#wraith cheekbones

[bitter69uk]

“She is beautiful and more than beautiful; she is surprising. Darkness in her abounds, and all that she inspires is nocturnal and profound. Her eyes are two caverns where mystery dimly glistens, and like a lightning flash, her glance illuminates: it is an explosion in the dark.” From the poem The Desire to Paint (1869) by Charles Baudelaire.

"She didn't bother with neurosis; she went straight to psychotic." Music manager and publicist Danny Fields on his friend Nico.

“When she sang with the Velvet Underground it was like a loved one taking a razor to your throat.” Steven Puchalski, Slimetime: A Guide to Sleazy, Mindless Movies (1996) “If they ever held auditions for the Angel of Death, Nico probably would have walked it.” From a 1988 music press obituary for Nico.

Light a black candle! The late, great heroin-ravaged German chanteuse, actress and fashion model Nico (née Christa Päffgen, 16 October 1938 – 18 July 1988) - the Marlene Dietrich of punk, Edith Piaf of The Blank Generation, Warhol Superstar, Moon Goddess, Exiled Countess of Gloom, “possessor of the most haunting wraith cheekbones of the twentieth century” (thank you, James Wolcott of Vanity Fair) - was born on this day 86 years ago. The eternally alluring and inscrutable Nico has always been my favourite singer (and John Waters’ too, for that matter). Portrait of Nico by Maarten Corbijn. (This photo would be adapted for the front cover of Nico’s final studio album Camera Obscura (1985)).

[bitter69uk]

"She gives you that WEIRD feeling …"

Born on this day 121 years ago in London: morbidly beautiful actress Gloria Holden (5 September 1903 – 22 March 1991). The patrician Holden’s one big stab at major stardom was as the lead role in 1936 horror movie Dracula’s Daughter. Unfortunately, the film flopped and didn’t lead to other noteworthy opportunities (although she continued to act in lower profile roles until 1958). Nevertheless, Holden is haunting and memorable as the enigmatic Hungarian Countess Marya Zaleska. Accompanied by her hunchbacked manservant and sporting a dramatic wardrobe of hooded capes and gowns, the countess arrives in London following the death of her father Count Dracula. Offered a glass of sherry, she quotes Bela Lugosi (“Thank you. I never drink . . . wine”). Before long, she’s leaving a trail of drained corpses in her wake! While Dracula’s Daughter is never particularly scary, it is atmospheric and the most elegantly Art Deco of 1930s Universal Pictures horror flicks – and Holden is unforgettable as what must be the screen’s first lesbian vampire, long before Ingrid Pitt in The Vampire Lovers (1970), Delphine Seyrig in Daughters of Darkness (1971) or Catherine Deneuve in The Hunger (1983).

Gloria Holden as Dracula's Daughter (1936)

[bitter69uk]

“I’ve never really liked looking normal, and I’ve always liked a faintly bleached-out look, so I was really happy about the way the cameraman lit me as Morticia. The makeup was very intense. I had stickers attached to my temples; rubber bands that met behind my head and then on top of that the wig, fake nails and eyelashes and the corset – individually they add up to something monumental. It was hard to move. There were certain things one could do with one’s hands but that was about it. Fortunately, I wanted to keep Morticia very iconic and still. She’s not fractious at all. She’s very settled in her body language. I had a bonfire of the vanities at the end of the movie where I took all the fake stuff, made a pile and set it on fire.”

Get the look! In the countdown to Halloween, here’s the fabulous Anjelica Huston’s behind-the-scenes breakdown for The Guardian newspaper in 2018 of how she was transformed into Morticia for The Addams Family (1991) and Addams Family Values (1993). The process she describes with rubber bands stretching her face taut was a commonplace old showbiz trick employed by the likes of Marlene Dietrich, Lucille Ball, Barbara Stanwyck and Eva Gabor in Green Acres. Apparently, it was painful and gave Huston headaches – but the results were worth it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Sleep doesn't hold out long. Despite your discomfort with Rogers' proximity and the furnace-like heat of his being, you sink into another thick slumber. Blame it on stress, or travel, or your bad habits, you can't resist the void of your subconscious.

In your head, the world ripples in dark waves. Like the depths of the ocean full of ominous shadows and wispy hues. Your eyes rolls back, flicking violently in the nonsensical images painted by your dreamworld.

A hand crawls up out of the thick blackness all around. The roughened fingertips send tendrils around you, chaining you up in a cold wash. It settles around your neck, tensing as if to feel its own strength over you.

It's as if you're submerged in water, floating just underneath the surface as the world is distorted in the flow. The bed posts loom over you, crooked and distended. the ceiling is an endless pit and the body next of you is a rumbling sandbag. It's a nightmare twisted in reality.

The hand shifts and moves to frame your chin. The thumb presses below your cheekbone then caresses. The barione drawl of your name makes you quiver. As you are pet by the ghostly touch, the tip of the looming wraith's nose nuzzles into your temple. Steamy breaths enshrine you in heavy paralysis.

Fingers wander down and trace your collarbone. They drift over your shoulders and down your arm, brushing back up your torso, slipping beneath the cool satin. It's all so real and yet the floating sensation in your head assures you otherwise.

The large hand covers one side of your chest and toys with your budding nipple. Your voice wafts out without your effort and your mind swirls into oblivion. You can see and hear nothing but the plucking in your core remains.

TIme trickles by as you hang in the limbo of your unconscious. When you wake, it is slow and dull. Your head feels hollow. You put your hand to your forehead and groan. With how much you've been fainting, you wonder if maybe you should speak with a professional.

The air prickles on your skin as a shiver rolls up your spine. You grumble and hug close the warmth flush against your front. You wiggle your head against the firm weight beneath you and flinch. Wait, this isn't your gentleman teddy bear with his bow tie and top hat. It's not soft enough and much too big.

Your eyes snap open and up. You lift your head in horror as you look up at Rogers. His cheek dimples as he watches you placidly. You quickly snap your arm against your chest as you drag it from across his. How did that happen?

His arm curls lightly around your back and his hand lingers right behind your bum as you push yourself up. You look down at him as something tickles your arm. You dip your chin as you tug the strap back over your shoulder, barely keeping the shirt from slumping below your chest.

Worse, the shorts are wedges between your cheeks, your naked skin so close to his hand that you feel the heat radiating onto you. Without thinking, you press onto his hand as you quickly evade him in embarrassment. He snorts.

"You kick in your sleep, you know that?" He says.

You turn your back to him and drop your legs over the edge, keeping as far from him as you can.

"I offered to go on the chaise," you say as you cradle your head, your brain spinning. "Oof, I need coffee."

"Relax, we got time," the bed shifts and you let out a surprised yelp as he tugs on the back of your shirt. "Don't go passing out on me already, sweetheart."

"Um…" you look over your shoulder. "I…" you squint. You blink as the murkiness of your sleep returns to you. You can't unravel the meaning of the foggy dreams. Or this man. 'Sweetheart?' "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he turns onto his side, the top of his briefs showing above the slack blankets. "How about I go hunt down that coffee and you just relax?"

"I should get dressed," you face the room again and stand, quickly tugging down the shorts. "Um, yeah."

You scurry away as you feel bed bounce. He calls your name as you flit into the bathroom and snap the door shut. Even if you said you wouldn't, you might just faint. This is all so strange. You're an accountant. You're here to count numbers so why are you waking up in his arms. His big burly arms…

And his big fists, flying down at bone and marrow, bashing that man into the pavement. The memory has you gripping the sink as you gulp. You can't forget who he is. Or what he is.

You blanch at your reflection and blink. How did you get into this? Well, it's not really your choice but…

Without a thought, you storm back out. Steve's on the edge of the bed. He stands as you rush out in a frantic search. You find your phone next to his. Strange. You swipe it up as he comes closer.

"Thought you were getting dressed--"

"I will, I have to make a phone call--"

"To who?" He asks.

"It's none of your business," you insist as you tiptoe around him.

"If you're working for me, it's my business," he insists as he reaches for you but you dodge him. "Hey, don't--"

"If you must know, I'm going to call my doctor, sir," you stop by the bathroom door and face him. "All this fainting is starting to make me worry."

He stops and growns at you, "you're worried?"

"Sure I am. You think I glitched out before I met you? I mean-- not that it's your fault. I only… better safe than sorry. So, sorry, uh, gotta go."

"You don't gotta--" he begins but you're behind the door again before he can stop you. You hear him hit the other side with his open hand as you flick the lock into place. "I'll make sure you're okay, you know that? You're on my dime, I take care of my people."

"On the phone," you chime back and retreat to the shower and close yourself in the booth.

You can request an appointment later. Right now, you have to make sure you're not stuck doing the dirty work. You dial out and wait for the line to pick up.

"Hansen, the fuck you calling so early?" You're put off by the answer. Oh, not a good start.

"Sir, um, it's me," you enunciate your name. "I know I missed my first day and I'm sorry but something came up--"

"You!" He snarls. "Why'd you fuck me over?"

"Wait, wait, don't hang up," you plead, "promise, it was out of my control. I just… my landlord messed me around and now I have to deal with all this and I'm sorry. Do you think I could still take the position, er, like next week?"

He sighs and clucks. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"I thought… I'm a good fit. The interview--"

"You didn't fucking show, toots."

"I know, but… I swear--"

"I don't give second chances."

He hangs up. You cringe and push your head back and sigh. Great. Now what? Even when you finish this job, you got nothing. You can't go back to your apartment and you don't know if you'll have a second month's rent for the one waiting for you. You could always ask Pete to give you your old job back.

You lower your phone and let yourself out of the shower. Your eyes narrow and you look around as your cheeks tug. Your fear gives way to something more vibrant. Anger. It's all his fault.

You take your time picking an outfit from the bags of clothes. Why are they all so… tight? You pull on the cream blouse and the matching skirt. Pretty but you're not a fan of light colours, you are much too clumsy for that.

When you finally emerge, Rogers is pacing. You don't acknowledge him as you find your purse and shuffle through it. He clears his throat.

"You okay?"

You shrug and don't answer him.

"What'd the doctor say?"

You shrug again.

"Something's wrong."

You face him and scowl. You nod. Then, without an ounce of caution or thought, you show him your palm and point at it. Talk to the hand!

You swipe up your purse and charge towards the door. You have no idea where you're going but you need space or you'll do something you'll regret. Something he'll make you regret.

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day: alluring and durable Canadian actress, dancer, singer and Vancouver’s finest export, Miss Yvonne De Carlo (née Margaret Yvonne Kao Middleton, 1 September 1922 – 8 January 2007)! De Carlo is most fondly remembered as the serene vampiric matriarch Lily Munster in TV’s The Munsters (1964 -1966) and for playing Moses' wife in the 1956 Biblical epic The Ten Commandments. My favourite film of De Carlo’s will always be the irresistibly lurid 1956 melodrama Flame of the Islands. (We screened Flame at the Lobotomy Room cinema club in May 2023 and everyone there fell under De Carlo’s sultry spell!).

Yvonne De Carlo in Munster, Go Home! (1966)

[sad-scarred-sassy]

Please please please continue the one shot of Feyre and Tamlin meeting after she has the baby. It’s so beautiful and well written

Oh 🥹 thank you!! I wasn’t gonna continue it but since you asked so nicely… proceed at your own discretion.

// It’s a headcanon of mine that Feyre questions all her life choices after the whole pregnancy fiasco happens.

If you wanna read the first part here it is.

~~~~~~~

She had sworn she would not go back.

Somehow nobody had noticed her brief absence, not Azriel, not the wraiths, not even Rhys. Feyre had carried that secret for months with a small hint of shame, and a very weird sense of triumph.

What Rhys had noticed since then though, was the new barrier she had put up between them. For the first time, she no longer let him slip in and out of her mind at will. She no longer shared with him her deepest darkest secrets. She realized with a cold, sickening feeling, that he knew every miserable aspect of her life and psyche and she did not know him, not entirely.

It was a strange realization, Feyre truly felt alone for the first time in years. The whole deal of her pregnancy had acted as an eye opener for her and it didn’t help that she had just too much time to think. Feyre spent her days taking care of her toddler, a beautiful child that smiled at her and she could not, for the life of her, understand why she did not love him as she had been promised she would.

Feyre sighed, sitting next to Nyx’s crib. Rhysand was gone to the Hewn City for a meeting, leaving her alone with the baby. She tucked Nyx’s small wings correctly behind him as he slept. Logically, she knew she loved him, she could simply not reach the feeling, not yet.

“I will try” She said, a tear streaming down her face. “I swear”

When she had found out about the secret, she had been so hurt and mad, betrayed by her mate, her family, the ones who said they loved her. She had yelled at him, had demanded him to tell her why. Then, she had succumbed to Rhys’ explanation again. He had said he hadn’t wanted to worry her. At the time she had concluded that she was fine with the decision, she wanted Nyx, she would have done anything to keep him alive. But after he was born, when she had too much time to herself, her mind had started to unravel on her.

How many times had he decided something and made her believe she was the one on charge? Why hadn’t they ever talked about the awful things he had done to her when nobody was witnessing it? How much of anything he had told her was actually true? How much of her hatred towards her past friends had been fed to her? How much of her rivalry with her own sisters stemmed from what he wanted?

It was too much. It was suffocating.

She knew she had to talk to Rhys, he was her husband, her mate… her High Lord, but she was tired of hearing his excuses, she was tired of him pretending to adhere to her demands only to flip it to something he wanted. She was tired.

After tucking Nyx in his bed she grabbed a sketchbook and let her fingers do the talking.

She had seen him again after their brief encounter in the Spring Court. Helion had called for a High Lord meeting wanting to discuss the next steps at peace, and she had taken her ass to Dawn pretending she had any say on whatever was to be discussed. As much as she tried to believe it herself, the sheer reality of being nothing else but a puppet in her husband’s hands was so glaring she could not hide from it.

Even if she knew he loved her, she could see it in him. She could see the way he also valued what she could do for him, how she was useful, how keeping her in this illusion of power actually benefitted him. She knew he would do anything for her, unless doing it contradicted what he truly wanted. Whatever that was, she did not know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Her chalk began tracing lines she had burned in her memory a long time ago. Strong jaw, deep set eyes with a hint of sadness in them, high cheekbones and plump lips. Long, silky hair that cascaded down his strong trapezius muscles.

She had studied him in the meeting, his green worn tunic, his old polished boots. He had informed everyone that the Spring Court was slowly healing. Beron had snorted and mocked the state of his manor, still in ruins. Tamlin simply watched him and said “I’m not living there anymore” and that was that.

Their eyes had locked for a fraction of a moment, he looked lonely and broken still, she averted her eyes before anyone noticed.

She did not know what she felt about him after all this time, after all was said and done. The things she had said to him were true, he had hurt her and she had destroyed all he was in return. It still didn’t feel right.

Did he see it in her? Just how lost and desolated she felt? How trapped she felt in her own chosen life, trapped to serve a purpose, serve like she had always done. He had trapped her once too, why did this feel different? Why did it matter? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

The question plagued her while she yanked the page from the sketchbook, and giving it one last glance, put it in the fire slowly, for it to be consumed and destroyed. She wished she could do that with all these thoughts, set them on fire and let them burn into nothing.

She would never go back to him, she could never go back to him anyway. She had a son now, she had a mate for life. He was the one who hurt her.

You hurt him too.

Yes, they had both destroyed each other. So why did she feel that unshakable need to see him again? Why couldn’t she just be content with her life? Why did she want to talk to him again? Why did she care about what he had to say? Did she need confirmation that he was the monster she believed him to be? Or did she want to think that at some point she did have something genuine, even if she thought she lost it forever? Did that make her feel better or worse? She didn’t know. She couldn’t, wouldn’t go back-

“I’ll take care of him tonight” Feyre almost jumped at the sound of her sister Elain’s words from behind her. She turned abruptly to see her knowing eyes studying her. “Go, do what you have to do” She said and Feyre felt her heart beating unnaturally fast in her chest.

“Elain” She said. “I don’t know what I have to do” She said.

“You want answers, right?” Elain cocked her head at her, seeing too much, too damn much. “Go seek them”

Seek the other side of the story. Seek the answers to her questions. Seek the clarity she so desperately needed, for better or worse.

So there she was standing again in the middle of the Spring forest, feeling like thief in the night, a witch to be caught and burned, waiting for him to sense her somehow. He didn’t disappoint, standing before her just minutes after, face open, arms slack at his sides.

“I-“ She said. “I wish to talk”

He gave her one nod and signaled her to follow him, which she did, slowly, keeping a distance.

To her utter surprise he led them into a small Spring town she hadn’t ever visited before. The night was quiet and she could see the smoke coming out of the chimneys of the small wisteria-covered cottages. He kept walking, turning to step towards a small stone cottage lit with fae lights and covered by vines and moss.

He pushed open the wooden door and let her inside, her eyes jumping to look at everything within, the small dinner table and two chairs with a bowl of uneaten stew on top of it. The small kitchen and cozy fireplace, the feeble stairs that led to a second floor where she could spy his bed. The arrangement of knives lying on the small worktable along with piles of documents and notes in the far back. The muddy boots in the corner. Feyre was stunned by what she concluded. He lived here.

“You-“ She couldn’t articulate her words. “Why?”

He understood the question. “If I was going to fix this court, I had to do it from the inside” He said moving to sit on the chair next to the dinner table.

“But you’re a High Lord” She said.

“I am” He said, eyes stern. “Do you want some stew?” He asked and she shook her head vigorously, he shook his hand and the stew disappeared. Her shock didn’t subside, even when she remembered just how close Tamlin had been with his subjects before, she would’ve never thought she would find him in a place like this. Then again, this wasn’t too far fetched for a male who had wanted to leave it all to write poetry while traveling around the world.

He watched her, studied her, then wet his lips and furrowed his brows.

“Why are you here, Feyre?” He asked genuinely.

“I wanted to ask you something” She said. “If you would give me your word and answer honestly” She heard herself say.

“I give you my word” He said solemnly. “Please-” He gestured to the other chair in front of him.

Feyre cautiously dragged her feet and sat down, utilizing the moment to arrange the question in her mind, picking at her nails in anxiety. He noticed.

“Why did you lock me up in the manor?” She asked in a blurt.

Tamlin’s fingers, which had been thrumming a pattern on the table stopped abruptly.

His throat bobbed as he took a fortifying breath.

“I was terrified of not being able to protect you, and seeing you die… again” He said so quietly she had to stop breathing to hear him correctly. “I acted on impulse, everything I did in that time was on impulse, I knew you were going to hate me and I still did it, I can’t justify it, I’m sorry” He said, eyes lifting to find hers.

“I had never felt so alone then” She said.

“I never wanted you to feel alone. I understand now that I could not give you the partnership you needed at that time” He began drumming his fingers again.

“You were broken, as I was too” She concluded, studying as his eyes lifted towards her for a second, only to drop as he gave her a small nod.

“What did she do to you there?” She whispered, Tamlin’s eyes shot to her in a panic.

“I-“ He said, sitting straight on his small chair. “That doesn’t matter”

“It does.” She said, placing both hands on the table facing him. “You never told me”

“It wasn’t worth discussing”

“It was, if we had maybe-“

“Maybe we would still be together?” Tamlin smiled a sad smile of disbelief. “He would have never allowed it, you know that” He said. Feyre closed her eyes. The control she had thought she possessed in her life had been an illusion and she knew it. She hated that he could tell, he could always tell and she was just too stubborn to admit it.

“I still want to know” She said again. “If you’re comfortable telling me”

He sighed, running a hand through his long hair. “She said she would kill you if I didn’t-” He said suddenly, then didn’t continue, choosing to look away from her.

“You never showed-“ She remembered all the times they had been intimate after it all happened. Why didn’t it ever cross her mind? “When we were together, I-“

“Being with you was like a salve for the horrible things that had been done” He said in a closed tone. “I thought it was the same for you”

The silence stretched for long moments before she spoke.

“I’m sorry”

He laughed humorlessly. “Please Feyre, don’t apologize to me. Especially not about that” He clenched his fist. “Especially when I did nothing when he-“ His eyes fell to the tattoo on her hand. “I wish I could have done more to save you… from all of us”

“I chose this life”

“You were thrust upon it”

“You still think of me as a helpless little thing” She clenched her fists.

“No, but you are young, and you have been through too much” He said.

She pressed her lips together, looking down at her manicured nails, the intricate tattoo that branded her… like a mare. She shook her head at that thought.

“Did you know I would fall for his… for his tricks?” She croaked. She couldn’t believe she was talking about Rhys in that way, but she couldn’t stop, the words were burning in her throat.

“I thought you were happy falling for them” He mumbled and she looked up at his empty eyes. “He was there when I couldn’t, after all” He took a breath. “I can’t blame him for setting to win over his mate”

“I’m not his property” She said.

“Aren’t you?” He glanced at her tattoo. She flinched.

“He loves me” She proclaimed with a sniff.

“He does” He moved his hand in a swipe and two cups of wine appeared on the table, along with a decanter. He began pouring the wine for himself, then for her. She placed the cup on her lips and took a sip. She would never say it out loud but she had missed the Spring rich and sweet wine, so different from the Night Court’s bitter undertones.

They sat there, drinking the wine, listening to the crack and sizzling of the fire. His green eyes fixed on it, the flame reflecting on them, hiding the emptiness within. She always thought they were very similar in some ways, maybe much of it was still true.

“The woman you loved died in that mountain” She said stiffly. “I think that was the toughest part, saying goodbye to her while seeing how you still searched for her when you looked at me” She took another sip. His gaze rose to meet hers.

“Is that what you think?” He cocked his head.

“It’s the truth”

“It’s bullshit”

“The woman I was before would have never done what she did to you, to your court, to your people” She placed the cup on the table forcefully.

“Perhaps, but she would be here now, asking me of all people to forgive her” He breathed a laugh, turning his whole body towards her. “You’re not ruined, Feyre” He said and she felt her eyes sting.

“I am. I said you were a monster, but I am one too”

“No, you are not”

“I am! Do you think I cared when I came here and destroyed this court? Do you think I cared when I sent your life to hell, sent the lives of innocents to hell? I didn’t care, I relished on it” She leaned forward as she spoke with bitterness.

He simply watched her, took his cup and downed the wine.

“I always knew what you were capable of” He said, staring at the fire on his side. “I never saw you as an innocent fawn, if that’s what you’re thinking” He mumbled, she noticed her fingers were trembling.

“You still trapped me so that I didn’t fight”

“Capable is not all-mighty” He said. Her stomach clenched so she took the cup in both her hands and drank its contents in one gulp.

“You didn’t see it coming, what I did when I came back”

“I didn’t see it coming because I didn’t think you wanted to do it, not because I didn’t think you could” He said pensively. “But I was clouded in my own delusion” He smiled sadly.

They stared at each other then for a long moment, before he leaned and poured them more wine.

“What will it take for you to be happy?” He asked suddenly, taking her by surprise.

“I was happy” She said, dragging the wine down her throat.

“Not anymore?” His eyes were pinned on her.

“I don’t know”

“You should be talking about this with him, not me”

“I know” They both took a sip of their wine at the same time, the silence stretching, the seat in her back digging into her, his eyes burning a hole through her. She could see now how time had also affected him, his eyes were empty but clear, for the first time since everything had happened, she could tell.

“Do you love him?” He asked with a strain in his voice, as if he did not want to know, but he had to ask anyway.

“I do” She said, the sad truth of the matter. “It’s not so simple, though”

“It is. You love him, he loves you, he’s your mate, it is simple” His gaze was vacant again, the words seeming to burn through him as he spoke them.

“Do you love me?” She heard herself ask. Why did she ask?

His eyes snapped to her like a whiplash. He didn’t say anything for a long moment as he studied her, then smiled bitterly.

“I guess I deserve it” He placed the cup on his lips, mumbling to himself.

“Deserve what?” She breathed.

“You, toying with me when you’re bored of him” He cocked his head at her. “I should have guessed that’s what my life would be like. Letting you toy with me and fucking relishing on it, relishing on the sight of you in that chair, tormenting me” He let his eyes travel down her body down, down, then up towards her face again.

“I’m not trying to torment you” She rasped.

“Hm” He took another sip. “Don’t worry about me. Your torment is the best thing that has happened to me in years” His eyes found hers and locked, vibrant green that exuded the power she had known, the power she had held in her hands once.

Her breath caught and she stared down at her wine.

“I should go” She said, she didn’t know what would happen if she didn’t leave now. She was not in the right mindset to be having this conversation, for him to be saying these things to her, to having him look at her the way he was. Her head was already pounding.

“I do” He said quietly, answering her last question just as she stood up to leave. “I always will. You know that” He said, his eyes were still fixed on her, that lupine gaze that hunted her features as a predator would its prey.

She nodded. “I should go” She repeated.

He nodded weakly. Her heart started beating faster and faster. She wasn’t sure why. “If you’re lonely” He stood up and towered above her. “I will never turn you down” His eyes fell to her mouth and she sucked a breath.

“He will kill you”

“Hopefully”

“Tamlin-“ She warned and he only closed his eyes momentarily, a small rumble in the back of his throat at the sound of his name on her lips.

“Go” He said, eyes still closed, fists still tightly clenched at his sides.

With a heaving chest she gathered herself, and with one last glance at the male before her, disappeared from his small, cozy home into the grand empty hall of her own.

She would never go back she said to herself. She would never go back.

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.4

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; holding out, threats, and a thumping tail

word count; 2.4k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: thank you all so much for 1.9k it means everything under the sun to me!

Your view is slightly perched from the position you’re in on Price's back, legs wrapped around his torso. You have an arm wrapped around his neck, applying no real pressure on his airway. The palms of your captain and fellow lieutenant are pressed against each other trying to over power the opposite. Ghost dressed in a sleeveless hoodie that allowed you to see his hulking scarred arms, gray cargos you'd only seen him in a handful of times, and a black balaclava with his trademark painted on the front.

“You two holdin’ out on me?” The brunette smirks teasingly his full beard adorning his face, shoulders slightly shaking in response to the pressure being applied against them. The dragon and the wraith are practically nose to nose with one another and both you and Simon have your own responses to the question

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Don’t want you pulling anything, old man.”

John huffs out a laugh and averts his eyes over his shoulder at you for a second and it’s all the time Ghost needed to throw a kick to his lower abdomen. The brunette throws you off his back with the flap of his stray wing while you take the opportunity to swiftly slither yourself between his legs back on your feet in a snap next to the blonde's side.

Your eyes slightly widen when your captain goes to open his mouth and before his languishing flames can reach your body, shadows make a mock wall In front of you blocking your figure from the heat. The wraith can feel you take a hold of his shadows, a sense of familiarity falling over his underwhelming sense of adrenaline. You’re soon taking your wrist and yanking it down as if pulling on a lever. Neither Price or Ghost were aware of what you’d done until the brunette was falling towards the padded rink floor. You’d had one of the blonde’s Infamous shadows wrapped around Price's ankle covered by his steel toe boots, the smoky black littered with electrifying orange and yellow sparks. The dragon’s bottom breaks his fall and he goes down with a grunt before settling his eyes on the two of you.

"Well now, aren't you two a sight? " Prices gruff voice falls over the empty gym, a flirty underline to it that was somewhat difficult to catch from the older man unless you’ve heard it multiple times before. You and Simon stand next to each other's usual balaclavas that rested on your faces absent. The wraith has shadows crawling up his bare arms resembling veins all too accurate. His eyes aren’t quite pitch black but a dark gray blending in well with his eye black, while smoke floats from the slits of his eyes past his temples. Your frame on the other hand has altered just as much however not at such an intensity. Your eyes are light reddish orange, there's cracks running up your arms and the back of your hands like a shattered porcelain doll, a glowing yellow orange burning through them each individually. Your face matches your arms, those cracks spreading from your temples to your cheekbones and from your forehead to above your brow engraved like lightning streaks.

“Yeah, real head turners.” Ghost huffed sarcastically, helping Price up off his position from the mat. The dragon grunted at the quick change in position and patted the wraith on the back with gleaming eyes and a quirk of his lips

“That’s for damn sure” The two begin to exit the rink seeing you happen to be steps ahead. You're dressed similarly to them both with: camo cargo pants, steel toe boots, and a forest green tank top. The sight was close to heavenly and by the others' faces the men could tell the other was not so joyful you had covered yours.

💌💌💌💌

“Missed seeing you in action, Captain.” The lieutenant hummed lowly in the back of his throat even though it sounded more like a grunt passing John a cold thermos of water. It was the closest the hybrid would get to a ‘I missed you, I missed being around you, and stop having so much damn paperwork even though it’s your job.’ And the Captain took it all without complaint while the solider took a seat next to him.

“Trust me, I hate being chained to the desk as much as you do” He responded sipping on the water with a sigh of contentment, watching as you stretched in front of them. Your legs are stretched as far as you can get them beside you hips, you have you stomach pressed to the ground with your arms stretched flat in front of you, while your tank top is slowly rising up your lower back showing the peak of a deep yet healed scar going up your spinal cord, and Price finally looks away at the sight of it.

“How's the shoulder old man?” You question when you're finally off the ground, watching Ghosts mask arch in your peripheral indicating that there was a quirk at his lips. You thought it was even more humorous how John responded without a bat of an eye.

“Tight but that’s nothing new” He grunts, leaning slightly towards the side his stray wing was on with a hand thrown over his hip.

“You two have been interlocking shadows and cosmic energy more often” The captain notes taking more water from the chilled thermos while you and your fellow peer lock eyes for a split second before they strayed away. You’re already taking a sip of your water bottle leaving the skull masked man to answer the question himself.

“Mm, in a good patch.” The blonde answered simply and you couldn’t expect any more from him, it could’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t also roped into the equation.

“Got anything to do with our newest recruit?” The brunette smirks, steam coming from his lips previous fire dying out with a ‘fssssss’.

“What!?”

“What!?”

“I’m not stupid and you’ve always been a dog person Simon” The dragon waved him away with a pale clawed hand, the steam from his mouth spreading in the process. The wraith had thrown a hand over his head staring down at his lap.

“Fuck me, Price, don’t put it like that.”

“I ignore the mutt's existence as a whole actually and I like birds more.” You fight back a roll of your eyes, arms crossed over your chest while your captain slightly grins.

“You love a chase Deity, we all had to go through it at one point.” He grins at you, blue eyes twinkling as you avert your gaze to the now interesting wall while the man dug into his duffel bag.

“Here’s hoping you both keep those opinions, yeah?” The captain held out a file for either of you to take which you’d grabbed first, going to sit in between the two men to give Ghost a view over your shoulder.

“New transfers?”

“Temporary ones. International corps are sending us two of their attack dogs and a python. They’ve been tracking a bogey for months who’s recently made themselves known on our turf. They’re asking to work together.”

“They’re asking to work together? Got us doing their jobs for them with this request for preliminary recon” The wraith merely huffs out, while the dragon began to take a stand from his seat, his brown eyes low peeking through his mask. If unamused was a person he wouldn’t be too far off.

“Just to prepare for their arrival. Shouldn’t be an issue, make sure it isn’t.” The brunette softly grins out, an order. Hes holding the wraiths chin tilting it up slightly in his clawed pale hand while his thick pear green take swayed idly behind the back of knees before his heavy boots began to take him away. The masked lieutenant acts quickly, stretching a hand to reach over to the captains.

“Soap he’s… he’s not gonna change this” The statement falls off his lips like a prayer. His hooded eyes rest lowly with eye black covering the surface around them. Price slight grins before resounding a moment of silence having passed by.

“You don’t need to promise me anything, Simon. I'm your captain, I’ll be here either way.” He grabs ahold of your forearm gently tugging you to his side while stepping in front of the blonde, the writhing having to crane his neck up to see you both in response to you standing before him.

“And I wouldn’t mind if he did. My boys taking of each other when we can’t, a dream come true” Price nods to his side where you stand, eyes flickering between bloodshot red and their normal color.

“Dirty.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.” You roll your eyes playfully, —only to their eyes did it seem that way— your thumb rubs against the stubble on his cheek having hiked up his balaclava to his slightly crooked nose. Your eyes don’t stray away from his brown ones, his pupils are slightly blown. Your own orbs are still shifting shades while you stare down the hulking wraith with uncertainty, it would be the first time since…

The blonde shifted his head slightly giving you better access to his jugular, eyes raking over the horned brunette in front of him. It happens all too quickly fangs are scraping against his pulse point and lips are being smashed against his. John swallows the deep hum from Simon when your teeth pierce through the skin of his neck, one of your hands on the nape of his neck and a clawed pale hand that didn’t belong to you sat against his jawline. Your knee that was against the bench now creates friction through the thick fabric of Ghost’s cargo pants right above his growing cock. The lieutenant lets out a broken moan combined with a grunt at the sudden motion that you can hear past his and Prices sealed lips before you’re pulling away.

“Got hybrids today, maybe you could stop by if your dog doesn’t turn you into a treat.” You hum rubbing a finger over the corner of your lips where stray blood had slipped before taking it in between your teeth and walking out of the training room ignoring the faint sounds of your superiors chuckle.

“You think she’ll get over it?” The blonde questioned standing from his seat with a crack of his back, eyes nots quite slipping from your retreating figure. —the sway of your hips to be exact— The brunette huffs out a chuckle slinging his bag over his shoulder before responding.

“When you think about it she’s approved a lot with him, especially since the med wing. Not a threat to her home anymore, just a threat to her people.” The one winged hybrid hummed out, the itch for a smoke growing more prominent the more time had passed.

“By people you mean us… but come on Price, Deity knows she has us” The dragons grin had yet to leave his face, arms thrown across his broad chest.

“We know we had her when she toyed with that one tall lad, König was it? She's just smelling him out Simon. Phoenixs are territorial, pretty sure the ‘threat’ will be gone soon enough. Hell he follows ‘er around like a lost pup anyhow… Tell you what, bet you a twenty he’ll be marked in the next month” With a pat on the shoulder Price left the room without another word, trailing along to the comfort of his office leaving Ghost to himself.

💌💌💌💌

You enjoyed the evenings right outside of base. It wasn’t too warm where your skin was being cooked to a crisp under the sun and not too cold to need anything other than a thin jacket at most. It was also the time where you could get a pocket of peace, where you didn’t have to listen to ‘lieutenant, lieutenant, lieutenant’. A scheduled area away from the comfort of your office where little to no one knew about? Perfect for you… until it wasn’t.

Your visitor couldn’t seem to the memo of temporary peace. All of a sudden instead of the sound of chirping crickets and flickers of fireflies, all you could focus on was the faint sound of the beat blaring through your sergeants headphones. Your cigarette softly crackles as you inhale the smoke from it, the smoke falling over the jacket that wasn’t actually yours. All you wanted was to finish your paperwork in peace and here comes this little mu-

You wanted to groan at the repeated tap on your thigh.

“… Soap” You call out with a huff in your voice, turning your head slightly to look over your shoulder to see the back side of the Scott who seemed blissfully unaware of his… surroundings

“Soap.” You call again his thick, bushy, tail swinging back and forth hitting your thigh with a ‘thump’. You stare at him for a while before standing, snatching the fur rod in your grasp with an underlying firmness.

“Mactavish.” The motion makes the hybrid jerk in his seat leaning forward slightly, dropping his files and pen in the process. You notice the tight looking collar around his neck that you couldn’t imagine having around your own but decide against speaking about it.

“Uh - L.T?” The wolf looks almost bashful when he turns to meet you gaze, your eyes low yet sharp and it reminds him of the day you met —if you could call it that—. The brunette was sure you could see the warmth spreading across his face, it would take a blind man not to.

“Your tail is whacking me.” Soap liked to think of himself as a pretty observant person and now he couldn’t tell if you wanted him in your bed or in a grave.

“It’s uh, g-got a mind of his own” Johnny stuttered out trying to not to fumble over his words. He runs a hand over the nape of his neck, persistent on keeping his eyes on yours and not the grasp you had on his tail.

“Well real it in or I will.” You finally let go of his tush, barely looking at him through the peripheral of your vision before taking your seat. The Mohawked stud takes a hold of his trim with his pants a little tighter then what they were a few moments ago, the thought of finishing his papers completely gone.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Now that everyone’s got their screen time I can’t WAIT to write for my baby gaz🤭

I hate my writing this Chp but what can you do?🙂

[wakacreations]

Kinktober Day 5: Raphael x Haarlep Sacrilege

Author's Note:

I spent too long writing this and I don't know how to feel about it. There is so many layers to their characters dynamics that I wanted to explore. Maybe I crammed too many ideas for this piece but oh well. All I have to say is they are perfect for each other. I will still be writing for the prompts of this month even if the month is over.

Pairing: Raphael x Haarlep

Content: NSFW - Parental Abuse, Soft Raphael, Face fucking, Praise Kink, Angst

Word Count: 4864

Summary

Raphael returns back to the House of Hope after a meeting with the Archdevil of Cania. The cambion is left to lick at his wounds. Haarlep knows more about the brat then they let on. What eats away at Master of the House of Hope behind closed doors?

“There you are, my little cambion? What seems to be the matter?” Their sultry voice called him, chuckling darkly as they laid on their side rubbing circles onto the wine silk sheets. 

“Not another word, Haarlep.” Raphael gritted out as he worked the buttons on his doublet with each step into the boudoir till allowing the garment to drop to the floor haphazardly. The loud echoing clicks of soles on the dark marbled floor remained. The flicker of candles reignited around the crystal waters. Kicking off his boots in agitation as he crossed into the incubus's vision.

“Ah, I see. It was him again,” they tsked. Haarlep's hungry eyes followed as their Master fussed about with the buttons on his undershirt. He growled out in frustration, shrugging and gripping at the accursed fabric ready to tear. “Let me,” the incubus flew to where the seemingly mortal man stood. Their long, dexterous fingers worked on each button, slowly revealing the blossoming bruises that littered underneath his chest hair. His hand ran through his soft dark locks, sighing as his temper smoldered. There must have been quite the lashing from his daddy dearest.

Haarlep took a quick glance at his face. How did the little brat invoke their sire's wraith this time? Lips all cut and swollen from a good right hook, they presumed. Cheeks all reddened, slowly darkening with their gaze. Some streaks of blood dripped down from the hairline cuts that crossed his cheeks. So, a couple of front and back handed slaps to educate the boy. His deep brown eyes held his infernal rings, purple bruising colored the lids and cheekbones. The incubus licked their lips such a beautiful work he made of you. If only I was there to attend. If only I was the one leaving these marks for all to see. The laughter that filled the air there would have been delicious.

“Done,” Haarlep let go of his shirt. The incubus made ample space in the wake of the heated agitation radiating off their Master. Raphael turned away from them, shrugging off the dampened linen. Long gashes littered his back. Muscles all raw and mangled, skin singed. He tugged off his pants and smalls, walking towards the scalding waters. The Master of the House stepped into the bath, groaning as he sat down on the water's edge. The healing waters lapped at his wounds. With a snap, a shot of wyvern's whiskey appeared in hand. The incubus waited as instructed. Sipping at the glass, arms folded back, with a wave of his hand gestures for them to join him. They circled around the bath with purposeful grace till facing directly across from the battered cambion. A smirk on their lips as their hands trailing down, feeling the muscles that ripple under their fingertips. Teasing themselves as they slowly unclasped the harness from their form.

Stalked their way through the water, tail swishing idly behind as their hips swayed. The brat just continued on sipping his whiskey. His gaze was still far off into the distance but as their Master's eyes couldn't help but to indulge, raking down their body, lust seeped through as his pupils dilated. The waters moved below. Seeing him twitch to life despite his facade of indifference. Will this be the game today?

“That was unnecessary, Haarlep. I am not in the mood,” he sighed. The incubus came to sit upon his lap. Haarlep reached behind him, their chest brushing against his face. Sitting back down, the incubus paid no mind to his comment. The cambion's growing pupils followed their lips wrapping delicately around the pipe in hand.

“I feel you, Raphael. I thought you were a devil that told no lies,” wiggling their hips against his hardening length. The little cambion let out a short grunt. His rough palms come to settle on their thigh. A silent wordless command to heel.

“I tell my truths, Haarlep. What have I told you about using my name?” His hand sliding up and down stroking their thigh. Haarlep took a puff of their pipe, claws gliding through his scalp. Shuttering under their gentle hand, with a harsh yank he hissed. Their mouth captured him in a bid for silence. The smoke swirling around his mouth, the taste of smoky cherries mingled with the aged whiskey on his tongue. The heady warmth filled his lungs spreading through his chest. The familiar burn felt therapeutic, their eyes held firm watching the heat warm his skin. Breaking off the kiss when the last wisp left their tongue. With a long exhale he cleared his airways. “Better now, brat.” Haarlep grinned, dropping their hand and taking another draw of the hookah.

“Insolent thing,” Raphael muttered as he relaxed. The incubus blew their smoke onto his face.

“You deserved it.” Haarlep ignored their Master's sneer. His nails ran down the side of their thighs.

“And what do I deserve, Haarlep?” The little brat growled. The flicker of infernal rings resurfaces from within his darkening gaze. He dug his nails into their thigh in a word of warning. Haarlep took one last puff of their pipe and sat it down on the edge of the bath.

Their claw tilts his chin up, thumb brushing over the cut on his lower lip. “To be beneath me,” they smiled down, smoke trailed each word that lingered on their tongue. The incubus's hips move in a slow playful grind. The cambion jerked his head away taking a long sip of his glass.

“Open,” his deep warm voice commanded into their skull. The incubus leaned down, mouth gaping wide as they presented their long forked tongue. With a firm tight grip to their chin forcing their cheeks to hollow, the smokey whiskey spittled went airborne coating their tongue. Haarlep’s throaty moan rumble in his hold. Their tongue rolling back into their mouth, lips sealing shut. The bob of their Adam's apple as the burning liquor slid down their throat. They opened their mouth once more, empty.

“Take what you are only given, Haarlep.” His grip tightened, the rabbit-like thumping of their pulse tempted him. The beads of fear lacen sweat that surfaced from their cooling skin. Their claws that desperately wrap around his arm digging into him for release. Eyes filled with wild panic going misty.

“Please Master, forgive me.” They pleaded. The scalding vapors of the bath licked at his open wounds. The fiery blood from within stirred for more. Haarlep's eyes grew distant, unfeeling but still in their pathetic state they grounded into him. “Brava. I have seen better performances out of you, my sweet incubus. I am not pleased,” letting go of his palm. They gasped, desperately sucking the sweet air to refill their lungs. He reached over to refill his glass. Their claws come to dig into his wrist. Not perturbed at the slightest as his incubus came within a breath away from his own face in challenge. A deep seeded grin eclipsed their face, wings spread as they towered over the mortal. 

“What will it be,” the warmth of their voice gone frigid. Their tail snaked through the water, moving underneath the ripples to stroke up and down his leg. He let go of his hold of the glass.

“Do you crave control,” they whispered against his lips. Haarlep lowered their head to press against him, deep longing held within their pleading eyes. With a gentle tug he allowed for them to move his hand to settle around their throat once more. Their clawed hand placed over his own, pressing onto the flowing veins. The brush of their tail came to squeeze around his ankle. “Is this what I truly want,” he contemplated. Fingers tapped along their thigh. 

The incubus's gaze darkened as they felt no force behind the grip he held. “Or…” The claws moved to dig into his wrist, wrenching his arm above him. A painful cry escaped his lips as he felt the sharp lash of their tail against his bruised abdomen. “Do you wish for it to be forcefully taken from you, Raphael?” Their eyes gleamed, they always knew and they have always known. In that coquettish smile of theirs morphed into one of pure predatory hunger. The thumping of his heart filled his ear. “You contemptuous creature,” his breath hitched. Their lips clashed against each other eager and all consuming. No words or practice lines they have done that dance plenty of times before. All routine, all transactional, those were the rules of the Hells.

He felt their tongue plunge into him. The fever of the incubus spittle warming his cheeks spreading through his extremities. With their forked tongue they demanded him to yield to follow them into this messy display of pleasure. No rhythm or care, just blissful pleasure as they fall into open mouth kisses. He felt the prickles of tears in his eyes as he twitched with an aching need. They remained unmoving on his lap. What have I become? Pathetic whimpers fell out of him as he squirmed underneath them. The stings of their tail against his heated skin for his acts of insolence to demand for more. 

He couldn't help but shiver against their breath on his neck, their lips placing feather-like kisses. With his free hand, he pressed their face in closer. Haarlep chuckled, smiling into his dampened skin. You were always a sweet little brat after you received a lashing from your father. Whatever affection you could receive you greedily took for your own. The brat held them tight against his skin. Such an action is to be expected. They kissed and bit at his delicate throat. Angelic-like moans came from Mephisto's prized little bastard heir. The incubus grounded against the desperate cambion. Who would care for a being who is unwanted from both planes? He breathlessly called for them. “Haarlep,” he pleaded so readily. I know little brat. I know. Letting go of his pinned wrist. Those big round pleading eyes, taking his face between their palms wiping away the stray tears. You always looked just like a heartbroken moral like this. They left soft chastise kisses against his quivering lip. 

His hands caress over the ridges of their chest. The trail of his rough fingertips feeling and teasing their way down to their nipples. Haarlep pulled back and watched as Raphael rubbed circles around their hardening buds. A shy smile spread across the brat’s bruised face as he rested his chin on their chest. If anyone else were to see you like this, how long would your tantrum be this time around? Raphael pressed a kiss on each bud, teasing each one with a flick of his tongue. To see you so eager to please under the influence of my spittle. His hand moved down the hardened abs of the incubus feeling the dips and curves of their ridges that lined their sides. Their tail guided his hand back to their chest.

Haarlep laid a kiss upon his head. He hummed softly against their skin. The only way you allow yourself to be vulnerable. Their claws ran through his soft silky locks causing him to shutter under them. What is going on in that idle brain of yours? The little cambion places open mouth kisses onto their chest, his fingers diligently rolling and pitching at their buds. His eyes looked up expectly at the incubus, batting his long lashes. Tentatively he gave a lick over the sensitive bud earning a hum in approval. 

The cambion latched on as he swirled his tongue around the nip, flicking the other nip with one hand while the other reaches to stroke the incubus. Haarlep bit into their lip as they basked in their Master's gentle attention. “Such a good cambion,” they breathed, feeling him twitch underneath them. Raphael redoubled his efforts if only to hear those sweet words once more, alternating his hands to provide equal amounts of attention. He felt them heavy in his palm, the growing need ached from within him. How long will they have me wait? His cock twitched with urgency as their plush cheeks rub against him. “Please Haarlep.” He begged to his incubus, tilting his hips up for more friction against them from each motion of their hips. There is a pang of disgust that fills him. Why is he even begging for their attention? They placed a peck upon his temple. Haarlep is nothing but a means for my pleasure.

The incubus rose off his lap instinctually his hands reached out, settling onto their waist.

“Please don’t leave. I..” he whined. His hands trembled as he held onto them. What is wrong with this accursed thing’s beating? Why is there a tremor?

Their hand came down to stroke his hair. “Shh… shh… it's alright Raphael. I am here,” they cooed standing above him as his heart pounded in his chest. “Raphael, breathe in for me,” Haarlep commanded him. He did as he was told.  Breathing became laborious as he fought for air to enter his lungs.

“That's it, such a good little brat just like that. Take another breath.” How could I not breathe? He took another inhale.

“It’s alright, dry your tears my precious cambion. It's been a long day for you hasn't it?” The incubus looked down to see tears trickling from their Master's face. Fear was apparent in his wide-eyed stare.

How tempting to devour you just as you are now.

“Just relax, I'll take care of you. I'll lavish you as much as you crave,” Haarlep purred. As delicious of a feast he would be.

“What do you crave, Raphael?” The incubus watched curiously. The gears were turning in that mind of his. Will he suppress or will he object the notional, he yearns for more than the mere attention of devils. The cambion's brow furrowed, “I… I crave for you to get on with it,” he sighed. Pressing a kiss to their thigh, a sign of acknowledgement but not of acceptance. Sweetness from him was a rare delicacy. Haarlep presented themselves to the brat, his mouth gaped wide. 

Whether he comes to that conclusion will mean nothing to them in the end. Their ribbed length filling his mouth, he unhinged his jaw as wide as he could. I will feed on him regardless. He fought the tears that wanted to fall anew. Panic surged, this was too much for him.

“There is my good cambion brat. You are doing so well,” their claws caressed his scalp. Haarlep held his head and pressed their hips further into his mouth, rubbing his tongue along their underside coaxing them further. He choked as he felt them at the back of his throat. There were still more of them left.

“You can take all of me, won't you Raphael? You are the only one I crave,” The brush of their tail wrapping around his weeping length. He couldn't help but groan in agreement.

Raphael brought his arms around their legs pushing himself deeper onto them. Haarlep moaned as he swallowed, the ridges rubbing against his throat. The incubus thrusted into him, seating themselves completely. The cambion wept from the pain and the burn of his throat, taking shallow inhales through his nose as he was pressed against their pubic bone. He looked up to see Haarlep smiling down at him, pleased.

This would make for a wonderful self portrait. The Master of the House of Hope, all battered and bruised, was desperately wishing to be sated by them. His coiffed hair all ruined, tears and spittled ran down his face, lips all swollen as he took in their girthy cock. Time and time again, you will deny yourself that you enjoy this. Haarlep held his head firmly against them as he tried to bob his head. Feeling the vibration on their cock at his grumble in disapproval. Yet for the long millennia I have known you, these were the few moments you allowed yourself to be in a peaceful daze. Raphael moaned as they dragged their ribbed length out from within him, his tongue swirled around feeling every inch of them. Why is there a need to deny your pleasure? Slowly Haarlep pulled out. A pout forms on his lips at their absence. Raphael just stares transfixed on them as he sucked on their engorged head. The incubus groaned as the brat bobbed on their tip. They rocked their hips moving deeper and deeper into his tight throat.

The cambion eagerly swallowed around them in time with their thrusts. His eyelids grew heavy as he enjoyed the sensations. The way Haarlep felt against his tongue, feeling them twitch and throb. The way they fit perfectly down his throat. He could feel the bulge of them with every thrust as they laid heavily on his tongue. The rake of their ridges massaging him with every drag of their cock. The harsh rub of their tail that wrapped him tight as they stroked him. Their words of praise they purred with their rising pleasure. The way they looked at him with such deep desire. Were those looks only given because you were being fed, Haarlep? The cambion shut his mind down from any other thoughts. What we are is a transaction of pleasure. That is the custom of the Hells. Where we belong in our hierarchy.

The incubus hips moved madly as they used his throat. They pounding him as if his air wasn't a necessity. Without warning the sweet taste of Haarlep coated the back of his throat. The cambion desperately swallowed what he could as they continued to thrust into him. Soon their hips gave a few last pumps before pulling out, a thin line of spittle and spent connecting them together as they separated. Dribbles of their spent drip from the corner of the cambion’s mouth. Haarlep's clawed thumb came down to wipe his reddened lips. Gently Raphael sucked their finger clean, closing his eyes savoring the flavor on his tongue. When he reopened his eyes, Raphael deeply flushed a deep crimson. Haarlep was left speechless. No other words could describe him but “adorable”. With a sharp yank to his hair, Haarlep claimed his mouth as their own. There is no point in hiding this side of yourself, Raphael. Their wings folded around him. With each step Haarlep led and he followed till the feeling of silk hit his calves.

He watched as the incubus clamored after him. There they were between his thighs, tail slowly swishing.

“I will be taking my time will you, brat.” Leaning over him, they placed a long hard kiss against his lips. His hand came to the back of their skull keeping them in place.

“Haarlep, I am tired of this game. Finish me or…” Raphael rasped. Haarlep brushed his hold off, pressing their lips against his wounded face.

“You will deny yourself once more.” Haarlep spoke, finishing his line with his unspoken truth. Their clawed fingertips skated over his battered skin following his line of hairs till landing on his trail. Reaching down, their clawed hands rubbed his leaking head, smearing his precum over his length.

“There is no one here but us.” Haarlep slowly stroked the cambion. He turned away from their mocking softened gaze, raising his arm to shield him.

“There is only you in this room, Raphael. Why is there a need to hide?” Their tail came to squeeze his ankle. The cambion bucked into their hand.

“No interrogations Haarlep,” he growled at them. The incubus winced. “But of course,” they sighed, pressing their lips to his cheek.

With a couple of fast strokes, the little cambion's hips were stuttering. They could hear the soft sniffles of their Master. I am no fool Raphael. You are more human than a devil. The familiar build of his pleasure had his toes curly. There he was on the precipice, tittering on the edge of release. The hollow feeling that nagged at him rattled in his chest. This accursed human body, he gripped his hand around Haarlep's, taking control of their movements. “So, close,” he breathed, furiously stroking himself. The tension in his core ached for him to unwind.

Beads of sweat glistened his body. Balls painfully tightened begging him for mercy. With every stroke he grew no closer to finishing. I deserve at least this respite. His hips bucked wildly. I deserve this amount of attention. His thighs tensed. Fat tears rolled down his face. He couldn't take much more of this madness. Too frustrated, too beaten and too desperate he couldn't help but call to them. “Haarlep, please I need you.” He sobbed behind his shield, body shaking with a need that he couldn't sate. Haarlep kissed him so gently, their strong arms coming under him to be lifted over their shoulder. Was that confession so difficult to admit, Master? The incubus lined themselves up, pressing themselves into him. His body arched at their sudden intrusion. He gasped for air, the searing stretch of each ribbed inch that pushed past his tight ring, clenching and unclenching himself as they filled him to the brink.

So full, so deep as they carved themselves into him. There you are, Raphael. His arm moved just enough for them to catch the glimpse of the cambion.

So desperate to be acknowledged by the Hells. Raphael's face fell into long wanton moans at each slam of their hips.

You tether yourself to the act of decorum to move among them. His cock slapped against his stomach cum trickled with each drag of their ridges.

You hide behind your veneer of being a true devil. Haarlep pressed his legs down further bringing his knees to chest. The cambion cried out as they moved in deeper, splitting him open.

You cannot deny what you are, Raphael. He moved to meet their punishing thrusts. You are part mortal but mortal nevertheless. He clenched around them as they felt their warm breath brush his lips.

“Let me see you, my prince.” The incubus called to him. Raphael tentatively moved his arm away from his face. Haarlep laced their fingers over his own, bringing him close.

The incubus placed a wet kiss into his palm.

He gasped at the gesture.

What are they? Raphael flushed.

You wish to be not simply wanted and needed. Letting go of his hand, their palms came to cradle his face. They have taken many lovers, many mortals and infernals. Haarlep pressed their forehead against his. What is with that look? The cambion wanted to look away from their intense stare. To have met a being who yearns for their act of service. His heart stirred, who would ever look to him in such a way. There they looked down at him, eyes filled with no malice or scorned. Of no hunger or lust that lingered beneath their gaze.

“You deserve to feel loved.” Was that how they looked to I? He gritted his teeth as they pulled out to the tip to slam back into the cambion.

“Please Haarlep more,” he sobbed. What was he asking of them? His hands gripped onto their horns pulling them down towards him.

There is only us, Raphael. Their wings came to enclose around them, walling him off from the reality that was laid out for them.

They spoke sweet words into his ears.

“That is it, Raphael just like that. Take all the pleasure you desire.” He basked in their affections. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth.

“You are enough.” They punctuated each word with a thrust. Lies! His hips began to stutter.

“You are cherished.” They pressed their weight into him. There is no one. He groaned as he felt the harsh drag of their ridges.

“You will be loved.” His heart pounded at their words. There is no love that exists among devils.

“I will always be here waiting, Raphael.” His mind was growing tired. He relaxed into their long strokes, succumbing to their whim.

“You have me for all eternity.” Their breathing gone ragged, the tension within overwhelms him. That is your purpose to serve me, Haarlep. The rhythm of their thrusts faltered.

“An incubus's purpose is to find love.” Haarlep rasped, their tail squeezed his ankle. The cambion looks to the incubus. Their once flowing dark hair now clings to their forehead and horns, pupils were blown overtaking their shimmering infernal rings.

“I have found you.”

Raphael cries echoing off the boudoir's walls, coming undone by their confession. Haarlep stilled, their burning seed spurting into him, holding his hand as they continued to pump into the worn cambion. He trembled underneath them as their seed was dragged further within his frail mortal body.

The words of his incubus filled his mind as the waves of their pleasure overtook him. His cock softened, spilling the last of his cum over his stomach. The sounds of their panting filled the silence. Raphael closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion. The sting of his creator's lashes upon his back. The reminder of the wraith of devils for insubordination. The bruises that mar his face as nothing but the bastard of a union of a mortal and devil.

There before him was a being he would never be. “Haarlep,” he whispered their name. They were a pure infernal that could be anyone. Be free to roam, to be fond over and be accepted by both planes. Raphael opened his eyes, taking in his own infernal image.

If I were to open my heart to you. His hand came up to caress their cheek.

If I were to accept you then what will become of I? They lowered their head to him. There is no place for vulnerability in these Hells.

Their lips graze his own. Yet I find myself in their arms. His vision wavered. One final kiss was settled onto him.

You are but a devil with a human heart, Raphael. Their lips parted from his. He sleepily blinked at them.

“We are bound to each other, heir of Mephistopheles.” Haarlep’s words fell onto deaf ears. The cambion winced as they pulled out from his shaky form.

You are a being forged from contradictions as intended by the archdevil that bears that title. The cambion groaned as the incubus removed his sore legs off their broad shoulders.

“You have made me in your image. A cambion whose blood is only infernal.” Haarlep littered kisses atop his sweat slickened body.

“You wish to come to terms with the devil within to come to love your mortal self,” his revelation spilled from their lips. He panted, waiting for the beating in his chest to slow.

“The rules of this plane were never to be in your favor but for this domain you have gifted me..” Their arms came around to embrace him, rolling over on the soft silken sheets.

“Their rules need not apply to us, brat.” Haarlep held him to their chest.

A true devil can never love but you are no true devil. Their claws came to stroke his dampened hair.

If you were to give your heart to I, Raphael you know your fate. Their tail came to wrap around his mortal body.

The devil within you knows all, that you will be but consumed. Raphael stirred against their chest. Haarlep’s hold on him tightened.

Yet you still call for I. They pressed a kiss onto his crown.

I will devour you little cambion if given the opportunity. Their wings came down to shield them both.

“You will never come to accept that mortal self of yours, that is for certain,” speaking those words so effortlessly. Raphael growled against their infernal skin.

“I will do so in your stead.” The seemingly mortal man froze, underneath his fingertips he could feel the rabbit-like thumping of their heart.

“There is no need for your rehearsed theatrics here, Raphael.” Haarlep’s hand pressed his head to listen in close.

“You are accepted and will always belong here.” The beating within their chest was like a sweet lullaby, his body relaxed into this fantasy.

Well done Haarlep, you performed so beautifully.

But somewhere within his fading consciousness wondered..

How many of those lines were rehearsed just for I?

Or...

Were those just flowery ramblings you shower all your previous bedfellows?

Would I even wish to know?

“Sleep now, brat. Tomorrow you’ll have the planes bow to you.”

If only that would be, Haarlep. The warmth they shrouded him overtook his sense of reason, coaxing away his lingering thoughts save for another time. The truths of their realities were just behind these walls to be revisited when the morning comes. Tonight was held only for reprieve. To not think of what always awaited him.

What he craves are just fantasies, dreams of sorts. With him an infernal, just a mere creature that craves for affection and yearns to provide such services.

Will partaking in such a manner...

To indulge in so truly be despicable in their House called Hope?

I will be your folly, Raphael.

The candles of the boudoir came to dim.

Maybe one day this union will not be sacrilege.

[bitter69uk]

"Vampira was the first exaggerated woman I ever yearned to meet. As a child, she never looked scary to me; I thought she was pretty." John Waters

Light a black candle! Or at least don a black t-shirt! The fabulous Finnish American actress and pin-up model Maila Nurmi (11 December 1922 – 10 January 2008) – better known as cadaverous wraith cheek-boned 1950s horror movie hostess, leading lady of Ed Wood Jr’s Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) and pop culture sensation Vampira – was born on this day 101 years ago. Pictured: Nurmi photographed in the August 1956 issue of Tab magazine sans her trademark long raven wig. Just how did she acquire this extreme coiffure that anticipates punk by a good two decades? A 1950s gossip magazine posits that Nurmi’s own hair was “singed-off” in a beauty parlour mishap. Perhaps more realistically, in her 2020 biography Glamour Ghoul: The Passions and Pain of the Real Vampira, Nurmi’s niece Sandra Niemi explains that the tormented and fragile Nurmi would sometimes chop her hair off during bouts of depression. Either way, the results were fierce! As Nurmi herself put it, "Beauty can be yours even if you're bald.” 

MAILA NURMI ('VAMPIRA') for TAB MAGAZINE // 1956

[kanerallels]

For @laughingphoenixleader, who requested Kanej in a superhero/villain au

(tw for vague mentions of drug deals and human trafficking, though there's nothing explicit)

The streets of Chicago were clogged with criminals. One couldn’t take a step without seeing a carjacking, a drug sale, a mugging. It was the perfect place for a criminal enterprise to begin and flourish.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone, then, when someone other than the corrupt law enforcement rose up to stop them.

The Wraith. No one had seen her face, but everyone knew the name. A figure in dark clothing, using knives and carrying out judgment against the traffickers and the dealers before disappearing into the shadows again. Those who used humans as a commodity seemed to be the biggest targets.

Which was lucky for the city’s latest big player.

“Kaz Brekker,” Inej murmured, studying the blurry image on the computer screen. He looked young, though how old she couldn’t tell with the quality of the photo. All that was really obvious was dark clothing and hair, a pale face, and the cane in his gloved hand. Both of which look…familiar.

“Why is he on our radar?” she asked Nina, who was slouched in the wheeled chair in front of the computer.

The young woman shrugged. “Possibly because he’s the main suspect in seventeen different robberies, but no one’s been able to prove it. Or because his right hand man shoots like no human being should be able to. There’s also the fact that he sprouted up out of nowhere overnight. Looks like he took control of Per Haskell’s gang, but he was there all along. We just didn’t see him until now.”

Inej frowned. “Why?”

Getting up from her chair, Nina headed towards the kitchenette in the corner of the basement room Inej used as her headquarters. “Probably because he didn’t want to be seen. And you’ve had other, bigger problems on your mind. Toaster waffle?”

Absently, Inej waved her off, mind spinning. Kaz Brekker. If his plan was to set himself up as the crime lord of the city, that could be a problem. Especially if he was as good as Nina said he was. “I might have to pay him a visit,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nina answered anyway as she popped two waffles into the toaster. “Just do me a favor and don’t get stabbed. I have class tonight, and stitching you up doesn’t actually count as homework.”

Despite her cavalier words, Inej could hear the concern hiding behind them, and she smiled. “I’ll be careful, Nina. I promise.”

The other woman didn’t look overly comforted, but nodded all the same.

Later that night, after Nina had cajoled her into eating and resting, then swept off to her night class at Ravka University, Inej slipped out of her civilian clothes and into her suit. It wasn’t quite Superman quality, but the clothing was comfortable and good for sneaking and climbing. She checked to make sure her knives and gear were all secure, and set off into the night.

Brekker seemed to have set up shop at the Crow Club downtown. Inej knew of the place, but Per Haskell—the former owner—had never caused enough trouble for her to have risked the trip, not yet. She’d had bigger prey to track.

Slipping in was a simple matter. One of the windows was unlocked, and Inej eased through into what looked like an office. A desk lined with papers and books stood in the middle, with a cot pushed up against one wall. Does Brekker live here?

A key clicked in the lock, and Inej ghosted into a dark corner, keeping her steps quiet and smooth. A second later, the door swung open, and Kaz Brekker stepped inside, limp obvious, cane swinging.

She caught the barest glimpse of pale skin and high cheekbones before his back was to her, standing at the desk. His movements precise, he flipped through a file, gloved fingers tapping against the outside.

The tapping paused, and his head lifted a little. Then he spoke, his voice rasping and rough.

“The Wraith, I presume.”

How did he know I was here? Inej brushed aside the surprise. There was no use in pretending now. She moved out of the shadows, and Brekker turned to face her.

Inej’s heart skipped a beat. Not for any silly, romantic reasons—though the young man facing her was handsome enough, in a severe way. He was all sharp angles and dark shades, his dark brown eyes taking her in like she was a problem to be solved.

No, the reason her heart skipped a beat was because she knew him.

She hadn’t known his name at the time. But they’d met once, years ago. Before Inej became the Wraith, before she’d escaped the life that had driven her to take this path.

The police had found her. An undercover cop, Detective Nazyalensky, had made contact, and promised her that if she informed on Heleen and her entire organization, she would go free. Inej had been going to meet her the day of the bust when Heleen had summoned her into her office.

She’d known. Inej was sure of it, and if she went into that office, she would be beaten, or sold, or worse. Fear had threatened to choke her, and she’d wavered. Should she run? But she wouldn’t have made it, not if Heleen wasn’t distracted.

And then he’d walked in. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but carried himself like a full grown man. But he didn’t look at the girls as he came in, and that struck Inej as curious. The other customers ogled freely.

Maybe he wasn’t a customer. Perhaps he was one of the information dealers who came to Heleen for what the girl’s customers knew. In which case…

She moved toward him quietly, her feet brushing the floor. He was standing at the door of Heleen’s office, facing away from her when she said, “I can help you.”

He’d been startled when he turned to face her, though it faded quickly. He’d lifted an eyebrow, looking a little curious when Heleen’s voice had rung out from the office.

“Enough hiding, little lynx! I said I wanted to see you, and I want to do it now.”

Inej had flinched, unable to prevent the visions flooding her mind. The boy facing her frowned, just a little. Then, he’d spoken. Not to her, but to Heleen.

“You have an appointment to keep with me, Heleen. Haskell won’t wait forever.”

Grumbling, Heleen had appeared at the office door and waved for the boy to follow her in. Before he moved away, the boy had looked at her. “Don’t let them see your tell,” he’d said, voice too quiet to Heleen to make out. “And don’t look back.”

He’d entered the office, and Inej knew. It was time to run.

And so she did. She made it, and Heleen was locked up 24 hours later. Inej was free, and it was thanks to the actions of a stranger.

He had, whether he knew it or not, been the reason she’d gotten away, the reason she’d been able to tell the police everything.

His eyes narrowed a little as he looked at her, and for a second Inej thought, He knows. But then—no. He couldn’t. Her face was covered, and it had been close to four years since her escape.

“And you’re Kaz Brekker,” she said, keeping her voice cool. Business like. “The newest boss on the block.”

“Here to stop me?” Brekker asked, an eyebrow going up. “Bring me to justice like the Black Heretic? The Lantsov family?”

“The police took the Lantsov family,” Inej said, and Brekker snorted.

“The police in this town couldn’t solve their way out of a cardboard box. You handed them the arrest.”

He’s smart. “How do you know that?”

“I make it my business to know.” Folding his hands over his cane, he said, “So, what have I done to merit your attention? I thought I’d kept a fairly low profile.”

“You haven’t done anything. Yet,” Inej said, letting her hand rest on the knives at her waist. Brekker’s gaze followed the movement for only a heartbeat before locking back onto her masked face.

“Ah. Threatening me into submission. Interesting method. Unfortunately for you, I have plans that can’t be put on hold. And you don’t kill anyone unless what they’ve done meets your criteria.”

Inej wouldn’t show her surprise. “You’ve done your research.”

“It’s good to know who I’m dealing with. And to know how you intend to be rid of me.” Continuing, he said, “If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead. Everyone you don’t kill gets handed over to the police, and there’s nothing on me for the police.” The thinnest sliver of a smile appeared. “So, Wraith, your threats are to no avail.”

Oh, he could be dangerous. “Then consider this an appeal to your better nature,” Inej told him.

He laughed, sharp and bitter. “I don’t have one.”

“You have common sense. Don’t give me a reason to come after you, and I won’t.” Inej met his gaze, hoping he would see the intent in her eyes.

He was still for a moment, then inclined his head. “Then perhaps I will see you again, Wraith. Or perhaps not. We’ll see what your code dictates.”

Without another word, he turned back to his desk. Inej hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slipped out the window. Activating the ascension cable she wore strapped to her wrist, she fired it and swung out across the city. She needed to find somewhere to think before her nightly patrols began.

She had a feeling then that she would meet Kaz Brekker again. And she truly didn’t know if she hoped for it or dreaded it.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

💛 reunion kiss / relief, you know I'm requesting kanej

Inej isn't pleased to arrive in Ketterdam and have Kaz not be there.

In fact, she's noticed that the entire city seems to be somewhat on edge now that Kaz's not currently in residence. Like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Not that that stops the Exchange from moving, the Staves from it's usual business. Or the Barrel from grinding on. But there are mutterings around the city. Mutterings about just where the Bastard of Barrel is. About where he could be hiding and just what he's plotting this time.

Ordinarily, Inej would let it go. Kaz can look after himself, even if she's not around to watch his back. (Though they both prefer it when she does.) But Jesper said Kaz was going on a trip for some kind of business, even though they both know Kaz hates travel. So she stays in the Van Eck house in Geldstraat, slips in and out of the Slat, occasionally leaving scraps of information Kaz's empty desk and once, even daring to catch a nap in his bed--though it had felt oddly illicit.

About a week after her arrival and Kaz's absence, Inej slips into Kaz's attic to actually find him there, sitting at his chair like he never left, scribbling away in one of the ledgers.

"Hello, Inej," he says, almost absently, as she steps over the window sill. "The information on Van Streep is useful; I think I can use it to push forward a deal that's been giving Wylan trouble--"

"Hello, Kaz," says Inej. "It's lovely to see you too."

He looks up that, eyes narrowed. In the faintly golden Ketterdam sunshine, he looks almost like someone carved his cheekbones out of ivory. "If that's a thinly veiled commentary on my absence..."

Inej shrugs, picking her way through the attic to him. "You're so rarely gone from the city. I was--" uneasy, off-balanced, worried--"surprised to see you gone."

"Sankta Inej concerned over the Bastard of the Barrel?" Kaz says, only faintly arid.

Inej narrows her eyes at him. "Don't blaspheme."

They eye each other, standing off. Inej moves first, eases herself on the edge of desk to his left, as Kaz makes no move to stop her. He watches her settle on his desk, his hand still curled loosely around his fountain pen.

"It felt odd, to be Ketterdam without you," she tells him now. "You--you so rarely leave the city. And the times you do--"

"Are fairly spectacular," he concedes, his mouth curling into the faintest smile. "But this was...a business trip, truly. Just laying some groundwork."

Inej gives him a suspicious look of her own. "What groundwork?" She rolls her eyes at his attempt an innocent shrug. "What power structure are you toppling now?"

Kaz looks as offended and as pious as any good mercher. "Everyone always assumes the worst of me. It's starting to get demoralizing."

"You are demoralizing," Inej says and Kaz actually grins at this, fox-like. Letting the topic go for now, Inej bends down, meeting his faintly upturned face with the lightest of kisses on his lips, no more than a brush. He sighs quietly, his hand curling around the very edge of her braid, coiled on the desk between them. "Zoro," Inej murmurs against his mouth, "I'm glad to have you back. In the city."

"Good to be back, Wraith," Kaz says, that rock salt rasp as soft as it ever gets.

[bitter69uk]

“The one thing I don't think I could live without would be the soundtracks to horror films,'' she said. ''I love to play them in my car as I drive down the freeway.'' Miss Galas sees no contradiction in that she is as fond of grade-B horror movies and of the heavy-metal rock of AC/DC as she is of Verdi and her vocal idol, Maria Callas.”

/ From a 1985 New York Times profile of Diamanda Galas /

Don’t let the resemblance to Morticia Addams fool you - Diamanda Galas has SOUL! The fierce Greek American avant-garde diva, pianist, performance artist and AIDS activist (who was born on 29 August 1955, turning 69 today) convincingly styles herself as an Angel of Death. Once memorably described by The New Yorker as “lounge singer in a world on fire”, she wields her remarkable bird-of-prey voice like a weapon and possesses the same kind of wraith-cheekboned, raven-haired beauty Walt Disney endowed his animated evil queen stepmothers with. Galas got her first break singing in front of insane asylum inmates, has paid tribute to Aileen Wuornos and in performance is apt to take the stage stripped to the waist and smeared in blood. Appropriately, director Francis Ford Coppola enlisted her to provide eerie shrieks and gasps for the sound effects in his 1992 version of Dracula. I haven’t seen Galas perform in years, but I vividly remember the last time: she was reinterpreting jazz standards like “All of Me” and “You Don’t Know What Love Is” in her own inimitable (blood-curdling) way, which lulled the uninitiated into a false sense of security. People were filing out in dismay all night! Keep doing what you’re doing, lady! (If you’ve never dipped a toe into Galas’ oeuvre, start with her spine-tingling interpretations of “I Put a Spell on You”, The Supremes' “My World is Empty Without You” or Johnny Cash’s “25 Minutes to Go").

[bitter69uk]

"Vampira was the first exaggerated woman I ever yearned to meet. As a child, she never looked scary to me; I thought she was pretty." John Waters

Light a black candle! Or at least don a black t-shirt! The fabulous Finnish American actress and pin-up model Maila Nurmi (11 December 1922 – 10 January 2008) – better known as cadaverous wraith cheek-boned 1950s horror movie hostess, leading lady of Ed Wood Jr’s Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) and pop culture sensation Vampira – was born on this day 102 years ago.

Maila Nurmi aka Vampira wearing her Bat sunglasses (designed by Edward Melcarth) in 1948.🖤🦇

Photographer: Man Ray (1890-1976)

[moonlarked]

death, she is cunning and clever as hell (and she’ll eat you alive)

in which: tam deals with the fallout of a choice.

Tam didn’t know how long he was supposed to sit here.

Wraith had walked him in, led him to the bench he was sitting on, and told him it would just be a few minutes. “We just need to figure everything out” and “we need to let everyone recover” and “we’ll be with you shortly.”

Tam didn’t know how long a few minutes was in the Collective’s eyes.

All he knew was that he hated this room.

He hated being alone, more accurately. He hated not having anyone to bounce off of. He’d always had someone. First it had been Linh, his sister, the only person he’d ever truly trusted for the vast majority of his life. Then he’d somehow fallen into Sophie Foster’s dysfunctional group of outcasts and mentally ill teenagers trying to save the world. He’d been in on all their meetings, adding a dry piece of commentary or a pragmatic piece of advice, and over time he found himself genuinely caring about these people. He found himself a family.

He didn’t know if he even had friends now.

He remembered Linh’s tight-lipped frown and shell-shocked eyes. Rayni’s slitted gaze, confused tears wetting her cheekbones. Keefe’s collapse to the ground.

Sure, she had been a villain. But she had also been a living, breathing person.

Nobody in their group had premediated, planned, schemed, with the intent to kill a living person.

Nobody until now.

Why had he done it? The answer that came to his head first: he was tired. He was tired of Linh’s retreat into a stiffer, calculating version of her old self. He was tired of Sophie running herself ragged every day, manipulated by people who said they were trying to help her. He was tired of Fitz and Biana constantly grieving over a brother that hadn’t even loved them in the first place. He was tired of innocents getting dragged into this twisted plot.

But another part of him, maybe a more honest part, told him he did it because he was angry and scared.

He was angry at the pain inflicted on him by Gisela.

He was scared of what might happen to his sister. And by proxy, what might happen to him, because he couldn’t live without his sister.

So, honestly?

It was because he was selfish.

He really hadn’t changed since Exillium.

A light knock at the door sounded and before Tam could answer, it cracked open and Sophie’s head poked into the room.

She looked awful. Her dark circles, which were always rough, looked like they had been pummeled and bruised for hours. Her olive skin was drenched in sweat. The dark roots of her dyed blond hair even seemed more pronounced.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, choosing to simply stand there like a gawking observer.

If it were any other time, Tam would make a dry comment about her lack of words. But he couldn’t do that now - he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to do that again. Besides, Sophie would see right through him. His mask of aloofness was pretty much shattered.

Instead of saying anything, she walked over and sat on the bench next to him.

“Everyone’s fine,” she assured him. “Linh’s good. She seemed to recover quickly.”

Tam didn’t know if the desperation had shown on his face that much or if she simply knew him that well by now, but either way he was grateful. “Rayni?”

“Livvy’s treating her right now. I think she’s in shock or something.”

“…Keefe?”

Sophie’s silence was enough of an answer, and Tam slumped forward, burying his face in his hand and trying to stop the cowardly tears from appearing. He couldn’t cry. Not now.

A soft hand was laid on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Sophie with an impossibly sympathetic look in her brown eyes.

And Tam broke.

The tears weren’t soft. They were angry and jagged and loud.

Sophie wrapped her arm around him and allowed him to stain her tunic, gently rubbing her hand along his shoulder and neck.

He sniffed and looked up at her. “Why are you comforting me?”

She sighed. “Tam, how often have I cried? How often have I fallen apart? How often have I been held in this exact same way?”

“This is..”

“Exactly the same,” she interrupted. “And I’m going to help you through this. Because that’s what we do. We help each other.”

We.

There was still a we.

Sophie gripped his hand, keeping the other wrapped around his shoulders.

Tam knew this wasn’t the end of his trouble. Soon, he would be confronted by the Collective, and then maybe the Council, and then he would have to somehow talk to his friends. He wasn’t going back to any semblance of normal after this.

But for now, he let her stay.

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter five

a/n: further continuing my creative liberty of touch lol. this took a little longer to come out as it was coming out shorter than i would've liked, so I've been fleshing it up a bit :) hope you all enjoy!

warnings: language, injury, mentions of death gn reader tag list -> @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @nessa-stark @superpositvecloudshipper @wordsarelife

full collection: here

You've dealt with plenty of Wraiths in your career as an agent, but something about this one leaves a pit in your stomach. Maybe it's her haunting gaze or the way you know she's watching your every move with those empty eyes of hers. Maybe it's the ring of bruises around her neck, and the way her faint voice is crackly and strained as if her vocal cords don't work properly.

"How do I help you?" you ask, watching her from within the iron circle. "Where is your source?"

Unlike Lucy, you can't converse with ghosts. Your Listening is half-decent at best. But you can feel.

"Show me where your source is. I want to help you."

"Help me."

"Yes, yes, I'm trying."

Cautiously, you step outside of the iron circle and stand between it and the wall, tightly grasping your rapier but keeping it pointed at the ground so as to not threaten the ghost. Though her gaze lingers on nothing, you can feel her watching. You make sure to keep your movements slow and as not threatening as possible.

"Where is it?"

Your fingers find the wall adjacent to the ghost, and a terrible feeling of horror and sorrow overtakes you, clouded almost entirely by fear. It's as if your own throat is being held by large hands, choking you with a strength you didn't know possible. You can't breathe.

You can't breathe.

You can't breathe.

But, far deep beneath the roiling emotions, you can feel it - a pulsing beat over to the left.

Tearing your hand away from the wall, you breathe heavily. The ghost hasn't moved from her spot by the wall, but her head has turned and you almost jump. In the glow of moonlight streaming through the window, her cheekbones look that much more hollow. Slowly, her shimmering figure floats to the side, away from you.

"If only Lockwood were here to see this," you murmur.

The Wraith has provided you with exactly what you need - space. Though you stay on guard, ready to defend yourself in case she attacks, part of you isn't worried about it.

You crouch to the ground, trailing your fingers over the dusty floorboards. A small spider slips out from a small gap and darts past your fingers.

"Bingo."

Using your crowbar, you wrench the floorboard up, coughing as a cloud of dust and cobwebs follows.

"Help me," the ghost says. Her tone has changed slightly - it's a little softer now. You've found it.

As you lift the small, dusty box from the small hole beneath the floor, you say, "You only attacked because they did, didn't you? You just needed someone to understand."

The box holds a dainty ring, along with a letter of love that you don't read just yet. Instead, you wrap the whole thing in one of your silver nets. Immediately, the ghost winks out of existence and you swear you hear a sigh of relief.

One ghost down. You should feel glad, but there's still a pit in your stomach. That one went easily, which means this next one will be a pain in the ass.

"(name)."

Looking up, you find Lockwood at the door, staring at you and the silver net in your hands. The moonlight makes it looks like he's glowing, but it only emphasises the angry look on his face - the furrow of his brows, the twitch in his jaw.

"Lockwood, I'm sorry, but I figured it out! I got the source, and she didn't even try to attack me. In fact, she moved out of the way so I could get her source!"

His anger feels like a tangible thing like you could hold it in your hands and feel it burn. It's a blazing inferno, and something about it feels familiar though you're not sure why. This anger isn't the same as the one you both felt the night he fired you nor is it any kind of anger you've seen him display before. Truthfully, it feels a little dramatic for something that ended up being so small.

He says nothing, only turns on his heel and strides down the hall.

"Oh, come on, Lockwood!" You follow him, opting to leave the chains and equipment where they are for now. If another ghost appears, you both have protection.

His strides are so long that it almost looks as though he isn't walking but floating. He reaches the top of the stairs in no time.

You storm behind him. The hall feels longer now. "Seriously, she moved for me. I was in no danger! Won't you say something?"

In your anger, you miss the way his rapier seems to flicker through the wall as he descends the stairs.

"(name)!" a voice calls - Lockwood's, but it doesn't come from the being in front of you. It's distant, desperate.

"Lockwood?" you say.

The Lockwood on the stairs turns, and it's now that you realise that it wasn't the moonlight making him glow. It's other-light. His feet hover right above the step he's on. Something about his face feels inherently wrong like it isn't his. It's missing something; the little details you've noticed over years of knowing him. Those freckles you noticed the other day are gone, and the scar that should be on his temple - ever so faint - is nowhere to be found. And that anger you feel, that surrounds the very air you breathe, isn't his. It's the same anger you felt in your first vision.

"What -?"

He drifts up the stairs, closer to you, and you stumble backwards.

"Lockwood?" you repeat.

"(name)!" his distant voice shouts. This one's mouth doesn't move.

Confusion clouds your brain and pricks your eyes with tears. What's happening? You make to hold your rapier out in front of you, only to find it gone. When you glance back, it's gleaming in the doorway of the faraway bedroom, the one you'd come from. You must've discarded it for some reason.

You can hear footsteps, pounding up the steep stairs, and now there are two Lockwoods. Something in your chest feels far too tight, and you're finding it hard to breathe.

"Behind you!" is all you hear before the new Lockwood's rapier sticks straight through the first's chest. The first evaporates.

But you've become preoccupied.

Somehow, the Wraith is back, and her eyes, once empty and sad, are murderous.

You're trained to know how to get out of ghost-lock, but the Wraith's fury is palpable, and you're choking on it. Somewhere, Lucy's and George's voices can be heard, but they're far off. Lockwood is dealing with the... other Lockwood, alternating between making him disappear with a slash of his rapier and trying to tear the floorboard off the top step.

It's as if all of your bones have locked into place with fear. A wave of hopelessness crashes over you, clogging your throat and weakening your knees. What's the point? After this case, what will happen? Is it possible to make amends with Lockwood? Will you even make it out of this mansion alive?

What reason do you have to try?

Working at Arif's has made you happy, but it has never fulfilled you the way working on a case has. That life is impossible now. You have no team, no Talents fantastic enough to become a freelancer. This case has allowed you to feel something you haven't in a while - wholeness - and whether that's from the case itself, or Lucy and George, or even Lockwood, is it even possible to keep working with them?

If you were to work with Lockwood and Co again, you'd be forced to stay home and not take part in the action-packed parts of cases despite that being the part that makes you feel most like yourself. You can't just spend the rest of your career only doing research.

So what's the point?

The Wraith is a blessing. She'll let you go easily, you know it. Her hand reaches up towards your face, and a small smile splits her dry lips.

"Help me," she murmurs. Her whole body shines.

You find yourself repeating her words, watching as she draws closer. She just wants to help. She doesn't like seeing you suffer. She just -

Something slams into her, exploding, and she disappears for a moment with a wail of agony.

You stumble backwards, struggling to breathe. Clutching your chest, you fall back against the wall as Lockwood darts past, slashing his rapier through the glowing Wraith. There's a banging sound down at the bottom of the stairs, and you assume it's Lucy and George trying to find the source.

There is only one Lockwood now - your Lockwood. His moves are swift and precise, and he's sure to keep the ghost far, far away from you. The look of fury on his face almost matches that of the other's, and it makes your blood run cold.

"Got it!" It's Lucy's voice.

Almost immediately after, the Wraith disappears, screaming, and a heavy weight in the air finally lifts.

Unable to hold your own weight anymore, you sink down to the ground, keeping your back to the wall. You need to snap out of this. You need to get yourself together. You're an agent - you've been trained to be better than this.

Hands grasp yours, and when you look, you notice how bloody your cuticles are. You've got a bad habit of picking at them when things go wrong.

"You're okay." Lockwood. These are his hands.

You don't want to look at him, scared to find that glowing, scarless face of his staring back, but you force yourself to. There he is, freckled and scarred and most certainly not glowing. His eyebrows are knitted with worry, and he's breathing heavily, likely from just fighting off two ghosts.

"Fetch?" you ask. The quietness of your voice shocks both of you.

"Fetch," he confirms.

Your breaths quiver. "They're right about them being dangerous. It got your angry look down to a tee."

"The ghost was... me?"

Words fail you this time, so you nod. His hands squeeze yours, and he doesn't even glance away when Lucy and George pass behind, heading to the far bedroom to grab the equipment and the source you found.

Noticing your confusion, he says, "The ghosts downstairs disappeared, I'm guessing when you found that source. What was it?"

"A ring," you manage. "A little love letter."

"Makes sense. It was a married couple down there but, if the apparitions were anything to go by, it was a maid and one of the Lord's sons. Scandalous. You saved the three of us down there, even if you did break your promise."

"She moved out of the way - the Wraith." Your voice is no more than a whisper. "Like she wanted me to get the source. And then you appeared - well, not you. But I really thought... God, I'm so stupid."

"Hey, look at me." His hands find your face, warm against your chilled skin, and he tilts your head up so that you're looking straight at him rather than just at his tie. "You're safe now, alright? The three of us would've been dead if you hadn't found that source. Her and the Fetch - well, my guess is that they were working together and wanted to get as many people up here together as they could."

"Can ghosts do that?"

"Those Changers at Combe Carey, remember?"

"Oh, yes."

He just looks at you for a moment, studying you with that worried look on his face. "Come on, let's get you home."

Home. Where is that? Your measly little flat? 35 Portland Row? ... Lockwood?

You used to believe that - that, no matter where you were, as long as Lockwood was beside you, you were home. But that feeling died the day you left. Probably.

Lockwood helps you stand, and he keeps close to you as you all gather your things, keeping an eye on you. He offers to take your kit bag for you, but you decline the offer. The weight of it, the feeling of the strap cutting into your palm, keeps you alert. You're worried that without it you'll lose sense of reality and spiral, repeating those thoughts from your ghost-lock.

At some point, Lockwood must've called for a night cab, because one is already waiting for you when you all step outside.

It's roomier than the taxi, but you shove all your things in the boot before climbing into the back seats. You don't miss the fact that Lockwood sits next to you.

Home you go. If there's such a place.

<- part 4 part 6 ->

[thevampiremarie]

Treehouse chapter 29 teaser part 2…

(This chapter contains CNC and primal play. To better prepare you guys for the CNC and contextualize it/make it clear that it is 100% consensual and enthusiastic, I’m releasing an extra teaser!)

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on the other side of you, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as it licks your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?”