you to love him. If you can associate him with all things positive—with all things sex—then you might warm up to him when he visits your cell for the daily check-in.

It will start small, as all controlled experiments often do, with the tiniest dose of a potent aphrodisiac. Since you aren’t strong enough to hold up against complex potions and spells, even the smallest amount has you squirming uncomfortably in your restraints, crying wantonly against the rubber that gags you. He tells you this could all end before it gets even more unbearable. All you have to do is say you’ll be his. Say you’ll love him and he’ll stop. But it’s that misplaced stubbornness of yours that has you mustering a glare and, undoubtedly, a slew of insults that go unheard and muffled. Idia can only frown.

It looks like he’ll just have to try a little harder to raise your romance meter.

When aphrodisiacs become too much and you’re nearly crying for relief, he’ll have you stuffed with a dildo or a vibrator. Sometimes you cum immediately; other times you try to move your hips to find the release you’re desperately craving. Eventually, aphrodisiacs won’t be enough. He’ll have you strapped down while a machine fucks into you, a thick dildo going in and out of your tight hole, and he’ll sit on the other side of the glass and observe. You never give him the satisfaction of accepting him, so he will not give you the satisfaction of a climax.

Just when you think you might finally cum after hours of agonizing torture, the machine will come to an abrupt halt, the silicone cock will slide out, and you’ll be left empty and cold, your walls squeezing around nothing. Idia gives you another chance. His voice is emotionless over the intercom. Choose him and this won’t happen again. Choose him and you’ll be happy. He’ll always satisfy you. You’ll always be given release if you give into him. Once again, you deny him. And, as if to rub more petty salt onto a nonexistent wound, you say the dildo that was once rutting into you is much bigger and thicker than he’ll ever be.

Idia barks out a harsh laugh, but there’s no amusement in the sound. Another week will go by; you’ll be left to suffer through an endless edging session. He always offers an easy out at the end of every day. You never take it.

So Idia hypothesizes that you might be more prone to accepting him if you spend behavioral training in isolation. You’ll be moved into a soundproofed room and sound-muffling headphones will be situated over your ears. You’ll be blindfolded and gagged, unable to see or speak to anyone. Idia still watches over you from the room next door, peering at the wall of monitors to admire your sweaty body flinch and jerk at every bolt of stimulation. All sorts of toys will be used on you, but Idia’s favorite is all of the vibrators he can stuff inside you and attach to you. They’ll be set to the lowest mode. Coupled with a dildo, it works well at making you shudder and yearn. This time he won’t give you an offer. You’ll be left all alone in the room, unable to hear anything else but your thoughts.

It’s only until the end of the week that you finally hear his voice. He presents you with the same offer. This time you hesitate for a brief moment before resuming your pointless rebellion. Idia sighs. He’s nothing if not patient, but the spoiled heir in him wants you right now. He can have you; he does have you. You’re trapped here with him, and yet he can’t actually have you. Not until you willingly love him, even if such willingness comes at the cost of your suffering.

When you deny him yet again, the headphones will be put back on over your ears and the cycle will repeat itself for another week. This goes on for a while. Months, probably. You have no idea how much time has passed, but Idia has kept track of it. He’s catalogued your reactions for every day, how willing you’ve been, how quick you are to beg after each lesson. He calls them lessons, but truthfully it’s just one grand punishment.

By the eighteenth week, you’ve begun to show some progress. Now, rather than remaining quiet or struggling to compose yourself enough to throw clever insults back at him, you call out to him after each session. It’s a good sign. He’s immensely pleased, so much so that he can’t hide the giddy excitement in his voice when he answers. You’re starting to come undone, slowly but surely. Since you’ve grown accustomed to hearing him at the end of every sexual endeavor, he’ll begin to talk to you before the torture begins. When you hear his voice you’ll know of what’s to come. This will go on for a while until, eventually, you’ve learned that Idia’s voice is a clear indicator of both the start and end of sex. Any other voice is unimportant. You’ll only know of Idia’s and the meaning it holds.

He doesn’t use the gag on you anymore, so now he’s free to hear your lovely voice moan all kinds of wonderful things. You say his name a lot. It boosts his confidence to know that all of this is worth it. As tedious as waiting is, there is a sweet reward to be had for enduring all of this. He’ll continue to observe for now, doing his very best to ignore your pleas when you insist that it’s him you want buried deep inside you. What he’d give to fuck you even dumber than you already are… Unfortunately, he must wait.

The blindfold is the next to go. This time, the room on the other side of the glass is perfectly visible to you. You’ll get to look Idia in the eyes while you’re fucked senseless by a machine. Idia will talk you through this, praise you for taking the dildo so well, admit how perfect you look like this and how much he’d love to do all of that to you and more. It may have been unnerving at first, but now it only seems to make you hornier. Idia smiles at you through the glass, perfectly pointed teeth flashing under clinically bright lights. You’ll cum with his name on the tip of your pretty tongue.

It certainly took a while, but Idia’s sculpted you into a perfect prisoner: obedient, soft-spoken, and thoughtless. Now you can’t stop yourself from growing hot when you see or hear him. He’s engraved new instincts into you, and these seem to be the only things you’ll ever know from now on. When he was certain you’d been worn down enough, he’d enter the room you were confined in and help you reach your climax. Whether that was by touching you, kissing you, or even licking along your sensitive areas. He’s taught you that he’s the only one who can provide this. That he’s the only one who can make you feel good. And for the first time since you were captured, you agree. Idia feels like the happiest man alive.

Now you’re always at his side. He’s given you a modicum of freedom, though it’s still spent in captivity. You’ll wear a shock collar that’s designed to administer controlled shocks if you travel out of range from Idia. It also keeps track of your location should the shocking system malfunction. He likes to dress you in all sorts of cute outfits. Cosplays, mostly. Some days you’ll be a maid for him. Other days you’ll don cat ears and a tail. You’re so good for him now. You don’t insult him anymore. You don’t look at him with such intense vitriol anymore. You don’t fight him anymore.

And when he touches you in certain areas, you know to spread your legs.

Idia’s pleased he’s trained you well. When he’s observing the NRC students who have previously Overblotted through a dozen high-quality camera feeds and you’re on your knees under the desk, taking his cock in your delicate mouth so obediently, it’s almost difficult to imagine how you were before any of this. Fiery and rebellious, you’d often spit hate as if that would have any effect on him. As if it might sway his decisions and prompt him to let you go. As charming as that may have been, Idia finds he likes this version of you much better.

Because the you from before never had eyes as glazed as the you now, and you’d never readily suck him off under his desk or lower yourself onto his stiff cock when you climb into his lap, as needy as a cat in heat, always so vocal about how good you feel, how you want him to cum lots inside, how he’s the only one who can fulfill you, how you love him so much, how if he doesn’t fuck you every day you might just die. Your mind may be thoroughly muddled and you may only think of him and sex now, but that’s really all you need to consider. After all, Idia likes cute, compliant kitties far more than he likes those who hiss and claw.

[cru5h-cascades]

Vampling lore dump (cause my oc Styx exists)

Vamplings have 3 forms: swim, humanoid, and monster form (which activates when the vampling or someone/thing they're tryna protect is in danger, when they're feeling really angry, and, if they're skilled enough, at will)

Vamplings have the ability to suck the soul out of any sort of creature, which can make them even stronger and live longer than before (this strength is most noticeable when a vampling is in monster form; the more souls they have, the more frightening and powerful the form) (most vamplings refrain from soul sucking, but others just thirst for power)

Vamplings are somewhat bioluminescent

Horn size and shape differs between each vampling

There was a huge event sometime during the great turf war where vamplings were being hunted down out of fear that they'll wipe out all inkfish kind

A good chunk of the vamplings have been living either in the domes with the octarians or in other dark, isolated areas far away from inklings, but they have become comfortable enough to live with the inklings in recent years

[bonetrussle]

Werewolves Made of Woe (WIP) - Prologue

A/N: Just the short prologue of the horror/comedy future-fic one shot I'm writing for Wenclair about when their twins were born :D It'll be posted in ao3 when finished, but I thought I'll just share what I got so far...

------------------------------------------

Beauty, her name was Enid Sinclair.

Her moon-touched goddess. The love of her life. Her queen of the wilds, curled around two new-born babes in the near crack of dawn like a feral woman. An arm held the two lumps of writhing flesh, purple and red and wonderful like they were the most precious beings on earth. Hands curled into careful claws ready to disembowel anything that came too close, even in sleep; hair and skin covered in mud and sweat and blood and remnants of the black forest. Her wife was as beautiful as the day they conceived, making love in the daemonic five-point star pentagram in the behest of the black goat of the woods, bathed under the romantic light of a hundred black candles.

Wednesday walked towards the grotesque pile of bodies that was her family, sharing bare skinship in this frigid morning like base beasts, and felt something akin to longing. 

If only she could join them.

Her black eyes searched and thirsted for more detail to remember, burning like two pyres in the middle of an endless void, round and wide like Charon's coins. And she knew she would pay to witness this sight again upon the cusp of her death, instead of trading with the ferryman to ride the gloomy boat down the river Styx, Tartarus be damned --

What bliss. What maddening illumination!

That she was now mother to two terrible werewolf pups.

Wednesday kneeled down on one knee, bunching the folds of her dress, boots squelching in a puddle of blood mixed with morning dew. She risked it -- as always with the case with her bestial wife -- and reached out to caress the back of her fingers against a pink sullied cheek.

A groan, and a dull growl answered her act of disgusting tenderness.

And before she could stop herself, Wednesday heard herself whisper with a near longing in a voice she could barely recognize...

"Cara mia."

[lesbiantrish]

u should shuffle some songs and do a fic vaguely based on the lyrics of one of em -s. (still copyin n.'s sign <3)

thank u so much!! (also djkdkdkd good keep copying nico 🙄)

i redid it a few times for a few reasons JDKDKKD

song: the red means i love you by madds buckley

Leo was mesmerized by the sight of him. he was beautiful, and leo was starved.

leo hadn’t fed in so long. he was so ready to do it. he wouldn’t kill the guy, he swore to the styx internally that he wouldn’t let that happen.

leo felt himself drawn to this guy. leo let himself sniff the air, and let out a sound of satisfaction. yes, this will do just nicely. he didn’t even realize at first that he had already started sneaking towards this blond haired boy. he had started to lose control of himself. he was so thirsty, he was so desperate.

he was about to do the deed when the sun-kissed boy turned around. he tilted his head in confusion, and leo silently cursed himself. he must have let his thirst get the better of him, and now he had nothing to feast on.

“…hello…” leo let himself draw out the word slowly.

the boy’s mouth fell open. leo needed to taste him more than anything.

“hi” he said in such a way that leo wished he could die for the second time. how could someone just speak like that? leo couldn’t take it. he needed to feed so bad right then. “i’m uh.. i’m jason.”

“leo” okay he would play nice, okay? draw this “jason” close and then he would get what he wanted. what he needed. “i’m leo”.

jason smiled. leo felt some kind of deep pain in his stomach. it was the thirst for blood, it must be. i mean, what else could it possibly be?

“leo, it’s nice to meet you” he held out a hand. leo obliged. jason’s skin was soft like fabric. leo couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. what was happening to him?

“mm” leo forced his eyed open. “yeah, you too jason.”

jason’s eyes widened at this. he stood back on the ball of his feet, seeming unable to stay still. “what brings you here? this is a pretty small town and i’ve never seen you around before.”

leo tried to subtly catch his breath. the truth was, he hadn’t tasted blood in so long he almost fainted. he stopped at the first sight of human civilization. and now he had gotten so close to getting caught.

“yeah, it just looked pretty to me i guess.” leo relaxed as jason kindly nodded at this response.

“would you like me to show you around?”

“oh uh..” leo had to admit, he was only mildly annoyed at this. sure, he needed to refuel himself, but there was something about this boy that seemed to fill leo with interest. “yeah. okay. sure, why not.”

jason smiled and was leo dead? i mean yeah, he was, but this was death in a whole different way. leo wanted to scream. leo wanted to hurt jason. leo wanted to touch him. … what?

leo clenched his palms into fists. he needed to get ahold of himself.

wait… was this attraction? leo had heard of it before, but never had experienced first hand. most ran away from him in fear, not many had ever treated him like… well like he was worth anything. it felt good, to be honest. leo realized he wanted to kiss jason. he hated himself for it, but knew this was the truth.

“so uh..” jason’s voice snapped him back to reality. “do u want to get a bite to eat?”

it took leo a moment to realize jason was talking about going to a restaurant. “yeah, yeah sure.”

jason led him to a wooded tavern. leo looked around as the heavy door slammed shut behind them. jason went to sit and leo followed.

someone came to take their order and both boys obliged. leo looked over at jason, who was smiling wide. leo wanted to smash their lips together in a moment of passion. he wanted to forget about everything else, he wanted to make jason forget about everything else.

what was it about this boy that made leo crave him carnally? if this was a fairy tale, leo would swear this would have been love at first sight.

and suddenly leo remembers this is not a fairy tale. he’s not a princess awaiting his prince, he’s a fucking vampire. vampires don’t get happy endings, they get loneliness.

suddenly his entire world is destroyed. he feels like he is dying for the second time. he wants to run. just like the first time. run away and never seen this beautiful boy again.

what made him think he ever deserved joy?

jason clears his throat, and leo realized jason has been looking at him. “sorry uh” leo begins.

“you okay, man” jason looks worried.

fuck, leo thinks. “man” he said. “man” is not what you call someone you want to kiss.

leo can’t help it. he lets out a laugh. he does this instead of crying. he doesn’t want jason to see him like this.

leo flinches when he sees jason’s face. he’s wearing a mask of concern. leo forces himself to smile, hoping jason will believe it. he won’t.

leo forces himself to look up at jason. jason’s lips are curled up in thought. leo is in hell. he curses whoever did this to him.

jason reaches his hand out. leo can’t help himself, he reaches his own out to touch the other boy’s.

he lets out a sigh of relief, lets himself close his eyes. “jason, there’s something i have to tell you” leo can’t go on with this boy without him knowing the truth.

jason’s head drops to the side in confusion. “what is it?” he squeezes leo’s hand. leo wants to sob. jason doesn’t deserve this.

“i’m…” leo tries. leo doesn’t know what to say. how do you confess your darkest secret to someone you barely just met? it seemed hopeless. leo was hopeless. leo was helpless.

“leo” jason interrupted him.

leo looked up at the other boy. he didn’t want jason to see him like this, but he had no choice. none of this made any sense. why did this boy mean so much to him? he just met him. he shouldn’t care. but he did. it made no sense.

jason looked down and it took leo a minute to realize jason was staring at his lips.

there was something uncanny about it. as if they had known each other for a thousand lifetimes. as if they had never said a single word to one another. what was it about jason that made leo want to destroy himself?

leo barely knew jason, but he wanted nothing more than to push him against a wall in a dark room and kiss him until he forgot his own name.

suddenly leo’s lungs were being crushed. jason had reached across the hard wooden table and smashed their faces together.

leo had sometimes wondered what a kiss would feel like. he figured it would be stupid, especially since he no longer had a beating heart. how can ur heart stop beating if you don’t have one?

leo never could have knew it feel like sunshine. like rain. like beauty. like death. like this.

he could feel himself relax in jason’s embrace. jason kissed him harder and he realized he was running his hands through jason’s hair. jason said leo’s name against the kiss and leo could swear he was human again. was this what hope was? suddenly leo never would need to taste blood again. he didn’t need to drink, he needed jason loving him.

jason let go of leo’s shirt and breathed heavily, immensely out of breath.

“wow” jason uttered. “sorry, i couldn’t help myself.”

that was probably the greatest thing leo had ever heard anyone say in all his life, and death. leo wanted to kiss him again, but he restrained himself.

suddenly all his hope vanished. he remembered what he was going to say.

part of him didn’t care though. what did it matter when jason’s lips felt like lightning against his own? he felt a fire ignite inside of him. he wanted to sacrifice himself for this boy he had just met earlier that day.

jason was fire and he was ice. he wanted to melt under jason’d touch. he wanted to sink, to let go of all his pain for this beautiful boy.

jason was smiling as if someone had just gifted him eternal joy. leo wanted to touch his pink lips. leo needed to be stopped before he gave all of himself to this fucker.

“jason” leo had to say it.

jason looked confused but at the same time leo knew he was listening fully.

“i need to tell you something” jason nodded his head, letting leo know he was paying attention.

“i’m not… alive..” jason looked horribly puzzled.

leo wanted to hide under the table. he forced himself to stay. he was done running. after all, would his mama have wanted him to be a coward for the rest of all time?

“i’m uh… i’m a vampire” leo physically cringed as he said this.

jason looked down. leo knew that look all too well. jason was going to leave. that’s what always was destined to happen, right? he wasn’t ever going to have someone who loved him, especially not someone as gracious as jason.

“that…” leo gulped. “makes a lot of sense actually.”

was jason… smiling at him? leo looked down at their hands, waiting for jason to take his own back. but jason only rubbed leo’s palm.

leo felt his eyebrows raise. “you aren’t scared?”

“no. not of you. you aren’t a monster leo, you’re just scarred.”

leo felt something wet fall down his face. oh. he was crying. he couldn’t even remember the last time he let himself cry. especially in a public space.

leo grabbed jason by the shirt and led him out the door.

“where are we going???” jason looked very, very lost in that moment.

“you’ll see” is all leo said in response.

leo was going to give himself to this boy. he wanted nothing more than to kiss jason until they both were nothing more than bones, but he needed to show jason this. he wanted to.

he led jason to an alley way and held out his hand. one of the perks of being a vampire was definitely his speed. jason looked reluctant but obliged. leo took jason’s hand in his and sped off.

they arrived at a cave entrance on the outskirts of a forest.

leo had only been here a few times before, but he needed jason to see it. leo smiled at jason, and motioned for him to follow him inside. jason nodded in agreement.

the cave was dark as night. leo knew jason couldn’t see like him, so he held onto jason’s grip tight.

suddenly lit up in the near distance. leo looked over and jason was looking at it.

“woah” jason said in astonishment. one by one, more crystals of all different colors started to shine light all around.

when the show was over and jason could see clearly again, he looked over at leo.

he walked closer to leo and held his face in his hands. this kiss was different, it was soft. leo had the feeling it wasn’t going to end anytime soon. good, leo thought. he didn’t want it to.

leo swayed, so jason started to hold him tighter. leo made a sound that sounded like “mmph”. jason seemed to enjoy it, so leo started to smile through jason’s lips.

they started to kiss like they had before. like nothing else mattered. and did it? did it when jason was there, with leo? was the world ending? was the world on fire? it felt like that. leo wouldn’t have cared if someone ended his immortality right then and there. he wouldn’t have cared because he had gotten to be loved. truly loved.

and suddenly his thirst died away. it was replaced with a much more satisfying one. one of wanting to be loved, loved by jason.

and leo started to experience a miracle. he felt his heart beat. that was supposed to be impossible, but this feeling was confirmed to be true when jason rested his hand on leo’s chest.

he knew jason could feel it too, and they kissed again.

in the end, leo didn’t need a lover. he needed someone who saw him. saw him as human.

jason was right, leo wasn’t a monster. no, leo was loved.

[knifeofjuliet]

a little something i wrote out of a sudden burst of inspiration building up from a few weeks. i call it "Throat".

content warnings for references of murder, asphyxia, body dysmorphia, memory loss and gore.

Tomorrow, my mother was murdered.

Cold water down on my throat. Marking the fluidity and effervescence of the postmortem thirst. Amygdalas swollen with desire; echoing the scream of regurgitated air as delicious drops of tasteless liquid drive under my flesh in a spiral spinal spur.

Yesterday, was I this dry? Plastic can be so ephemeral, yet sustenance glows with longevity. Drinking and salivating over the malevolent liquid who grips my independence with a tower of nails, it hardly matters the recipient; as long as I remember the taste of cold, I can burn.

Anatomical allegories are metanarrative mechanisms to instill fearful salivation over relatable bodily occurrences. All who perceive bodies as bodies are shocked with the notion that no human can unrelate to the thread of flesh where their voices, be them echoable or not, come from. The gratuitous weight of having to perceive yourself on accidental reflections. Fear over bodies is built on remembering how unique they are.

Today, I realized. Nobody can be no body.

When she was murdered, I closed my eyes and detailed it. How is the trachea? How flexible is it for when my hands grasp on it, tugging on its tip with a half-broken nail? Can I pierce the larynx? Can I close it with a steadfast, playful but brutalized clutch? Are my nails dirty enough for the dust to migrate into blood? Can I break something as fragile as a teacup in sunny day's sultry? Can my fingers close on my own throat? Can these scissors sever a voice who never wanted to speak? What is my own voice? Have I ever listened to what this murderer has ever told to anyone? Does the murderer know he's always being listened by his Frankenstein? Is the recipient made out of plastic? What was in it? Can hands tremble in the heat? Do all throats gasp when grasped? Why is the Styx so swollen, so dry, so desperate for fulfillment? Can I extract my femur and drink from the cavity? Drink what, exactly? I don't know. Is it warm, or is it cold? What is dry? Is it as precious as my love for the cold? Can frostbite be this heartwarming? Can I gulp down this red, translucid, viscuous liquid which reminds me so much of cold water? Can my throat ingest this? It can. It won't. Why? In the end, why is it still dry? Are the unseen letters written in my eyes? Are the unwritten feelings screaming through my fingers? Do I have a body? Should I have a body? Does my mother had a body? Will my mother is here? Who is am I? Do I had a mother? What am I?

I can't seem to remember.

On my right hand, I lightly tap the tip of the plastic cup. Fresh, cold water. Greeting myself, family and friends with a smile; so warm it evaporated the light droplets of cold in a minute's time. "Hello, mother". I am returned with a smile.

Yesterday, I loved my mother.

And somehow, I feel my throat is a little dry.

[ballad-of-medusa]

2020 Huevember

HERMES — DREAM

"The dream of mortals has always been to come and conquer Olympus and the Heavens, and like Icarus, to fly away until their wings burn. If there is indeed a God who knew how to understand and conquer this feeling, it is Hermes: quicker than anyone else when it comes to crossing the sky on either side, the teasing God doesn't waste his time by allowing himself a few moments to simply daydream while fulfilling his duties."

Hermes is known for a God who is finally quite cunning and it is in this that he is similar to Adam. If my OC is not a thief, he is a very good speaker and when it comes to doing business, he is the first present!

THANATOS — PEACEFULNESS

"There is nothing more restful than falling asleep, lulllabied by the sound of the waves. This ebb that goes and comes back, it is so soothing ... That's it, the eternal rest. There is nothing more liberating, more tranquil, than to remain listening to the laments of souls on the banks of the river Styx. From time to time, Thanatos takes a brief moment to simply enjoy this moment when life becomes death and where it begins a new path."

Fubuki was an obvious choice for Thanatos: he has a special affinity with death in general, but most of all, he is a very calm person, even ... slow, to tell the truth. And it's a bit the image I have of Thanatos that is associated with peaceful death.

HADES — MISFORTUNE

"Sometimes it was a small matter to find himself bereft of everything: of the three brothers, Hades found himself with the realm of the dead, alone, without a companion to keep him company while his two brothers went from one love affair to another, both with mortals and nymphs. A few Lampads sometimes try to get God's attention, but Hades remains alone to rule. Perhaps this misfortune is finally not a misfortune?"

And we go on with the deities of the Underworld with Hades! Devis corresponds rather well to him according to me. He is always taciturn, alone, it is really only Coryn who brought some light in his life finally. He has a lot in common with Hades, especially concerning the kingdom of the dead!

CHRONOS — LUCK

"Space and time are the union of two very distinct forces: Fate and Fatality. One believes in second chances, the other tolerates only one path. More often, the second prevails over the first, but it happens from time to time that Chronos manages to break free from his prison to come and change the course of time for certain mortals: the thread woven by the Graeae is carefully cut and tied to another. Nothing could be simpler, let's see!"

Clearly, Yuichiro, we don't expect him to take on the features of Chronos. But do you know that in our great bestiary, well, it is indeed a human receptacle of the God of Fate? And of course, this one is not a nice God ready to help you: with him, second chances often come at a price ...

HERA — JEALOUSY

"Ah, how good it is to be considered the Queen of Olympus. Ah, how unfortunate it is to see her beloved being only a womanizer. If Hera was once respected, she is now considered as a divine who thirsts for vengeance with the love affairs of her dearest Zeus. And yet, she happens to be well to be pitied, to be thus relegated to the row of simple jealous goddess."

Eleonor is frankly a beautiful person who likes to have fun in my opinion. She also has a great attachment to Raymond, which give it back to her more or less, depending on his mood. She knows she is lucky to have charmed him but also that he does not leave anyone indifferent. And she doesn't hesitate to remind them that the place is taken!

✿ Last batch of my 2020 Huevember! Chronos is one of my absolute favorite, I must be honest. Anyway, have a good rest and enjoy 2023.

Adam von Friedholf, Fubuki Leichenträger, Devis Hayes, Yuichiro Rowan Shinkiseki & Eleonor Daïan (OCs) are mine. Art is mine.

[boldlyvoid]

night 197 since eddie "died" and i still can't stop thinking about how this song should play when he comes back in season 5

Another year has passed me by Still I look a myself and cry What kind of man have I become? All of the years I've spent in search of myself And I'm still in the dark 'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness I'm a lonely soldier off to war Sent away to die, never quite knowing why Sometimes it makes no sense at all

Ten Thousand people look my way But they can't see the way that I feel Nobody even cares to try I spend my life and sell my soul on the road And I'm still in the dark 'Cause I can't seem to find the light alone

Sometimes I feel like a man in the wilderness I'm a lonely soldier lost at sea Drifting with the tide Never quite knowing why Sometimes it makes no sense at all

Looking for love I'm a man with emotion (And my heart's on fire) I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean I'm alive!

[audikatia]

Another year, another 110 books read! I don’t love organizing books by genre because I feel like so many of the books I read are a mix of fantasy/horror/queer romance/mystery/etc, but I like to see how it all falls into place. I had started 2022 with the goal of reading more poetry but otherwise had no specific goal except to read whatever I wanted. There were some disappointments, some books I have been meaning to read forever, some new favorites, and some comfortable rereads of old favorites. Overall, a good year!

List of books read + my ratings under the cut

Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Males of the Gay World, 1890-1940 by George Chauncey ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner ⭐️⭐️⭐️

No Voyage and Other Poems by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The River Styx, Ohio by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

All’s Well by Mona Awad ⭐️⭐️⭐️

You’ll be the Death of Me by Karen M. McManus ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Twelve Moons by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones ⭐️⭐️

American Primitive by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dream Work by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

House of Light by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

New and Selected Poems: Volume One by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

White Pine by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

West Wind by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Leaf and the Cloud by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

What Do We Know? by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Owls and Other Fantasies by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Long Life by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Conventionally Yours by Annabeth Albert ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dune by Frank Herbert ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Blue Iris by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

New and Selected Poems: Volume Two by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Thirst by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Red Bird by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Out of Character by Annabeth Albert ⭐️⭐️

The Truro Bear and Other Adventures by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Evidence by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I Kissed Shara Wheeler by Casey McQuiston ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Then She Was Gone by Lisa Jewell ⭐️⭐️

The Woman They Could Not Silence by Kate Moore ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Swan by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dog Songs by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Blue Horses by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Felicity by Mary Oliver ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Woman Beyond the Attic: The V.C. Andrews Story by Andrew Neiderman ⭐️⭐️⭐️

So It Goes by Isis Molina ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Slippery Creatures by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Sugared Game by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Subtle Blood by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

To Trust Man on His Oath by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

How Goes the World by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Band Sinister by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Mary Magdalene Revealed by Meggan Watterson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Le Petomane 1857-1945 by Jean Nohain and F. Caradee ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Any Way the Wind Blows by Rainbow Rowell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Woman in the Library by Sulari Gentill ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell ⭐️⭐️

Magdalene: Poems by Marie Howe ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Love, Hate, & Clickbait by Liz Bowery ⭐️⭐️⭐️

All Eyes on Us by Kit Frick ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Song That Moves the Sun by Anna Bright ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The House Across the Lake by Riley Sager ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling by Ross King ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Family Upstairs by Lisa Jewell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Family Remains by Lisa Jewell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Secret Wisdom of Nature by Peter Wohllben ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Paris Apartment by Lucy Foley ⭐️⭐️

Hell Followed with Us by Andrew Joseph White ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cult Classic by Sloane Crosley ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Every Other Weekend by Abigail Johnson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

You Only Die Twice by Brynn Kelly ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Nineties by Chuck Klosterman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Snakehead by Patrick Radden Keefe ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cultish by Amanda Montell ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Dream Thieves by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Opal by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Call Down the Hawk by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Greywaren by Maggie Stiefvater ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver ⭐️⭐️

Nothing More to Tell by Karen M. McManus ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Daisy Darker by Alice Feeney ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Heroine with 1001 Faces by Maria Tatar ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Red White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dracula by Bram Stoker ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Husband Material by Alexis Hall ⭐️⭐️⭐️

What If It’s Us by Becky Albertalli ⭐️⭐️

Here’s to Us by Becky Albertalli ⭐️⭐️

JELL-O Girls: A Family History by Allie Rowbottom ⭐️⭐️

My Policeman by Bethan Roberts ⭐️⭐️

Love in the Time of Serial Killers by Alicia Thompson ⭐️⭐️

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Wicker King by K. Antrum ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cremains of the Day by Misty Simon ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Icebreaker by A. L. Graziadei ⭐️⭐️

Skin Deep by Sung J. Woo ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Raven King by Nora Sakavic ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The King’s Men by Nora Sakavic ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng ⭐️⭐️⭐️