#maybe more pales and purples and veins | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ddejavvu · 7 months

Note

Reader commenting on Spencer’s hands being cold, and he starts excitedly rambling about the best ways to heat them up, like putting them under armpits. Only to get completely thrown back when she stuffs his hands in her under boob to keep them nice and warm and strong :) <3

Your eyes are drawn to Spencer's hands when he starts curling them into fists, rapidly clenching and unclenching them in the chilly Chicago air. You're sitting cross-legged on the stoop of a witness's home, waiting for JJ to return from questioning her. She'd been uneasy with such a heavy government presence in her home, and you don't blame her for it, so you'd elected to stay outside with Reid.

"Cold, Spence?" You ask, and he nods sheepishly, his curls flying.

"I'm trying to get circulation back to my fingers," He explains, shaking his hands out for a brief second before curling them again, "Moving your fingers gets your blood flowing, but there's only so warm I can get in 30-degree weather."

You smile sympathetically at him, watching as his nails dig into his palms once more with a curl of his fingers, "Maybe we can bribe JJ to get us coffee on the way back to the precinct."

"They never give me the sugar I ask for," Spencer laments, shaking out his fingers once more, "I think they think I'm trying to steal their supply, but I really just like having eight packets in one cup."

The snort that you let out releases a puff of visible breath into the cold morning air. As it dissipates Spencer tries breathing into his hands, but his skin is still pale, nail beds dangerously close to turning purple, and you sigh resignedly.

"Come here, Spence," You hold your hands out, and he looks curiously up at you. His head tilts just barely to the side, and you're reminded of a confused puppy.

"Give me your hands," You urge, emphasizing the way that you're holding yours out. He does so without question, but you can tell that you've certainly improved circulation to his face, because his cheeks are blazing hot with a rosy blush when he obeys.

"Body heat really helps," You promise, unzipping the fabric of your FBI windbreaker. You hold both of Spencer's hands in your free hand now, but when your jacket is properly unzipped you lead his hands straight to your torso. They're posed on your ribcage, and Spencer stills, watching the way that they touch you with wide eyes.

"Under- there," You slip his hands up an inch, letting them slip into the space beneath your bra, your skin flushed with natural heat that soaks into Spencer's veins like sunlight to a wilting plant. Contrary to the body heat now flooding his limbs he's frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack as you stuff his hands beneath your chest.

"That better?" You ask, shimmying slightly in place and jostling his hands. Your bra slips further over the backs of his hands and only makes them warmer, enveloping him in even more of your body heat. He gulps, you actually see his throat bob, and nods silently, still leaned forwards to take in more of your warmth.

"Thanks," He breathes, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like he's not about to combust.

You're almost certain that his hands are barely thawed at all when JJ steps abruptly out of the front doors of the building, and her boots skid to a stop in front of you and Spencer. You glance up at her with a warm smile, but Spencer yanks his hands away, wringing them out in his lap with wide eyes.

"Uh, she was- we were just... my hands-" Spencer babbles, and the more he struggles, the more her smirk grows over her face.

"His hands were cold," You explain, reaching out to grab them once more and squeezing the barely-tepid skin, "Let's hurry and get into the car, we can turn the heat on full blast."

You've seen Spencer exhibit a mild jog while chasing unsubs, his gun held at his side like it's a bag of bricks, but he skitters to the SUV faster than you've ever seen him move, leaving you and JJ behind on the steps of the apartment building.

"So, did he put his hands there, or did you?" JJ asks, and you don't need to see her face; you know from the mirth in her voice that she's still smirking as you stand up.

"I did," You grunt, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like you're not about to combust, "He was shivering, JJ. What was I supposed to do, let him freeze to death?"

"No, no," She raises her hands in a gesture of surrender but her voice still contains that sadistic amusement, "You're right. A word of advice, though: next time, stick his hands between your thighs. It's a lot warmer down there."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

6K notes · View notes

yawnderu · 6 months

Text

Living Dead Man - Zombie!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

What is a husband but a man with a rotting body you can barely recognize?

CW: body horror, gore, tongue kiss with a dead man(?), is she wrong? morally, angst with a happy ending.

You examine the man as if he was under a microscope, milky white eyes staring back at you with the same intensity they always did. His balaclava was ripped off halfway, revealing a dislocated jaw, the bits of skin you could see while he was wearing his uniform were now all mangled up and pale, a contrast to the surprisingly soft skin Simon had before.

''Don't bite me.'' You warn and the zombie simply lets out a grunt in response. It has been a week since he turned, and it took hours of convincing the rest of the 141 to let you keep him— with the pretext that you could use him to try and find a cure, and maybe that was true. There was nothing you wanted more than to find a cure and turn your husband back to who he used to be. So far, nothing was working.

''I'm going to draw some blood, okay? It might sting a little bit.'' Your tone is gentle and so are your hands, carefully lifting off his uniform sleeve to reveal his forearm, needle penetrating one of his protruding veins until the blood collection tube was full of his dark, purple blood. You removed the needle, grabbing a cotton ball and taping it with medical adhesive tape. You sigh as you put down the materials, sitting down in front of your former husband... does it count as former if he's not completely dead?

''I miss you a lot...'' You start, speaking to him the same way you have been doing ever since he went nonverbal, unable to speak due to the zombification and broken jaw. Based on the grunts and the way he looks at you, you convinced yourself he can understand and knows who you are.

''I'm trying hard to find a cure. I mean, I like to believe I'm sort of close... but I don't know if it'll do much since the necessary organs are already decomposing. I'm sorry, I feel like I failed you.'' Your voice is strained as your gloved hands hold his, tears rolling down your cheeks as you silently sob, bringing his hands to your face and giving his knuckles soft kisses, the same way you did back when he was alive.

''I don't think I can go on without you, Si... I don't want a life without you.'' Your heart breaks more when you hear a soft grunt, a noise you became familiar with, the same sound he made before, comforting you when he knew you were down. Your head snaps up and you can see a small tear roll down his pale cheek, your eyes open wide as you bask in on the discovering.

''So you are sentient to some degree.'' Fuck Element 115 and fuck the zombie who bit your husband, the bastard is sentient! A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips as you smile up at him. You may not have a cure yet, but at the very least, he's not fully gone. Your hands gently caress his decomposing cheeks, testing the waters as you slowly lean closer.

Closer...

Closer, until your lips are touching his bloodied, decomposing mouth, the broken jaw forcing you to have an awkward angle to make it work. His mouth parts slightly and you take the chance to slip your tongue inside, holding in your breath to not throw up at the smell of his rot. Surprisingly, you feel his cold tongue wrap around yours weakly, his poor attempt to kiss you with the little control he has of his motor skills. You break away for a second to take a deep breath, hands cupping his cheeks while you look deep into his eyes.

''I love you. I wish... things were different. I heard they'll bomb the entire country to get rid of the evidence of the virus.'' A small chuckle escapes your lips as he simply stares at you, tears blurring your sight while you lean your head on his shoulder, tears rolling down your cheeks while you try to stay quiet.

''I don't know what to do, Si... There's really no hope. Even if I found a cure for you, we don't have access to any planes to get out of here, and any neighboring country would kill you if they see you.'' You feel cold hands attempting to hold your waist and you look up just to find he was already looking down at you. Perhaps you're that delusional, but you could swear his milky white eyes softened. You try your best to put on a small smile, even if it doesn't reach your eyes.

''At the very least... we're together. I'll see you in the next life, my love.'' He grunts softly in response and you let out a soft laugh. You ignore the panicked screams ringing through the base, closing your eyes as your forehead rests against Ghost's, one last display of love before the bomb hits, wiping out of everything you ever loved.

''Hey.'' You call out softly to your colleague, holding a skull glove that slipped out of his uniform. He turns to look at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable even when he remains unmasked.

''Earth to Simon?'' You tease, waving the glove around for a few seconds before he gently takes it from you.

''Thank you... Stray, was it?'' He asks, one of his thin blond eyebrows raising slightly as he looks down at you. You nod your head, offering him a warm smile. You were just introduced by Captain Price, yet it feels like...

''Do I know you? You look familiar.'' A small smile is seen on his lips before he looks away, trying to keep his emotions in check. He thinks about his answer for a few seconds before it all hits you. He's...

''Ghost?'' You ask, tears rimming your eyes as soon as he nods, his arms wrapping around you tightly while he holds a hand on the back of your head, not wanting to let you see the tears escaping his eyes as well.

''Found you, love.'' A second chance at life with him.

1K notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 4 months

Text

The Artificer: Part II - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, violence, death

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

Five months later…

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger stalked forward, silent as the dead and just as unfeeling.

The Autumn Court warrior at least had the sense to tremble when The Shadowsinger came near. But he kept his red-cracked lips shut, golden eyes shining with hatred.

“Bastard.” He sneered, spitting on Azriel’s polished boot.

“I said.” A shadow darted out from his side, grabbing a fistful of matted tawny hair and wrenching it back. His skin was thin, so translucent that Azriel traced the flow of his blood in his purple veins with dead eyes. “Where. Is. She?” Every word was emphasized with a violent jerk.

He’d gone to visit you last week, carrying your favorite chocolates from Velaris and hoping for a far sweeter kiss in return. Instead your workshop had been in ruins. Swords shattered and the fire burnt out. For the first time, the room had been cold and unlit.

Azriel had only found the pathetic male in front of him, kneeling on the ground and uselessly tugging at the sword which refused to move - Sunseeker.

Azriel held it now in his hands, the pale, yellow glow sharpening the shadows beneath his eyes and the elegantly cruel cut of his jaw.

It had been a risk trying to pick up the sword, but the weapon had sung to him and his shadows, calling out for him to wield it instead of the unworthy Autumn Court male. Azriel was no replacement for its real master - he was no replacement for you - but Sunseeker willed it and he obeyed.

“Is there truly no one else capable of wielding it?” Azriel asked, sitting so close to you that your knees and elbows brushed against one another. He didn’t have the courage to kiss you just yet, but gods did he want to. And with the hours he’d spent looking at and dreaming about your lips, he was certain he had a good idea what you tasted like.

“Her.” You corrected, holding the sword up to the steady stream of sunlight that spilled through the slats in the ceiling. Pressed against the light, the sword appeared almost transparent - as if made of glass.

Azriel smiled. You liked to name and personify every tool, weapon, and piece of equipment you owned, as if you had a secret third eye that allowed you to see into the lives of inanimate objects. He wanted to believe it was true - it was the only way he could explain the wonders you produced with your bare hands.

“There is one other person capable of such a thing,” You hesitated to tell him, but ultimately finished. “My mate.”

All at once Azriel’s heart fell into free fall, prepared to crash through the cradle of his bones and into the floor. His face, marvelously, betrayed nothing.

“Your mate.” He stole his gaze away, focusing on a very interesting speck of dust on the counter, “They’re lucky.” He murmured, drawing away.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not lucky enough.” You sheathed the blade, returning it to its new place on the wall, “They haven’t found me yet.”

“Oh.” A flicker of hope filled his chest - dangerous and unwieldy. “Is that… is that something you want? A mate? ” Azriel wondered aloud before his mind could trap the words. He cringed, shaking his head in self-disappointment.

What a stupid question. Everyone wanted to find their mate. Everyone. He himself had been obsessed with the concept for hundreds of years. He had thought he’d find his mate in Mor, and then Elain, he had even thought he felt something more than friendship for Gwyn.

But more recently the idea had faded into the recesses of his mind. More recently the worst of his thoughts had fallen silent, and it was all thanks to you.

“Maybe,” You considered it, “Maybe not.” You sighed, sinking back into your seat. You rubbed at a metal coin on the benchtop, feeling the oil gather on its surface and taint your fingers grey, “My parents were mates. They didn’t love each other though. Not really.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head and shook off his sympathy.

“I don’t know if I want a mate…”

You pulled your chair closer and reached out, delicately beginning to drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of Azriel’s scars. His heart stopped when you picked up his hands and gently kissed them, your calloused fingertips rolling over his ruined skin.

“But there is something I definitely want.” You revealed, looking at him with more feeling than you ever had before.

You’d been scraping by on lingering touches and reserved smiles and momentary glances that spoke of more than friendship. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough, not since the moment he’d walked into your workroom. You felt like a woman starved, deprived of something that you hadn’t even tasted yet. It was a terrible pain to want something you didn’t even understand the nature of.

Azriel wasn’t everything. He wasn’t the air you needed to breathe. He wasn’t every piece of joy that life could bring. But he was the bright touch of color in the world that made everything that came before seem dull. And you didn’t want to live in greyscale anymore.

Azriel swallowed thickly, his hands instinctively falling to your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Whatever it is you want, Y/n - anything at all - I’ll give it to you.” He whispered reverently, closing his eyes when you pressed your forehead against his, “I swear it on my life.”

It was such sweet torture feeling you pressed against him with your hands caressing his throat. You smelled like woodsmoke and citrus. Heady, sweet, and clean all at the same time.

“Just you, Az. I just want you.”

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He tightened his grip on you, swallowing your little gasp of surprise with his lips.

Time was molten metal. Cooling, slowing, and warping around your hands as you molded it to your liking, so you could savor this moment for as long as possible.

Little did you know, your mate had found you. And he would find you again. Nothing but the crashing of the stars and the splitting of the earth would keep him from fulfilling this promise.

Azriel’s eyes darkened.

“Three of you were sent to take Y/n.” Azriel stalked around the male, slipping in and out of eyesight without warning. The male pulled at his chains and the ring of his futile efforts echoed throughout the dungeon.

“She put up a fight.” Azriel emerged from the male’s left, shooting out an arm so quickly that the pain followed after the fall of blood down his freckled cheeks.

Azriel cleaned Truth-Teller on his forearm nonchalantly, continuing his ambiguous path. If it weren’t for the hard cruelty in his eyes and the knife in his hands, he would look… normal. As if he were doing the grocery instead of slowly butchering a fae alive. He’d already taken three fingers and four toes.

The male began to shake.

“I saw the blood in the shop. It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t hers.”

Another arm shot out, followed by a scream. The male grappled for an ear that was no longer there, feeling the blood drip down his arms from the stump.

“I DON’T KNOW!” The male cried out, curling in on himself, “I don’t know.” He repeated miserably.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel asked. His countenance said he was bored, but inside he was barely holding on by a thread. His shadows begged to be released and scattered across all of Prythian until you were returned home. They wanted chaos and pain - anything to distract from your aching absence.

Let us handle this. They hissed. We can take him. We’ll get the information. We’ll get everything. Let us-

Azriel shushed them, and they obeyed, falling to the edges of his consciousness and the edges of his body.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel leaned forward, some sick, twisted part of him relishing in the way the male flinched.

“I-I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know why he wanted her. Just some no-name artificer from-”

“Who wanted her?”

The male paled further until his skin was as pallid as moonlight on lakewater.

“WHO?!”

“THE HIGH LORD!” He whimpered, shuffling away from Azriel’s encroaching footsteps. The chains scuffed the ground and then clanged when he reached the end of his length, trailing blood. “Ber-Beron wanted her.”

Azriel stilled, his insides turning cold.

There were dozens of reasons why Beron might want you as his prisoner. Your talents alone made you worth a thousand men. But if Beron had any awareness of what you meant to him?

Azriel gritted his teeth. “For what purpose?” He growled.

The male’s dull eyes closed in defeat. He was as good as dead. He could only hope the rumours were true and that the Night Court were not the devils they pretended to be. Then, and only then, might he be offered the option of a violently quick end.

“He heard rumours of an artificer - a female artificer - capable of crafting weapons that could be bonded to a single wielder. He’s been searching for years now.” He shook his bloodied locks, “We thought…We thought it would be another dead end. Another body to bury. We didn’t think-” He choked on his words, trailing off into silence.

Azriel crouched down, dragging the Truth-Teller down the male’s face like a sculptor ready to carve a piece of marble down.

One wrong breath, one flinch, and he’d draw blood.

“Finish what you were going to say.” His hazel eyes cut deep.

He swallowed, “We didn’t think… we didn’t think she was anyone important.”

Azriel’s eyes were swallowed up by shadows until they hardened into two marble stones.

The male held his breath, feeling an oppressive power start to press down on him. Suffocating. Cold. Lethal. Darkness shoved him to the floor, crushing his ribs until they splintered and snapped.

“That was your mistake,” Azriel growled, “She is someone important. More important than you will ever be.” With a flash of blue and black, he buried Truth-Teller into the male’s chest all the way down to the hilt.

A shock of surprise and pain flooded the male’s face, and before the expression could dissipate, Azriel leaned in close enough to smell the blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin.

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

___________

His shadows roiled in frustration, climbing up his legs and arms like fire greedily chasing after oxygen. They weren’t happy about being denied a kill, and every moment Azriel kept them on a leash, the more irritable they became. Their devotion to you was second only to Azriel. Even then, they would hesitate to disappoint you, even if it meant going against their master.

Soon. He promised them. Soon.

Azriel’s silhouette was carved out of the fabric of the night sky, shadows curling around his arms and wings as he stayed low, pooling his power to keep them all hidden. Cassian and Eris lay on the ground beside him, arms and wings tucked in close.

Autumn lay like a sleeping giant all around them, sighing with a breath that had mist floating up from slick, damp earth covered in leaves. Azriel was grateful for the weather, the rain disguised the curling of their breath in the air and masked their footsteps when they crossed over from Spring. Night and mist were a Shadowsinger’s dream.

The ground rose steadily in front of them, trees only daring to inch halfway up the hill as if they too could taste the magic in the air. All the trees - save for the godstree that marked the crest of the hill and snaked its thundering hand towards the sky in a knobby, clenched fist.

Icaryon Hill was one of Autumn’s most highly guarded secrets, and like the Forest House, it hid all its treasures and prisoners underground.

Azriel leaned down, pressing his ear to the ground and straining his ears for anything. Anything at all.

Eris smirked at him, reveling in the way Azriel bristled and bared his teeth. He would never let the Shadowsinger forget how he’d become desperate enough to swallow his pride and ask him for help.

Cassian looked equally displeased at the Lordling’s presence. “I hope your information isn’t as useless as the rest of you.”

“Careful who you call useless, Bastard,” Eris drawled, choosing his words very carefully, “Or else I might have to leave you and your pretty little artificer for the dogs.”

Cassian had to stop himself from wringing his pale, slender neck, but Azriel - for once in his life - didn’t have that much self control.

He shot forward, wrapping one scarred hand around Eris’s throat and slamming his head back into the ground, pushing down until he sank six inches into the damp soil.

Eris’s eyes flashed with something like triumph and curiosity. Nevermind that the Shadowsinger was currently crushing his ribs with his knee, or that Truth Teller was starting to leave a thin line of blood on his neck.

Azriel hated him, and the piece he hated most was that even when Eris was down, he had a way of making himself out to be the biggest person in the room.

“Az, that’s enough,” Cassian hissed. His eyes kept swiveling back up to the hill, “Let him go.”

Eris had warned them there would be a narrow window of time between the changing of the guards. The belly of Icaryon Hill was so expertly warded that no one - not even the High Lord - was capable of winnowing in. At some unknown time three guards would slip out and three guards would slip in, all winnowing to the gate hidden in the base of the godstree. One - and only one - of the males would have the key necessary to enter and exit and they’d have to unlock the gate in twenty seconds or risk triggering an alarm. If any blood was spilled on the earth, internal alarms within the Forest House would trigger the arrival of a squadron of gorgons capable of turning flesh to rock with a single touch.

That meant in order to evade the wards they’d have to winnow up the hill, kill six highly-trained males without bloodshed, and find the key in less than twenty seconds if they wanted even the smallest chance of getting you out.

Cassian knew this and it made his stomach turn.

Eris knew this and it made him cocky.

“Interesting.” Eris said, tilting his head with a smug smile on his face, “The Artificer, huh? Was that doe-eyed seer not enough for you?”

Azriel began to heave with rage, eyes turning pure black. It was enough to scare even Cas. Azriel had been on edge for weeks since you’d gone missing, but Cass had never seen him so… so unhinged.

Azriel had traded in his icy rage for a darker, more visceral variety capable of driving him to madness.

And Eris was not making things better.

He continued to goad him, “Maybe she ran away? I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Eris, shut the fuck up.” Cassian growled, “When are the guards changing?”

Eris ignored him, concentrating on the Shadowsinger. Azriel may have been the one to approach him for help, but that didn’t mean he was going to waste an opportunity to advance his own agenda.

It was funny. Everyone said The Shadowsinger was near unreadable - cold as a statue and as unfeeling as steel. But deep down, Eris knew he was still the same little Illyrian bastard that had been shoved into a cellar and convinced he didn’t matter. And more than making him insecure or thoughtful, it had made him angry.

Eris switched tactics, focusing on you instead, “Maybe, when this is all said and done, your precious whore will run away too.” Azriel stilled, shadows pouring off of him to the ground where they turned into claws and sank in deep, “And just maybe, I’ll be there to fuck her the way she likes. I’d pay her good money too.”

“Eris!” Cassian’s warning came too late. Azriel raised his arm, Truth Teller glinting in the darkness.

Something in the earth shifted, thin rays of light spilling out of the gate atop the hill.

Eris smiled.

Just on time.

The guards were changing.

“Fuck!” Cassian groaned, grabbing at his swords but not daring to unsheath them.

Azriel was roiling with panic and rage, every muscle in his body feeling ready to split in two. And Eris… Eris was smiling.

“Go on Shadowsinger.” He said, pointing to the hill, “Tick tock.”

Azriel clawed the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet at the same time he clutched Cassian’s arm hard enough to bruise. They winnowed up to the gate in a whirlwind of death and shadow.

Six guards. 15 seconds.

Eris slammed his fist into two of the males’ throats, cutting off their roars of alarm. Two swift kicks to their knees and they exploded out with a sickening snap. Sharp cracks followed and they fell to the ground, their necks sticking out at a harsh angle.

Four.

Eris dropped to his knees, ripping at amour in search of the key.

Cassian rolled to the ground, narrowly missing the downward swing of a sword that buried itself in the ground. He bounced onto his feet, as lithe and limber as a fae a quarter of his size. He grabbed a fistful of blood-red hair, swiftly bringing the other elbow down. He made perfect contact at the base of the skull, severing the connection between the spinal cord and the brain.

Three.

This was taking too long. They would never make it in time.

But… but how was it still so quiet? Cassian dared to look up from his search for the key and his blood ran cold.

Azriel…

Azriel was death and decay given form. The moment they reached the gate, for the first time in his life, he relinquished full control of his shadows.

They swarmed around him until he was nothing more than a dark, blurry cloud of destruction. He grabbed the male closest to him, digging his hands into his throat and registering the horror in his eyes before shadows poured into his eyes, mouth, nose, ears. They flooded every sense, screaming in Azriel’s ears of a power that he had never been desperate or angry enough to unleash… until now.

The shadows filled the male’s body, wrecking bones and ripping apart tendons with a force that transformed them into razor sharp talons. The male gurgled, body jerking around in pain. Azriel finished him off by snapping his neck with a clean, sharp jerk. The body fell to the ground with a hollow thud.

Two.

The remaining guards similarly dropped to their knees, empty eyes and hands left to ghost over their throats before they fell forward. Dead.

Shadows leaked out of their eyes and mouth, slipping over their cooling bodies like the rain that pitter pattered against their backs. But no blood. Not even a drop.

One tendril of night slid up Azriel’s leg and washed over his hands, depositing a glittering bronze key that burned with warmth.

He should have felt more. More surprise and some semblance of disgust at what he’d just done. What he’d been capable of. But those feelings remained hidden, sullen and silent behind walls of obsidian willpower and adamant.

Cassian and Eris stared at him, wasting a few precious seconds to gape at the littering of bodies around them, raindrops pattering onto their backs and slowly absorbing into leather and skin.

Cassian swallowed, daring to break the silence, “I never knew you could do that.” He admitted blandly. Cassian wasn’t afraid of his brother - he never could be. He’d survived too many battles by his side to ever fear being on the wrong end of his blade… but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be unnerved by the powers that thrived within him, and how little anyone knew about them.

“Neither did I,” Azriel said without emotion, closing his fist around the key. “Let’s go.”

He stalked to the gate where it hummed in the ground like a dropped coin, fluttering with life, beckoning him to enter.

Just a little longer, Y/n. I’m coming.

He used the key and the gate opened.

You crouched in the darkness, cradling your ruined hands and trying not to cry.

The first few weeks Beron had let you out of your cell during the day, bringing you to the forge hidden beneath the hill so you could set about building him a weapon of his own. You’d leaned into his desires, working the metal until it sang a song of promise to the cruel High Lord.

He wanted power, and you’d promised it to him, proving your worth long enough for Azriel to come find you. But it had been almost two months, Azriel was nowhere to be found, and Beron was losing patience.

He traded empty compliments for threats, and when those failed to do anything, he turned to outright cruelty. Just this morning, he’d had one of his men whip your hands until they bled. Then, as a personal touch, he’d torn your shirt to pieces and trailed his fingers down your back. His touch had been light. You could’ve mistaken them for the kisses of a lover if it weren’t for the fact that he’d set the tips of his fingers on fire so they burned the whole way down.

They smarted and burned, the pain seeping in now that the shock was ebbing away.

“He’s coming. He’s coming.” You murmured to yourself, curling in on yourself with your arms pressed close to your exposed chest. “Just stay strong. Stay strong.”

“He’s not coming for you, dear.” A phantom hand, cold and bony as death, caressed your back. You looked up, eyes shining like two shards of glass in the darkness.

The High Lord was as handsome as he was deadly, the smooth and elegant planes of his face and his honey-sweet voice in stark contrast to the light of his eyes - or rather lack thereof.

They held no warmth, no pity, no fear.

“He’s not coming for you.” He repeated.

“Liar.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head. His blood-red robes trailed along the grate of your prison cell, blocking out the meager light that trickled down. The gold-trim embroidery winked deceptively, flashing sultry looks of wealth and opulence in your direction.

Your stomach growled painfully and you wrapped yourself up as best you could. You’d spent most of your life time by the forge. Cold was not a familiar experience.

“I don’t know what that Illyrian bastard, Azriel, promised you. Wealth. Prestige. Love.”

You growled, kicking the wall hard enough for a shower of dirt to rain down on your head. You tried not to flinch when debris landed on sensitive skin, “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

Beron smirked, amused, “So much anger. So much defensiveness for a male who won’t care about you the next time a pretty female with doe eyes wanders into his path.”

You bared your teeth at him.

“Ahhhhh,” he clicked his tongue happily, “So perhaps you’re already aware he holds a certain reputation. Pity.” There was another swoosh of his velvet robes, “I’m promising you safety, enough gold and silks to make an empress jealous, and in return I just ask for you to do what you’ve always done.” He held up his hands, “I don’t understand where the difficulty lies”

“In return you’d want to make me your bitch.” You spit out, “To give you the tools to kill whomever you pleased.”

“I already have the tools to kill whomever I please.”

“No. No you don’t.” He narrowed his eyes in displeasure. You limped forward, holding your hands close to your chest. Your body may have been weak, but your heart and your mind were still strong. Not even Beron was capable of taking that from you. You looked up at the High Lord unflinchingly, “When Azriel comes for me - and he will - I’ll ask him for your head on a pike.”

Beron sneered, “If he and his half-breed Lord decide you’re worth the trouble, I’ll kill your little Shadowsinger first and reduce him to ash.”

You set your jaw, refusing to look away as the High Lord turned on his heels and left the room. Only then did you sink to your knees exhausted and breathed in the scent of damp, rotting earth.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

__________________

Taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @glitterypirateduck @i-am-infinite @brujitafantomatico @woodland-mist @coureurs-de-bois9 @aetherl0l @gorlillaglue25 @onlyangellh

#the artificer #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger #shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar

589 notes · View notes

daisykihannie · 2 months

Text

Ot8 skz cock talk

Chan:

His cock is definitely pale on the length and has very prominent veins running along the length.

His cock curves upward in a soft arch perfect for hitting the best spots inside someone.

The head is a soft pink color. The prettiest cock. The pale length matching the pink head perfectly.

The head doesn't protrude off the length much but just a little, perfect crevice to run your tongue along.

He keeps himself shaven or with stubble.

I think he'd be about 8 inches in length and a bit girthy but nothing too thick.

If you can picture the prettiest pink cock, soft and defined, length and girth the perfect size, that's Chan's cock.

Minho:

His length is tan and honey colored with one prominent vein running up the underside of his cock.

It curves slightly to the left but nothing extreme.

It's heavy and about 7 inches long and not as girthy as Chan's.

It's almost delicate looking, as delicate as a cock can look.

The head stands off the length, a deeper crevice between the head and length.

The tip is a pretty mauve color. Pinkish Purple in color, contrasting the tan skin beautifully.

He doesn't like being completely clean shaven so he always has perfectly trimmed stubble.

Changbin:

Heavy and girthy. Tan length as well.

He's about 6.5 inches long but what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth.

VEINY. Multiple obvious veins decorate his length.

The head is a soft brown and pink color.

Again, his cock is heavy in the best of ways. If you can imagine a muscular cock, it'd be the best way to describe Changbin's cock.

It Curves downward because of the weight. His balls on the larger side as well

Stubble is the most pubes he'd have but never completely bare and clean shaven. Man scaping is very important to him.

Hyunjin:

Pretty pretty pretty soft and delicate

Another pale and pink cock. The head a deep pink color bordering on red.

The veins in his cock are visible but not protruding. Keeping it looking so soft.

Clean shaven 24/7. Adding to the feminine and delicate look.

I wanna tie a pretty pink bow around it.

His cock doesn't really have any curve to it, mostly straight but with the tiniest barely visible upward curve.

I think he'd have a long and skinny-ish cock. Maybe 8-8.5 inches and the length the same girth as the head.

Uncut and pretty, the soft pink head poking out of the foreskin but in the prettiest of ways.

He'd have a mole/beauty mark on his pubic bone, right above his cock and slightly to the right. Perfect spot to kiss.

Jisung:

A pretty deep honey color with a red head.

A couple of veins travel the top and sides of the length that poke out more towards the base of his cock.

Either clean shaved or with a tiny bit of stubble. Mostly keeps a small amount of stubble tho but his balls are always clean shaven.

7ish inches long, maybe a tiny bit less. Not particularly girthy but just enough to stretch his partner open for him.

Curves slightly up and to the right. With heavy and pretty balls. His balls don't hang far from his cock.

Picture a pretty, tan, soft, leaky cock and that's Jisung's cock.

His cock is like a mix of soft boy and fuck boy and God does he know how to use it.

Felix:

Pale with a red mushroom head.

Also uncut and pretty.

His cock is on the smaller side at 6-6.5 inches, not very girthy but he knows how to use it.

Curves upward a bit with soft veins going up the length. 2 veins standing out the most

He also stays clean shaven with pink swollen balls.

Another very soft and delicate cock. But very leaky as well.

Resembles Hyunjin's cock the most but shorter with a bright red tip.

Seungmin:

His cock is about the same size as Felix's but a bit more girth to it. Heavy cock.

Tanner than Felix's and Chan's cocks but not as tan as Minho and Jisung's.

He'd have longer pubes. Not a jungle or even a bush but long enough to be softer than stubble but short enough to lay mostly flat to his skin.

I also can't see him being circumcized. the foreskin a soft pink color to match the darker pink color of his head.

His veins aren't very visible but can definitely be felt inside his partner.

Soft downward curve. Not as heavy as any of the others cocks.

Light, delicate, pretty, tan cock. His balls are smaller and don't hang very low.

Jeongin:

Long and pale. Porcelain skin covers the length and a dark purple/pink mushroom tip.

Not girthy at all, his girth is about average but he'd be the longest at 9-9.5 inches.

Not the biggest fan of manscaping but he keeps himself trimmed and pretty.

Smaller but heavy balls that hang a bit lower from his cock.

Beauty marks paint the skin around his cock. Some on his pubic bone, on the inside of his thighs, traveling up to his hips.

Veiny as well but still softer looking. The veins visible but not standing out too much.

He'd have a slight curve to the left and his head would definitely be the leakiest.

Very very sensitive on the tip and the underside of his cock where the most obvious veins is. The vein his partner would love to follow with their tongue.

292 notes · View notes

indouloureux · 2 years

Note

Hi! Could I request something like reader and Eddie being in a relationship just a couple of weeks a maybe and reader is a bit shy and they meet readers friend who’s also a guitarist and also a hot rock and roll girl, reader is getting insecure and jealous but Eddie assures her that she’s the one and only ❤️

i love this!! thank you for requesting <3 (fem!reader)

you trust eddie.

you'd only been together for a few weeks, yet trust has been bound tightly the moment you two have met. he had that charm, that ambience—that despite his silver-donned and black outfits, he had a key to every secret told to him and kept it hidden as a promise.

besides that, he made you trust him with your whole heart, secrets and whatnot. he won't cheat, he won't fall out, and he'll love you forever.

he said it and you knew it.

you trust your friend.

she met eddie when you introduced her to him during one of his gigs, thinking harmlessly that they'd be good friends with their similarities: both metalheads, both ozzy osbourne worshippers, both nerds.

you thought they'd make great friends and they do. but doubts and you? eh, not so much.

doubt isn't a great friend. neither is jealousy. neither is insecurity. especially, insecurity. fucking bitch.

you didn't realize then that you'd feel... a heavy pressure on your chest seeing them interact. suddenly you felt jealous, a little left out, because you're thinking—what if eddie wanted a girl like her? a girl like him?

you do not trust yourself.

it's not like you're any different. you like the things he likes, but you like your own things too.

albeit the ache of jealousy never settles and to add salt to the wound, insecurity never hinders. never waves its white flag around. you don't like that they're in their own world talking about something while you're beside them.

"hey, babe?" the sobriquet makes you blush a little, turning away from your desk with a pencil in your hand. eddie tucks his neatly folded handkerchief in his pocket.

"yeah?"

"your friend's asking me to meet up at the hideout."

your blush dies into something pale and soon, a lifeless paint. "what, like, right now?"

eddie nods, shrugging his jacket on. "yeah."

you don't want him to leave yet. it's barely four pm. and you don't like the fact that she's asking him to hang out again for the second time this week. your lips purse and move to the side, diverting from his gaze. and had you not looked away, you might have seen his eyebrows furrow in curiosity; or suspicion.

"can you maybe stay for a little bit longer?" you ask, placing the pencil down.

with a soft look of concern, he approaches you, socked feet on the carpet of your floor. then his index curls around your chin and tilts your head up, his thumb tracing the left corner of your frown.

"why, sweet thing?" he asks quietly, fingers dragging up to tuck your hair behind and pout softly, his ring cold against your heating skin of embarrassment.

"nothing! it's just," you scratch at your temple, looking at his pale wrist, see the way his purple and grey veins twirl around his limb. "i just- want you here, 's all."

he takes his hand from your cheek to card his fingers through your hair, slicking it back before patting it down. eddie hums quietly like he's in thought, like he's settling for a hypothesis to choose in his head.

though it's been a couple weeks of something more, eddie has gotten you memorized in those years of longing.

"do you not want me to hang with her?"

"what?" you push back slightly, though his hand never leaves the top of your head. you laugh nervously. "teddy, why would you say that?"

teddy rings around his head like a guitar riff that lulls him to sleep. pink tinges his cheeks. "i know when you're thinking really deep, baby. i know when something's wrong."

he crouches down, between your legs, his elbows on your knees as he takes your face in both his hands and cradles it like the moon. "tell me what's wrong, baby, come on." eddie adds.

you sigh and look down on your lap, feeling his thumb stroke your cheekbone. there's a whimper that leaves you and your heart aches just a bit.

"i guess maybe i'm a bit jealous," you murmur. "because she's like you and i think that you like it better that she's like you...."

eddie's touch falters a little, but the warmth of his skin lingers on your flesh. you see how his eyes darken a bit in sympathy and disappointment—in himself, you can read. but you don't know why.

"sweets, do you remember when i asked you out on a date?" you nod. "and you asked me why and i said 'well, it's because you're pretty. and you're you, and you make me smile and you make me laugh and you make me cry and you make me do the stupidest shit in existence but it's okay because i do it for you'?"

you find it amusing how he memorized every word. you find it funny how you remembered that moment; between a shared joint and a movie. "yeah?"

"what i say still stands. i like it better when it's you. i like it when it's you. and shit, babe, i like it that you're kinda not like me. 'coz then i get to teach you. what's mine is yours, sweetheart. i'm happy to be the only one who introduces you into things i like," he takes your hand and brings your knuckles to his lips. "and i like it when you teach me what you like. makes me get to fall more."

"what's mine is yours," you quote from him. "okay, you sap."

eddie leans up to kiss you. your friend's in the back of your head now. and all you're thinking is eddie, eddie eddie eddie and you. and how he said that you're pretty.

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things x reader

2K notes · View notes

highonmarvel · 8 months

Text

Can’t even trust yourself

Loki: Strange nights affect your days.

An entry for Day 6 of the exciting @sintember challenge!

Warnings: NON-CON, nightmares, severe anxiety and paranoia, possible psychosis, 18+!

Prompt: Cant’t even trust yourself, ft Loki of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

For the 11th night in a row you startle awake with a gasp, heart hammering, body sweating so much you can’t go back to sleep without taking a shower. You had been having these strange dreams for nearly a year now, but the last month or two they had been so vivid they felt more real than life itself.

You drag yourself out of bed, trying to slow your breathing as you make your way to the bathroom. The worst part is you don’t even really remember these dreams, just that they leave you panicked and weak and sore all over, but particularly your breasts, between your thighs, and your neck; blame it on your lack of sex.

You flick on the light in the bathroom and turn to the mirror. You shriek and nearly jump back in shock at your reflection. Where your neck feels tender, there’s a purple bruise spreading across your skin. You try to smudge it off, hoping it was fucking paint or something, who cares, you were just hoping it wasn’t really a bruise… not a bruise like that. No matter how hard you wipe it, it doesn’t come off. It’s just a random bruise, you tell yourself, some people bruise easily, maybe you hurt yourself and didn’t notice. Yeah. Though, still, as you stand under the flow of boiling water, so hot you wonder how it hasn’t burnt your skin off, you scrub violently at the mark. It’s still there when you take another look in the mirror.

After barely getting any sleep last night, you’re exhausted in the morning as you made your way to the office. Whether or not you usually get coffee, you know you’d physically need it today, and so you take a quick detour to the café across the street. You’re happy to see the cheerful blue-eyed barista is working this morning, and happy the place is near empty; only a tall figure in front of you in the line and a pair of scattered young people bent over laptops with papers and highlighters cluttering the table. Finals, you think, noting the 10+ empty coffee cups littering their feet.

You wait patiently (though you’re exhausted) behind the man as he gives his order, and Roger the barista nods and hurries to make it. Was that even his name? You didn’t really know, he wasn’t in too often, you just spotted him by those bright blue eyes. Maybe it was Riley or Ringo or something.

The man in front of you is handed his drink, and when you turns around, your blood runs cold. You take a deep gasp and step backwards. You don’t even get a good look at him before his back is towards you and all you can do is stare at his disappearing silhouette. You’re shaking, and you don’t know why; you can’t at all recall his appearance besides pale skin and long, black hair, but still it’s like he flipped some kind of switch and adrenaline started pumping through every vein in your body.

“Ma’am?”

You turn at the voice back to the counter. It’s not the blue-eyed barista you’re met with: you see the same face, but with eyes pure black.

You stumble out of the coffee shop without getting the caffeine you need, because you can not stay in there a second longer. Maybe you don’t need the coffee; now you feel fully alert. You jump as strangers passes by as you make your way across the street and up to your desk, trembling so much you wonder if you’ll ever stop. Once you’re at your desk, though, you do feel a little better; you’re no longer shaking, but still, anyone that comes up to you scares the fuck out of you, you have many close calls with an entire fucking heart attack, you can swear it. A few people ask you throughout the day if you’re okay, if you need to go home, but you assure them you’re fine, and when you finally get off, you feel kind of good about yourself for sticking it through the day, but that feeling fades as the sun does.

It’s dark out when you hop out of your car and make your way up to your apartment, and it doesn’t help your anxiety that the lights have been flickering in the corridor of your floor for about a week now, and no one had bothered to fix it.

The lift opens and you step out into the passage with the lights having a seizure of their own, it seems. Dark, light, dark, light, you’re at least glad it’s consistent, but while on any other day this would have been an annoyance, today, it’s panic-inducing.

Your place is near the end of the corridor, quite far down, and while you want to run, something tells you your body can’t take having to increase your heart rate any further or you’ll drop dead in the middle of your sprint. And why should you run? You’re a little angry with yourself—it was just a weird dream, and it had you fucked up all day. Pathetic. Your irritation does little to drown out your fear, however. On and off the lights flick at rhythm, like they’re singing a song on a steady beat.

You’re a few steps in when the lights go out for one, two seconds too long, barely enough time for feat to build, but it does; you know you can’t trust yourself to discern reality from fiction, but you do. You start walking faster. You throw a look over your shoulder; in front of the elevator stands a tall silhouette, but breathing; an alive shadow. You gasp and spin around to face it. There’s nothing there. You turn back, walking faster and faster now, but still trying to refrain from running.

The lights flick off, flick on, there’s a shadow. Flick off, flick on, there’s a shadow. What can you do except run straight towards it? Your door is in that direction, you just need to get inside. Maybe it would have seemed insane to anyone on the outside—it felt insane to you—but you start running, full speed towards what you’re trying to escape. On and off the lights flick and the silhouette comes in and out of sight, unmoving, and deeply unsettling.

You don’t know how you get your door open so fast, but you do, not fumbling once with your keys despite your wrecked state. You slam the door closed behind you and lock it, firmly pressing your back against it as you begin to hyperventilate.

What the fuck.

Tears are streaming down your face and you swear your chest is caving in on itself. You grasp at the kitchen counter and heave yourself forwards, breaths coming in and out at lightning speed, yet you still don’t feel you’re getting enough oxygen, you don’t feel you’re getting any oxygen, for that matter. It feels like a hand is wrapped around your throat, asphyxiating you as you stumble around your living area.

A hand? And pulling?

You’re being led towards your bedroom by your neck, and though you want to say it’s the miracle of getting your feet to move again, no, there’s definitely something pulling, dragging you towards your room.

You claw at the doorway and dig your heels into the ground, but that barely deters whatever is acting upon you. You’re flung onto the bed, and hit the mattress with a force that feels way too familiar, though obviously this has never happened before; you’d never had a ghost drag you through your home, or maybe it was psychosis, but you’d never had a psychotic episode like this.

You prop yourself up onto your forearms and scan the room for a sign of anything. At this point, you’re hoping someone will pop out, to confirm you haven’t completely lost it. And you immediately regret that hope.

Out of seemingly thin air, a figure steps forward. You know it. Tall, every tall, and long black hair, pale skin, you saw him at the café, but that’s not where you know him from, you know him from something much more personal, something deeper; you barely know him in your conscious mind, but your subconscious recognises it all.

This is a dream! it strikes you, and you slightly calm down, knowing you’re going to wake up at any second now. Why aren’t you waking up? A man you’ve never seen before is still stalking towards you.

You scream and kick your feet as he reaches the foot of the bed, even though he hasn’t touched you yet. In a literal flash he grips your ankles and twists, prying your legs apart and pinning your feet on the bed. Still, you struggle against him. He removes his hands, and now in their place are glowing virescent ropes tying you down, your hands have been restrained too, each limb reaching towards a corner of the bed. You writhe, twisting and thrusting your hips, crying the whole time. Why aren’t you waking up? What the fuck is even happening?

But you know exactly what it is happening.

The dark-haired man snaps his fingers and you’re naked and exposed. Maintaining direct eye contact with you, calmly, despite your conniption, he slowly pushes two long fingers into his mouth and drags them out with a pop.

Wake up, wake up, wake up, you will yourself, wishing more than anything ever, and more than anyone ever could to just wake up!

He unbuckles his belt, still quiet (why hasn’t he said anything?) and staring you down. And suddenly, he pounces on you, diving to harshly suck on your neck, the spot that had been sore. You try to bring your hand down to push him away but are met with the unfriendly reminder you’re restrained. You cry out at the assault, his sucking and biting is near animalistic.

And someone, you call out a name, his name, “Loki!”

४

#sintember 2023 #dark!loki #dark!loki x reader #dark loki #dark loki x reader #yandere loki #yandere!loki #dark avengers #dark!avengers

214 notes · View notes

operafantomet · 3 months

Note

This question might be in the realm of "stating the obvious" and I'm sorry if you've answered this before, but is there a reason why costumes in replica productions tend to be different in the details from one another? Does it have to do with which fabrics are available in Europe or in the US, or is it something else entirely?

It's not really an obvious answer, or rather: there are many parallelle answers. I can try to offer some of them. All of course exemplified with Christine costumes :D

One, even if the costume design is pretty detailed, many components is still up for interpretation. It means that one costume maker may see one thing, while another see another thing. I would say that both these Elissa tabs - 2000s West End to the left, 2006 US to the right - reflect on Maria Bjørnson's design (middle), even if they maybe don't look too alike when compared to eachother:

In the same vein, Maria Bjørnson supervised every new production worldwide and also every cast change in West End. At times she wanted to try out new details. For example, the Elissa gala skirt went from only tabs and apron in the initial design, to a plain green skirt with tabs and apron in the early West End production, to full-blown gala skirt with pleated hem around the world. This created some very different skirts in the early days.

Also, she was rarely satisfied with the Rooftop costumes, and constantly urged costume makers to try out new patterns, colours and effects. This means that new takes on the costumes was also initiated by the designer now and then. It also means the main costume has been made in white, blue, green, pink, purple and multi-coloured versions, and the cloak in pale mint, dark mint, sky blue and royal blue. All to try and convey a sense of moonlight in a dress!

Third, whereas the Wishing dress was almost always been made of the same stripy/floral blue silk from the UK (with a handful of exceptions in the US), the idea of a replica fabric for all costumes quickly collapsed. The early European and Japanese wedding bodices were made of the same silvery white ribbed fabric, but this was discontinued in the mid 1990s.

Same for the Rooftop costume, where the same beaded lace was used as the top fabric of the dress in both Stockholm, Hamburg and Toronto, but this too was discontinued in the 1990s. So it was up to Bjørnson, local costume makers and various supervisors to find the materials reflecting best on the design. It should also be mentioned that the materials preferred in the late 1980s and early 1990s often favoured colourful, highly patterned fabrics in the vein of chintz and Laura Ashley. The later 1990s and 2000s went for more subdued fabrics, while the current trend is thicker and colourful metallic and floral fabrics. So the current trends is also a factor.

Speaking of the blue silk for the Wishing dress, it seems an original idea was that the Christine alternate would wear a slightly different costume than the principal Christine. In West End it meant Claire Moore's main dress was made of the replica silk, but the petticoat was made of a blue taffeta with numerous horizontal navy velvet trims. On Broadway it meant Patti Cohenour's whole dress was made of a floral blue fabric.

Apart from these two and some 5 more Wishing dresses in the US, all versions of this replica costume has however been made of the stripy/floral blue silk. It remains probably the only current replica fabric, along with the Phantom's tailcoat. That black diamond patterned silk is from Savile Row in London, and identical all over the world. In other words, two absolute signature costumes!

A last thing that should be mentioned is that sometimes the BASE of the costume might be done in (for example) the UK, while the final fit and decorations is done locally. That can create quite different expressions even if the base and main fabric is the same. This was the case with Copenhagen, it is the case in the current South Korean production, and it was the case in the World Tour revival - to mention some. Add different wigs, accessories and/or underpinnings, and it can be hard to tell that the main costume is more or less the same:

(The South Korean base on the left and the West End base on the right is both made of the same fabric in the UK, but the decorations and the petticoat differs)

So yeah, not necessarily one obvious answer, but many overlapping practices that at times can affect the exact look of a specific costume. I hope that made sense!

#maria bjørnson #phantom of the opera #costume nerding #christine wardrobe

53 notes · View notes

swansong-if · 4 months

Note

I have a bias Towards achillean Odile x MC, so maybe them talking about books together? Or them playing in the snow? Or just them being cute with each other.

not strictly achillean because i prefer keeping my requests general but here's some quick winter fluff with Odile that lowkey got me in my feels about xem...

❄

Laughter bubbles in your chest as another snowflake falls to rest on Odile’s jaw. It stays there for a while, unperturbed by the unnaturally cool skin, and for one exhilarating moment you think it will never dissolve. But then it does, its crystals melting into a single tear. You watch with a sigh as it trickles down Odile’s neck, and xe shivers a bit.

More snowflakes follow. They settle on xyr hair, on the tip of xyr nose, on xyr pale lips, or they add to the faint freckles on xyr cheekbones like a flurry of butterfly kisses, and they linger there as if time is freezing just to allow the encounter. And then they vanish again. The whole time, Odile doesn’t move. It’s as if xe’s trying not to spook them, transfixed by the show. Xyr dark eyes gleam silver, and it dawns on you: xe’s been trying to make the snowflakes last longer, probably focusing xyr magic to slow the rush of xyr blood. Quite the reckless move, for something so trivial. Your brows furrow.

“Is this your first time seeing snow?” You know, as you speak, that your guess must be right.

Odile blinks a few times, almost reluctantly, to shake more snow from xyr lashes. Xe looks like xe’s been caught doing something mischievous– if xe could blush, you suspect xe would.

“Mhm,” is all xe offers, and you have to purse your lips to keep them from curving into a grin.

You’re a child of snow, raised in a land where winter is king among the seasons. All of this, the blinding white of the landscape, the puffs of air leaving your lips at every breath, or the sting of cold on your fingertips and how it gnaws at your skin, it’s familiar to you. But Odile has lived all xyr life hidden in an enchanted forest and has never known ice and frost.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” You make sure to school your smile into something softer, knowing rather than teasing. Xe regards you for a second and then smiles back faintly.

“Very.”

When you reach out to slot closer to xem and cup xyr face in your hands, xe lets you without a complaint, wrapping xyr arms around you almost out of reflex. “Are you cold?” You ask a bit worriedly, because while xe still looks as pristine as a marble statue there is a faint vein of purple to xyr complexion that’s almost ghoulish.

“We should go back inside,” you try, but you don’t make it past the first step because xe stays firmly rooted in place. What– Xyr face suddenly buries in your chest, the curve of xyr nose against your collarbone, and this time you do laugh.

“No.” The answer is barely audible, squished against the thick pelt of your clothes.

“You don’t want to go?”

Another hum. “No.”

“We can warm up next to the fire, together.”

Your voice comes out dripping with honey, as if trying to coax a child. Odile’s reply, however, is as stubborn and petulant as the previous ones; and an equally definitive ‘no’. Xe raises xyr head to meet your gaze and your heart almost skips a beat at the sight of xem, eyes glossy from the frosty winds and a small frown softening the angles of xyr face.

Childish has never been a word you used to describe Odile, but as you watch the vaguely pouty curl of xyr lips, it is the only one you can think of.

“Just a while longer,” xe pleads, and no power in the world could ever help you deny xem. You nod, and xe smiles. More dazzling than the winter light. Xyr hands find yours and manoeuvre them until they rest on xyr cheeks again, almost as if to say ‘warm me up’, and you shake your head fondly, letting your thumbs rub circles across xyr jawline.

Odile sighs, xyr eyes briefly shutting in contentment. Then xe opens them again and tilts xyr head questioningly; you know what xe’s asking without having to hear it. Your lips find xyrs barely a second later. If it’s warmth xe needs, you will gladly share yours.

Neither of you notices the snowflakes quickly melting on your faces as you kiss slowly.

#asks #anonymous #odile faerydae #ss: scenarios #ss: official

58 notes · View notes

asumofwords · 11 months

Note

Ok lets talk about the important thing here:

How do you think Aemond, Aegon, Daemon and Cole dicks are?

🤔

Okay this is a really important question that I must answer.

And since my brain only ever thinks and imagines these things, and in my experience I have a fairly good eye for guessing (hands give it allll awayyyyy), let me begin 😈

Aemond’s cock would be long and have a nice thickness to it, I wouldn’t say he would be massively girthy, but I feel like your hand couldn’t wrap around it completely 😈.

His tip would be a blush pink, the same colour as his lips. He would occasionally trim the hair around the base, and that man is definitely veiny 🤤 I feel like he would be a good 6-7 inches long and very clean 🤤

There’s just something about skinny men, they always have a horse cock.

He has the perfect size dick (although to be fair, I actually hate long cocks because they hurt my cervix lmao) and he knows what to do with it. It has a slight upwards curve, a gift from the gods truly.

His cum would be salty, and quite nice to swallow down. It wouldn’t be gross or foul tasting, this man has a strict diet, and exercises often !

Aemond is clean and makes sure to take good care of his cleanliness and appearance, prim and proper like his attire.

Where Aemond has length, Aegon has girth.

He would sit around 5-6 inches long and super fucking girthy, not a chode, but quite thick. It would stretch you uncomfortably or painfully if you didn’t prep first. His tip would be the same colour as his lips but would get a deeper shade of pink and look angry when he’s horny.

I feel that he wouldn’t be too veiny, though would have some very soft foreskin to nibble on and I feel a bit extra tbh💀

Aegon is one of those fuckers who can cum and keep going, must run in the family. Absolute menace too, despite his cruelty, man knows how to make you squeal. He’s a whore, he fucks whoever, whenever, and has learnt tricks along the way.

Man definitely has a dick that smells like a dick. Not exactly the cleanest of cocks, musky as fuck, salty too, and his cum would be rancid because his diet consists of just alcohol and scraps of food lmao.

Definitely used one of his many dildo toys on himself or will use it on you instead, or make you use it on yourself and have him watch 😮‍💨

Aegon could dissolve your insides with his spunk. Acidic as fuck, a one way highway to thrush or BV. Hits good tho….

Daddy Daemon has a monster cock.

I’m not joking. Look at the size of this man. And his hands ? Huge. HUGE. I’m not joking. I’ve seen it. Anyway, back to his cock.

Daemon has a dick around 8-9 inches long and fat as fuck, he’s got a meaty cock.

A third leg. A tripod if you will.

Poor Rhaenyra is getting her guts rearranged every time he fucks her. She needs 3-5 business days to recover from the sheer force of the thing.

Pale and veiny, when hard his foreskin pulls back to reveal a gentle pink tip (same as his lips). Clean and well kept, Daddy Daemon’s cum tastes like when the heavens have opened and you have been offered retribution. Sometimes sweet, depending on what he has eaten.

Would absolutely be open to the idea of being pegged and anal play. Loves having his ass eaten ngl. This man is a freaky queer daddy 😈

Shoots fucking ropes though, you’ll be leaking for days!

Ser Criston Cole deserves no praise, but I would be lying if I said he didn’t have a pretty cock.

Tan, and a bit on the longer side like Aemond, this man would not know what to do with it. A sin really, to have such a pretty cock, and not use it.

A slightly more tanned knob, leaning to a soft purple colour, average thickness and the occasional vein, upwardly curved for your pleasure.

Ser Cole’s cock would be as clean as a whistle. I feel like Cole would definitely let you put a finger inside his ring, maybe too, and he would blush so pretty about it.

His bush would be soft as fuck too, have you seen this man’s hair ? Lush as fuck, looks like it should be in a hair commercial ad, and velvety smooth. I wouldn’t mind getting some of those hairs tangled up in my nose 🤪💀

His cum would be musky, yet not repugnant like Aegon. He eats well and is always moving so it wouldn’t be marinating inside of him, though I wonder if he empties the tank often or not, or if he actually is fermenting his seed 🤪

#i need a lobotomy

165 notes · View notes

sherwees · 5 months

Text

everything-is-fine-maybe-not-but-whatever (sequel to cflwasd)

cw : major character death, NONCON, violence, detailed-ish murder(s), kidnapping, torture, usage of drugs to knock out reader, descriptions of inflictions (bruises and scars) and just overall fucked shit.

side note : that one clip of Hendery saying “So pretty.” got me through this and I'll link it in the fic.

extra side note : ty for @ne0pearl and @imeunseoksbby for giving me this whole idea!! I tried not to disappoint.

Your mind maybe processed the rushing footsteps coming towards you along with the warmth of Hendery's cock leaving you but you definitely heard a strangled grunt from Hendery with a thud to the wall.

You fixed yourself or at least tempted to but seeing the scene of Hendery's face turning pale with Eunseok's unrelenting grasp on his neck from your peripherals irked you to do something. You were used to not interfering with Eunseok's usual quarrels with whomever.

Swinging your purse on your shoulder, you're met with Eunseok's dead stare with tears brimming, he seemed mad but actually upset for once. Hendery's veins protruded out of his hand as he slid up the wall, teeth clenched in hopes to control his breathing; his other hand fixing his crooked waistband to his underwear.

“Please go outside..” Eunseok says, tilting on one foot to grab his beanie from the ground.

You still and stare.

“Go. Outside.” His head was now turned to you and his voice cracked on the last word, he now shut his eyes with seething anger.

“But Kunhang–”

He slams the side of his fist to a wall, leaving a dent. “I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT– Just go outside.” He then smoothes his beanie out, huffing. Only then, you rush out the door; the summer heat causing your shirt to cling onto your body once more.

This was the only moment you could appreciate your house only being a block away, you could make it home fast and prepare for what he was going to do in a few.

You could only lay under your gray blanket, looking dejectedly at the scars on your thighs; lifting your thigh to observe the crimson heart from only a few minutes before. Hearing the door slam, you scrambled to run to the bathroom with an ache in your chest.

You grasped the oval pendant on your neck with a wince, sliding down the door with a sob until you heard calmer footsteps from the living room. The pendant now laid in your hand, the same pendant you honed on the marble basement floors when you were so fed up from the arguing, you wanted to kill the man.

You wanted to check but it might've been a trick just waiting to hit so you didn't even bother to peek outside until curiosity hit when you heard Eunseok's footsteps and a creak to the bed.

What?

Eunseok's gaze met your scared own immediately.

“Eunnie?” You mumbled.

“My sweet girl.” He rasped from the edge of the bed, arms wrapping around you once you came over with a weak crooked smile from his bleeding lip. The purple and blue splotches blooming amongst his neck and the slight tear at his shirt's neckline, your eyes widened in concern whilst you hugged his neck; smelling his strong cologne from his grey shirt whilst smoothing your hand to his torso.

He sighed, “Now what am I going to do with you..”

There was a sudden steel grasp to the base of your neck; Eunseok's veins leading from his shoulder to his forearm strained against the thin shield of tan skin. The spit accumulating in your narrowed esophagus caused you to kick and scratch at his back. Eunseok's eye twitched, his tense expression falling at once.

You felt something warm on your shirt... sticky.. He coughed concerningly enough to finally make you stare at the maroon emerging and painting his ribs. A profound narrow wound seemed to be stretching from his back to his center; It couldn't be?

Horror and concern jumped at your nerves, “No, no, no.” you murmured as Eunseok's eyes went dull, pupils expanded once he laid beside you. His eyes flickering from your frantic hands grabbing and gripping his shirt to the snot lining your upper lip, lips contorted as spit flew from the power of your strained cords.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” You straddled him into a hug, rocking his soon lifeless body as the blood spread on the sheets below you. His exposed rib knicked and scratched at your own, his heartbeat slowing at the rhythm of your curses.

It was now silent.

You couldn't even call the cops.

Feeling a sharp sensation poke into your palm, opening it there laid, your oval pendant, stained with blood.

You tossed and turned, what the fuck were you doing with a body only a few meters away, your significant other. You needed somewhere to go, he started to decay and every moment you checked on him; his skin got paler.

You couldn't take it. You then scowl and jump up to yank Eunseok's coat off the rack, his warm scent shooting up your nose; something to remember for some time. Where were you walking actually? was the only thing you thought whilst mindlessly walking through the quiet roads. The cold air brushed your exposed and torn knees, the street lights seemed a blur until you stopped at the same wooden door coincidentally.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Your fist felt sore.

You bit your lip, enough for blood to draw. Your finger tips feathered the cold knob in hesitation, taking a shaken breath, you swung it open; the wind aiding it creepily.

One step.

Two steps.

Three–

“I've been waiting for you.” The grave voice scared you to the core, causing you to stop on your heel comically with a jagged breath. Stilling with a sigh, shoulders hunched as the door shut behind you with your coat sliding off slightly.

Hendery let out an exasperated grunt as his slender fingers trailed around your now-trembling shoulders. His pads rubbing smooth circles into your shoulders to soothe you, you felt like a statue within his presence once he turned you slowly. His eyes focused on your dismal ones as you attempted to look away at the sight of the red outline of Eunseok's fingers.

“There's no need to be ashamed baby, it's just a little boo-boo.” He coaxed in your ear, using his backhand of his navy sleeve to move your strands from your pretty face.

“You need to calm down, come with me.” In a trance, you did. You were mesmerized by his sweet voice down the hallway, the darkness didn't concern you until you felt a smooth, comfortable surface that laid behind you. Your eyes darting around the room until a cool air of wind hit your sweaty forehead, the moonlight then alluded through Hendery's window; illuminating half of his face. His eyes low and gazing deep into your own, his lips parted and plump.

You then felt something poke at your neck and a force, the substance causing you to go limp, your peripherals went black and you could only focus at Hendery's smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He waved his hand in your face, wincing at the pain forming in your retina; it was now that every time you would blink, it would hurt.

“So pretty~” was the only thing you heard until you fell into the abyss.

“How long has it been?” You mumbled as you scratched at your knees. You could barely remember what you've done in the past 24 hours, he hasn't been down here for about 3 days. The insanity nearly consumed your soul into nothingness, you started seeing figures run across the dimly lit room and noises from the corner. You only spoke back once and now he was overdoing it.

Did he want you to suffer? You now raised your knees to your chest but the shock of pain and exhaustion from the scabs and scars and days of starving just made you go limp. Raising your attention to something else, you stared at the jeans, jackets, stuffed animals, sweatshirts that Hendery considered “gifts” and lied saying that they were brand new. They were all Eunseok's but when you questioned him, he left for a few weeks but then brought a decaying finger in a bag just to leave you in hysterics.

Leading you to go into straight havoc; shredding clothes, ripping the stuffed animals and doing anything to get his attention but you eventually regretted it once he screamed at you for an hour about your ungratefulness and that you were going to be buried and forgotten right alongside your scum of a boyfriend.

The thought of being forgotten still itched the crevices of your mind till this day.

You wriggled your skirt off with scathed digits, the same one stained with the blood of your dead lover to examine your blemishes, fading and new. The bile raised at your throat and the tears overflowed your waterline as you copied Hendery's trail that he made on that same fateful day. You regained the feeling of your legs fully because of the pain that he inflicted on your lower region in general. Just being stubborn got you here and now you couldn't even escape, the times your punishments got worse just for “disobeying” him.

The times that you were paralyzed as he pounded his anger into you as his gruff voice would just spit all types of curses in your ear with his nails leaving prints in your plush thighs, when he would shove some type of pill down your throat just to wake up to an ache in your abdomen just to raise your shirt; met with scars and engravings of profanity, he even hyper extended your arm to make sure you were defenseless against him.

Footsteps came from above.

Locks twisted from the door that your eyes were glued on since the beginning of your stay, something warm flowed through your stomach. The excitement shooting an unexpected grin to your face, he's treated you so well, what could go wrong?

The light peaking from the door for a quick second then fading away. You didn't even notice Hendery walking over until he placed a harsh kick to your side, your legs went numb again.

“What did I tell you about ignoring me–”

“But I'm not.” You interrupted sternly but immediately shooting your hands up in front of your face with a whimper once he raised a hand.

“Still flinching? You know I'm not him.. I'm your true love.” He lowered to your level in a squat, the scar on his eyebrow fading from a previous struggle. You never realized you were spaced out until he boomed a “Hey!”, your attention back on the fuming eyes of his; causing you to shrivel away a bit.

“I believe I have a gift for you, I know you'll love it~” Hendery singsonged the last part of his sentence with a hug as he was now on his knees. “Sometimes, I think about knocking you up.. S’ you could be mine forever ya’ know.” The color drained from your face, your teary orbs meeting Hendery's intimidating ones.

“Come on~” He whined like a kid, his willful expression meeting your sore eyes. The pads of his finger were cold once they made contact with your shoulders, trembling.

“Imagine a little you and me running around our happy little home! I mean just think about it..” His tone becomes as soft as his other hand trailing up and down your thigh, massaging it.

“But I don't think I can.” You blubbered, looking down in shame.

“But you will.” Hendery swiftly pulled out something from his slacks, you could barely react once the familiar stinging of a needle penetrated your skin. Only a hiss could emit from your mouth as your body laid slack, everytime you would move your head even a bit; shapes flooded your vision.

“Y’ think you could talk back?” He manhandled you to the floor, the force felt painfully numb to your hipbone. The sound of a zipper resounded off the walls, your cries felt stuck like a cork in your throat. This might've been the end, you were weak and you felt as brittle as lead.

“You must've been just waiting for me, honey?” His digit toyed with your pantie line then shoved it down, you let out a miniscule screech once his cock nudge at your impaired hole. His tip then exceeded slowly into your heat, his hand slowly trailed up to your jaw gripping it as he lowered his upper half to your back.

“So fuckin’ tight, just how I remembered.” He choked in your ear, his pace became feverish as your face rubbed on the ground. You felt the life leave your body moderately, mumbling a “Kunhang, please..” as your fists closed and clenched.

“Fuck, you're bleedin’ but you'll stay f’ me alright?” He teased in your ear but slapped one of your bruises, causing you to discharge more blood on his member.

You missed the fine breezes from when Eunseok would take you on a walk at a forest preserve as an apology after hurting you similarly but only this time; nobody could save you from the inevitable coming closer with every blink.

You missed him so much.. His topaz eyes that matched his pretty wisps of hair and that same basketball jersey with his name embroidered on it but you'll never see him again.. alive.

But now, the only memories you had of him were fading with your own life.

#nct smut #kpop smut #smut #wayv smut #nct scenarios #riize smut #eunseok smut #hendery smut #nct drabbles #hendery scenarios #hendery x reader #eunseok x reader

54 notes · View notes

tommys-little-writing-corner · 5 months

Text

One Small Shadow: Chapter I

》 The youngest of Sindel's daughters, (Y/N) was only born after the passing of King Jerrod. Growing up shadowed by her family and their magics, the Third Princess does what she can do best. She stands by and waits... 》 Chapter I: Waiting... 》 General Notes: Fem!Reader, Complicated Family Relationships, Canon Divergence, Angst Train, No Beta We Ball Like Kobe, No Romance, Y/N is described to be feminine with certain features, Bounces between Y/N's POV and third person 》 Chapter Notes: The first few chapters of One Small Shadow take place before the start of the plot of Mortal Kombat 1. 》 Word Count: 600+ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

(Y/N)'s P.O.V.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

It sits in the main hall where the thrones lay, always alight with candles. Sometimes by the bright flame of the sun or by the pale flame of the moon. It's a mural portrait of my mother, Empress Sandel, and my late father, Emperor Jerrod.

I never knew Jerrod, not in the way my Mother and sisters knew him. My mother was expecting me when he was killed. Nobody spared me any details, only that it was a great tragedy over a thousand years ago. Now his soul resides in the forest, along with all other members of royalty and more.

Many say I do hold some resemblance in him, a trait I share with my sisters. We have his dark eyes-- the way they seem to sparkle with a plan, with a mind game to taunt others. setting down stones to be stepped on. However, it would be my sisters who would have his smile, his dark hair and everything.

I would be the one, the youngest of three of about roughly a thousand years old in age, who would have my mother's white hair. Pale like marble stone, like the colorless stars in the sky. Unlike my family who kept their hair long, I kept mine short, barely touching the corner of my jaw below my ear. It was better to maintain hair that way, easier to hide it whenever I wanted life out of the palace. Another talk for later.

I hate how everyone around me doesn't understand how I feel every time I look at the painted mural.

"You should be mourning-- you have no father, as does your sisters do. As your mother doesn't have her husband anymore."

How was I to mourn someone I never knew?

I only knew his name, the painted faces that decorated this wall along all other walls. The stories of praise and glory from the Umgadi who remember him, who loved him well as does everyone else inside and outside the palace. However, only because I was born three months after his death, I would never know the man personally as did everyone else who once knew him.

Maybe a trip to the Living Forest, where his soul resides, I would get to know him. Maybe he would be willing to talk, to tell me tales of his life before death. No... I would not be able to go beyond the walls of Sun Do. The ones made by my ancestors many lifetimes ago. Mother doesn't like me wondering around, not without armed guards, without Umgadi, or even the likes of Reiko. Since losing Jerrod, she became paranoid about an unfortunate fate falling onto me as well.

Certainly, she truly thought things well. Despite magic running in my veins, in my family blood, I could conjure no magic. To her, I seemed defenseless without a means to defend myself. It was why she insisted me having to be monitored and protected at all times if it could be helped.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

"Princess, you're needed at the entrance. To meet with the Empress and your sisters."

The Umgadi guard reminded me, making me snap out of my reoccurring thoughts about the mural in front of me. My lips curled into a frown as I looked over my outfit one last time. Dark purple ceremonial robes that almost matched colors with red wine, shades darker than the purple Mother wore. A layered skirt-piece that touched my ankles over black tights, black longlseeve under a dark purple top. My hands and arms decorated with golden jewelry with pretty gems-- fitting for a royal princess, but not as flashy as my older sisters. Subtle, quiet, just like me.

"Right..." I responded with a flat tone, turning my head towards her and nodding. "... Let's get going."

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

TO THE KONTINUED...

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #Fem!Reader #One Small Shadow #platonic reader #no romance #tommy's post #tommy’s writing

111 notes · View notes

seonne · 17 days

Text

Stuck With Her. Ch1 (Request)

Trader!Bakugou x Indian!Princess!Reader

Lols here it finally is T-T

Very sorry about the huge delay, I was travelling a lot as soon as my exams were over but HERE WE ARE!

Will have to make this into a series because it's quite long.

Summary: Due to a villain's quirk, Bakugou gets transported into the body of another version of him as a trader, in 15th century India. Little did he know, that the pretty princess of the kingdom he was in was actually his lover.

Word Count: 1765

"Fuck!" He grunted as he got up from where he had been thrown into the wall. The villain he was fighting chuckled, as he hounded his hunched over form.

"Not so strong now, are you, Hero Dynamight?" He shoved a boot in his stomach, causing Bakugou to reel from the pain. His carmine red eyes shot a disgusted look to the villain standing over him.

"You'll pay for this, you damn shithead!"

The villain laughed as he wrapped his hand around Bakugou's neck.

"I'd love to see you try. Good night Dynamight~"

He heard the voices of Kirishima and his sidekick calling out to him before the villain's eyes glowed a deep purple and everything went black.

Bakugou woke up with a cold sweat, gasping as he pressed his hand to his neck. He was fine, he was awake. He was fine. He looked around trying to see where he was. Maybe the others found him and brought him to the hospital. Only it didn't look like he was in a high rise hospital building in the middle of the city. He found himself in a small but tidy hut. The cot he was on was rigid and hurt his back as he sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings in confusion.

He was inside a hut that had red and orange bedsheets as were the curtains that were drawn apart to let in the sun. A small wooden table covered by a red embroidered table cloth stood beside his cot, with a clay pot of water and some other things he couldn't identify. There seemed to be a small makeshift stove in a far corner of the room that contained several clay pots and vessels. As he was racking his brain trying to figure out where he was, a familiar but unfamiliar face walked in.

It was Kirishima. But his hair wasn't red, it was black. And it wasn't its usual spiky up on his head, instead his slightly long black hair touched down to his shoulders. Kirishima walked in with a concerned face as he held a clay cup in his hand, filling it with the water from the pot next to Bakugou and handing it to him. Bakugou took the cup and looked at it suspiciously before looking back at Kirishima and gulping down the water. He wiped his face and looked back at Kirishima who looked like he was bursting with questions and worry. Bakugou sighed and before Kirishima could open his mouth, he beat him to it.

"Oi shitty hair, what's going on? Where are we?" He grumbled curses under his breath as he tried untangling himself from the blanket between his legs.

Meanwhile, Kirishima looked at him like Bakugou just asked to marry him.

"Bakugou… are you feeling okay? Should I call that apothecary again..?"

"Shitty hair, answer the damn question! What happened and where are we?"

Kirishima put down the clay mug and looked back at Bakugou with concern.

"We're in our hut in Agra. You collapsed on your way here in the caravan. We had an apothecary come check you. He said you had a high temperature and that you must've fainted from the sudden climate change. I told you it would be hot here in India but noooooo you wanted to see your princess" Kirishima rolled his eyes as he hid his soft smile.

"Hah? Are you out of your mind? Agra? India? Princess? What are you talking about?"

Kirishima paled where he stood. "Don't tell me… did you lose your memory?"

A vein popped out of Bakugou's forehead as his head throbbed with an impending stress headache. "The fuck you mean memory loss?! I remember just fine! I was fighting that damned villain and he used his stupid quirk on me!"

Kirishima looked way more puzzled than concerned. " Villain? Quirk? What are YOU talking about?"

As Bakugou opened his mouth to bite off Kirishima's stupid head he froze.

"The villain's quirk apparently transports people into the body of someone else. Basically a soul-swapping quirk. It's very rare, and the distances between the bodies who get their souls swapped is unidentified. Please be wary and do not make physical contact with him."

Fuck, he completely forgot All Might had said that. So, he's now basically inside another body? He brought up his hand to test out if he still had his quirk and sure enough, there were no explosions. Bakugou cursed under his breath as he lowered his palm and Kirishima stood there staring at him, bewildered.

"D-did you hit your head or something, Bakugou?"

The aforementioned blonde exhaled sharply and shook his head. "No there's nothing. I remember now. Now leave me alone, I need to sleep."

Bakugou rolled around in his uncomfortable cot and covered himself with the blanket, turning away from the prying eyes of a confused Kirishima. He shrugged and decided to leave Bakugou be for now and left the hut.

The blonde huffed as he brought his hands up to his face. He didn't have his quirk. He was in a world without quirks, if Kirishima's reaction was anything to go by from. Even Kirishima looked different. He was in a strange world, where everyone was a stranger, but all familiar faces. He didn't even know when the villain's quirk would wear out; or even if it would. He sighed. He was properly, utterly, miserably, stuck.

Bakugou grumbled all the way as he followed a tired Kirishima as the red-head (now a complete ravenette, which is going to take some time to get used to) dragged Bakugou kicking and screaming to the palace.

"We came all the way here to trade, and you're here complaining? I thought you'd atleast want to see your princess-" which procured him an iron grip to the face.

So here Bakugou was now, speaking with the prince about the copper coins and silver jewellery they brought in exchange for the textiles, food products and precious gems from the Indian traders. As their trade was set up in the kingdom, it was mandatory for them to talk out their business deals and goals with the monarch before their week started.

Of course Bakugou didn't know any of this until a very bewildered Kirishima explained it to him.

And of course Bakugou was smart enough to pull off a literal business meeting he previously had no idea about.

Even if the villain's quirk was going to fuck him over, he wouldn't let himself be the reason he lives in bankruptcy. As him, Kirishima and the prince arose from their seats after the meeting, he caught another glimpse of a blue shawl flowing next to the window and scowled.

The princess.

He had been relentlessly teased by the maids and attendants the moment he stepped foot into the palace and also by his companions on his caravan on his way here. Even Kirishima joined in on it until Bakugou told everyone to kindly shove their remarks up their own asses. He didn't understand what the hell was going on until he saw her with her maids loitering around in the gardens next to the window of their meeting room. Bakugou may be dense but he's not dumb and his observational skills are what helped him be the No.2 hero that he is today- well, in the future.

There was a little something going on with this princess and the him of this timeline.

And EVERYONE knew about it.

"See? I told you there's nothing wrong with him, he looks the same!"

"No, there's something off about him. He's scowling a bit too much."

"He's always scowling and he looks just the same. A simple heatstroke can't change him that much-"

"Quiet."

The maids all scrambled and shut their mouths as the cool voice of their princess cut through the room. You had been sat by your window, silent, as you stared out the window, wondering about your lover. He had seen you, but refused to acknowledge you.

Actually, no, he did acknowledge you.

But he seemed angry. Very angry. Almost like he was annoyed with you.

But that's impossible, what could've happened? Just a week ago, he had sent you a beautiful handwritten letter scented with your favourite perfume. He had written such heartfelt words that had you smiling into your pillow as you re-read it multiple times, etching the words into your brain before focusing on his promise of coming to meet you soon and put away the letter amongst the numerous others that he had sent.

So, according to you, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He had kept his word and come to see you again, but he… he didn't seem to want to see you?

'I'm probably thinking too much. There's no reason for him to be mad at me or something.'

You shook your head and smiled at your maids.

"I appreciate your concerns and your efforts in brainstorming with me as a means to console me. However, I must clarify that the topic of discussion here is my relationship; one that you shouldn't concern yourselves with. Do I make myself clear?"

The maids gulped and slowly shook their heads.

"Yes, princess."

"Thank you." You smiled once again and looked out the window. Bakugou's caravan had been parked a few metres away from your window in the open space beside your garden and you watched with a frown as he walked out of the meeting room, still speaking with your brother. Your intense stare, though far away, did not miss Bakugou's periphery, but he decided to ignore it until he couldn't anymore. You huffed to yourself, realising that he was ignoring you on purpose (because there's no way he would refuse to look at you even after Kirishima pointed you out to him). So you, as the headstrong princess you are known to be, decided to face him and ask him yourself what his damn problem was. You summoned a guard into your room.

"Let the merchant named Bakugou Katsuki know that I await his presence in the ballroom."

Firm. Demanding. It was an order.

The guard nodded and bowed, before scurrying off to fetch Bakugou. You stood up from your seat next to the window, smoothening down your skirt as you watched the guard rushing towards Bakugou who stood dumbstruck next to your snickering brother, and made your way down the halls to the ballroom. Any maid who tried to follow you stayed back at your ice cold glare. They looked to each other with a knowing look. You were….quite angry.

There we have it folks, finally after three weeks I think T-T

Again, apologies for the delay but I hope you liked it and I'll try to get the next part done with as quickly as I can too. So until then;

Toodaloo~

tagging @maple-syrup-with-strawbewwies cuz they reblogged the answer to the request <3

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x indian!reader #bakugou x princess!reader #mha bakugou #bakugou

27 notes · View notes

oceanlipgloss · 6 days

Text

LIPSTICK

SATAN.

+ warnings: strong language, suggestive themes.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

It’s said to be an art, choosing the right shade of lipstick. Perhaps it is so!

Think about it this way, now; paint—the palette painters create, to be precise—it does not matter much once it is smeared across a canvas, for a canvas is normally white (like ghosts and lightning, leeched sugar and whipping cream), and there is not one colour, be it shade or hue, that such a white fails to suit, though it will not always look good. With lipstick, however, the matter differs.

Of course, a painter does very much choose the most proper canvas for their creation, but that is only in terms of material and dimension. Similarly, it’s probably important for a woman to not merely choose the prettiest colours for her lips, but also the greatest matches for the smooth skin of her interest, who in this case is not quite her lover yet, and may never really be.

Who could possibly know how destiny is painted? Whoever can guess which swatches shall make the future up?

Back to the subject: it is pivotal to decide on a lipstick’s colour for the...aesthetic, if you will. Sometimes, you must understand, the lovelier a sight is, the more sensual it becomes. Beauty, when the time is right and the person is, too, can be an exciting thing. A dangerously exciting thing.

That was not strange advice, she thought. There were times when those erotic magazines and adult films of hers made as equal sense as science. This was one of them.

Her lips had stamped each soft muscle. His body was a hued mess. It was as though one had given a curious child dissimilar paints and a chalk-white paper to print their imagination on with no regard for the basics of art. A child would not know about those rules. At the same time, she was not an artist in the traditional meaning of that shimmering word, so she did not know anything about art’s foundations, either. Yet, she did know how to make the colourful garble on this man’s figure look like art, if only by rubbing her wine-red lips against the peach stain of a kiss to blend the two colours together. What would the result look like?

She could be impatient and quick-paced, in the hot moments often forgetting the artistic aspects and details, vivid with flowing rage, but she was still that sort of artist.

How surprising that she could even manage to know what to do next, at the minute!

The Devil was dreamily handsome. Lipstick gemmed the corner of his lips. His eyes were the colour of strawberries or hearts. His pale skin and purple veins were smudged with a range of popping colours. Some were matte, others glittered. Red Delicious. Tangy Tangerine. Raspberry Dream. Glam Brown. Burgundy Velvet. Electric Violet. Black Decay.

Her favourite? It had to be the last one. Black Decay. Pale skin, dark lipstick. The contrast! The impact! It looked stunning. And goodness, it made it seem like his wet horns had somehow melted at the red tips, mixed into the Red Delicious kisses, and dripped blackly onto his tense muscles. It was so cool.

Standing in front of mirrors again. Playing with fire is fun. Fun is never-ending. Beauty doesn’t last forever. Souls don’t necessarily go to Hell or Heaven. Humans are bound to die. Some people never find a haven. But this man, this man was the Devil. That changed everything; looks are forever, youth is eternal, the heart beats for ever and ever. So, what the fuck is death? What does time mean, then?

Immortality gives time a different flavour, kind of like how certain lipsticks taste nothing alike: one is ‘cherry,’ the second is ‘candy,’ and the third is something else entirely. Maybe ‘chocolate’? Who knows.

Anyways, it’s all very addictive. Being young. The electric sparks of attraction. Admiring a beautiful face. Worshipping a sculpted body. Burning in the fires of desire. Bloody rage.

It can be very pretty, put together in one painterly picture: a horned devil, a beautiful young king, dotted all over with the kisses of a human on her knees before him. The throb of bruises, the pulse of scratches, they aroused him. Because her anger tasted like it spread out from the purest depths of Hell. It was what a dream would taste like, feel like, be. It was what a dream would be.

His eyes were glowing a frantic red, a red redder than those hell flames from fiction’s silly little tales. The petrine crosses, they were like ink on a heart. That rage inside her, it was heroin and honey in his veins. He could not have enough of it. He wanted more. Double the dose. It boiled his blood and made his heartbeats insane!

Fuck, oh, fuck. The kisses weren’t cutting it. The pretty marks on his skin wasn’t cutting it. The colours weren’t cutting it. He wanted her breakable fingers to push his flesh in, turn him purple and blue, make him bruise. He wanted those dainty nails to dig into his skin, carve into it tiny bloody crescent moons. He wanted that delicate palm to scar his face, let it sting like a crimson wound.

It will, it will, it will, it will.

He could be a freak like that, but so what? He was sweet, too. She wasn’t sweet, but she could be his match. She was. So often their hearts and bodies played on the same frequencies. Down for a helping hand. Down for murder. Down for anger. Down for roughness. Down for Hell. Down for sex.

So, you see, ladies and gentlemen, the right colour of lipstick may very well do wonders.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#Whb #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb satan #what in hell is bad satan #the story factory

40 notes · View notes

star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

Keep Me Ablaze

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: it’s here!!!! i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: kissing, swearing, allusions to smut, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Fourteen- We Burn Bad

—-

There is no fire here. There is nothing besides the plants and Eywa, the naturalness of it all. There is no fire here- except for the one in your chest, the small little wildfires you can see in Jake and Neytiri.

She leads you deeper into the forest, her hair unbraided. A yellow flower rests at the back of her head, a matching one behind your ear.

You make it over a bridge, feeling more like a wildfire, more confident. You cross it with ease, convince yourself that it’s not because Jake is behind you. Not because you know he will catch you.

Animals whirl and flutter around, spooked at your arrival, and Neytiri laughs before turning to yours and Jake’s surprised faces.

“Come, come,” she says, tugging on each of you, like she knows the secrets to something special.

She leads you further into the brush of trees, purple-blue hanging down, green forest floor that lights up with your touch.

The hanging tendrils reach out, as if to touch you, and you make the journey easier for them by reaching out yourself. Plant-like, but nothing you have touched before. Newness. Thrill, excitement, confusion all flood your veins like you are the eye of the storm.

“This is a place for prayers to be heard,” Neytiri says, breaking the stillness of the moment. She grabs three tendrils, presses them close to her face. “And sometimes answered.”

You watch as she grabs her queue, everything curling out and the tree lighting up in response. Her eyes close, a sigh escapes her. She looks free. Otherworldly. She doesn’t look like your best friend, not now, not in this moment.

This looks like the girl who brought you whatever your heart desired, you kept you safe, who showed off every skill she had. She had always been trying to show you, you realize now, however subconsciously.

She was always trying to show you she could be good for you. And maybe then she could- when everything was easier. But this is now, this is the moment, and she isn’t good for you. Not now. Not ever again.

“We call these trees Utraya Mokri,” she breathes. She turns back to you and Jake. “The Tree of Voices.” Jake grabs a bundle of the hanging vines, the tendrils. You watch as his muscles flex, as he reaches behind him to grab his queue.

You think back to what he said. How you joked that you would crush him if he tried to carry you- and he said in that body. But he is not in that body now.

He isn’t good for you. Not now, not ever. Grace doesn’t approve of him- you could never be something. Never be anything more than a candle, burning at both ends, never meant to last.

“The voices of your ancestors,” Neytiri explains as you grab your own handful of vines. The tendrils of your queue wrap around it, and you can hear voice, ever so faintly. You can imagine ghostly pale people, stuck behind hospital curtains.

“I can hear them,” Jake says. He is still so new to all of this. All you can do is listen, let the world take over your body.

“They live, Jake. Within Eywa.”

You can hear children laughing. Sisters talking. Women crying.

“You are Omaticaya now,” Neytiri says, placing her hand on Jake’s chest, looking over at you. She looks back at Jake, and her expression is different now. Like she has seen the most beautiful fire in the world and now it is burning out, and she knows she’ll never see something like it again. “You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree.”

You feel like an island with no roots, a moon with no planet to orbit, a fire with no oxygen.

“And you may choose a mate.” She inhales quickly, then turns, an atokirina falling into her palm. “Ninat is the best singer, Jake, and very beautiful. Leyan is strong, Y/N, it was him who stared at you the night of the festival.”

“I don’t want Ninat.”

You do not want Leyan. With each passing moment, the world becomes clear for you, like blinking water out of your eyes after coming up. It is fresh air, a flare of fire. It is Jake and Neytiri, and you love for them that feels like a festering wound in your heart.

Neytiri blows the atokirina away.

“And I don’t think you want Leyan, Y/N.”

When you look at him, eyes wide, his eyes are flicking from you and Neytiri so fast, like he cannot decide who to look at. Like he would rather rip his eyes out and set them upon the two of you. Like he needs to look at the two of you.

You almost want to step closer to Neytiri, let her consume you like a rot, make the strain on Jake’s eyes easier.

“I…” words die in your throat, and Neytiri turns, eyes wide. His voice drops to a whisper, something secret and special.

“You told me that three people can mated.”

He says it almost accusatorially, as if to say “you cannot back out of this. I see into your fire and I know what you want. You want this.”

You want to hear him say it. You imagine yourself as a child, playing games with your Aunt Grace, running around the base while people laughed and yelled.

You are not that girl anymore. You are a wildfire and you will be kept ablaze.

“What are you saying, Jake?” your voice wavers, and you wish it didn’t. You wish you could be strong. But you can’t, not in the face of all this smoke.

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. Your heart stops, drops into your stomach, and you wish hands were there to hold it but it’s wrong. “But these women must choose each other. These women must choose me.”

You cross your arms over your chest, keep your eyes fixed on the ground. You tilt your chin down, like you’re ashamed, and you know this is wrong.

“I love you so bad,” you whisper, nose crinkling and tears ready to fall.

It feels like something is being sealed, some sort of ancient pact, predetermined decision that would always lead you to here. Lead you to them. Lead you to this moment, where all you will do is burn bad.

You are nothing but for them.

“I have chosen for years,” Neytiri mutters, like she is a starved woman staring at the first meal she has seen in a week. When you find the strength to look up, tears in your eyes, want and need and good and bad blending into one, she is looking at you.

She steps forward like it is the only think she can even think about doing, slightly desperate, but confident.

“I want you. I want you, I want you,” she says, like she’s pleading.

“We burn bad,” you say, hands falling to your sides, like you’re reprimanding her.

“We burn together,” she corrects. “Let me have you, Y/N, please let me have you…”

You don’t know when it happened, but she presses so close to you now, her nose brushing yours, forehead pressed against yours. Her hands cup your face and yours settle on your hips, until someone else puts their hands over yours.

You eyes meet Jake. Your lips brush Neytiri.

“We shouldn’t,” you breathe, chin stuck out, breaths so heavy they carry a physicality to them.

Jake shakes his head.

Neytiri presses her lips against yours, hard and fast, almost like you’re kissing a wall. But it’s more about feeling her, about knowing what it means than any possible pleasure.

Yes, it burns, and it burns bad, but you were always meant to burn with them.

—-

You remember names on your lips, a thousand little deaths in your stomach, skin on skin and fire on fire. You remember the soft ground and softer hands, and you remember warrior’s bodies and burning.

“Jake, Jake,” you call, pushing the plastic cage off of you and swinging your legs over the edge, much faster than you should. Your head spins but Jake always falls asleep before you- he is surely hurting his hand with how fast he pushes the wheelchair over to you.

You have to lean against the link pod, hazy and dizzy, until Jake grabs you so softly, your eyes closed. You’re drunk on the moment, on the feel of his fire.

You place your hands on his thighs, letting him have access to your face. He cups it like Neytiri did, like he did earlier that night. He had whispered so many devotions to you like this.

His lips press against your forehead first.

“You’re all fucked out,” he says, fondly. Proud. He knows that he made you this way.

“I want to know… if you taste the same.”

He grins against your forehead, chuckling softly.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, leaning back. A kiss to your nose next. “Whatever you want, babygirl, whatever you need…”

You hum, and his hand cups the back of your head, and you finally press your lips to yours. You imagine everything you could do like this, everything you could feel. But you have already done all of that in another body.

And he tastes the same, tongue slipping into your mouth, and there’s no battle. He says whatever you want, whatever you need, and right now- you just want to feel him. He tastes like the forest. Like Earth, like home. He tastes like memories and bitterness but it goes down just right.

When he pulls away, tucking hair behind your ear, mumbling about luck and love and perfection, he presses his forehead against yours. You wonder if there is a mark of his lips on your forehead, on your nose. You are sure there are marks all over your Avatar body- but it is so late the two of you are the only ones up.

“Tomorrow,” you promise. “Tomorrow I want you to have me, I want you to make me in your bed like you did on the forest floor.”

He presses his lips to your jawline. “You don’t have to ask, baby, you don’t have to ask…”

You burn bad, but it feels good.

—-

taglist:

@eywas-heir @kitkat1690 @tiajk @reallysparklychaos @behindthearcane @neteyamforlife @aeslenya @ghoulbli @luvvsnae @personapersonally @bubble-blu @ameriesworld @itsyoboysparkel @ok-boke @arschbohrer @ambria @ssc7514 @w3ird11 @vane28282 @littlexscarletxwitch @erenjaegerwifee @myheartfollower @simp-erformarvelwomen @maevirago @n7cje @aerangi @minkyungseokie @disaster-in-waiting @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @hot15936 @noname2246 @fanboyluvr @ara-a-bird @fussel9913 @iwaslikeblah @hai-kbai @rosymccheese @itszzmoon

everything taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic

#jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader

337 notes · View notes