#cat cosmetic brush

[stickerskingdom]

cat makeup kit sticker 

#cat sticker #cat theme #cat lover #beauty kit #beauty planner #princess cat #cat cosmetic brush #makeup themed cat #cat brush

[fatemazannat]

Makeup Cat Cosmetic Brush-2022New Black Silver Series-17BASF Hair Soft Brushes-Beginner And Professional Beauty Tools

#Makeup Cat Cosmetic Brush-2022 #lailaenterprise #best buy #discounts #coupons #usa

[lailaenterprise25]

Makeup Cat Cosmetic Brush-2022New Black Silver Series-17BASF Hair Soft Brushes-Beginner And Professional Beauty Tools

#Makeup Cat Cosmetic Brush #Hair Soft Brushes #makeup brushes

[popponn]

xavier rarely wakes up before you. most of the time, you will find his eyes still closed with his arms clinging to you or around you one way or another. but, on the days when his blue eyes are the ones that greet you first thing in the morning, you will be greeted with a soft whispered ‘good morning’ spoken in his morning voice. these kinds of mornings will start slowly with a shared smile and quiet conversation about mundane, small things. it could be the cat he saw yesterday or that particularly funny part from his dream. then, it will end with his nose brushing against yours gently. sometimes it will lead to a kiss, sometimes he will simply stay there with your forehead against each other’s. sometimes, it will lead to long hours of cuddling and going back to sleep. it is after all that, he will finally start his day along with yours. though, of course, as an end note, even if he doesn’t wake up first, please do always let him begin his days with you. he will still be drowsy—like always—but in a very embarrassingly obvious manner that his expression can’t hide, he will be happy.

zayne seems to develop a habit of taking care of your clothing at some point. it is subtle enough, but it is undeniably there. he often crouches down to tie your shoes for you—without you asking, despite your protests. if you say he doesn’t have to, he will simply say that it is more effective or faster that way, or that he simply doesn’t see a reason not to. if you feel bad, you could return him by doing a favor anyway, he reasons. afterward, it will continue into him adjusting the scarf around your neck, tidying a crease on your collar, or zipping up your jacket right before the two of you go out. he too doesn’t shy from putting your lipstick or lip balm on for you. at some point, during a break day, you might find him sitting on the sofa, reading and watching tutorials about skincare or makeup. if you approach him, expect him to ask you to watch it along with him, though in through mister doctor fashion it might lead to journal and research about cosmetics that he will read to you.

rafayel loves your attention. and it shows—in a very annoying way that unfortunately has found its way to be adorable to your heart. he unabashedly wears a smug smile and keeps on mentioning how you couldn’t stay away from him whenever he spoons you. if you are the one spooning him, turns out he is not above acting like a spoiled brat who demands affection until he is sated. in a way, it is similar to having a puppy that is a fish and a lover at the same time. but beyond all his louder actions, there will always be a part of him that is softer in the way of a cozy rain and a warm blanket. it’s the part of him who will always listen to whatever you say and the part of him that will, will always have you as his ‘happy ending’ no matter what. the part of him that shows itself in the form of a smile full of yearning even when he cups your face with both of his hands. he has his secrets and his affection for you is not one of them. yet, despite everything, it still feels like he couldn’t quite manage to get all of it out for you. so, at least, when it is time for him to give you a glimpse into how much he holds you dear, do give him your undivided attention.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace fluff #drabbles #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #happy valentine btw!!!! #one day i want to properly write a fic for this series but until then this is my first offering #rafayel is an experience to write recently because i feel like i need to pinpoint his personality and demanour. #xavier is easier for reasons. while dr zayne is just turbo yearning ten thousand. lipstick scene in the event change lives

[eddiethehunted]

i want you to touch it softly (ao3)

believe it or not, this one isn't a wip, it's COMPLETE! rated: m (to be safe, tbh could probably be rated t) | cw: drug use, horny discussion, eddie has a thing for his hair getting pulled (implied) | wc: 1.6k | robin/vickie mentioned, platonic stobin, mutual pining, steve being into hair care and skincare, idiot4idiot, the usual <3 title from ariana grande 'my hair'

—————

Steve’s curled into a corner of the couch, watching the movie with glazed eyes, his knees drawn up to his chest. Robin’s feeling a little buzzed herself, laying on her side on the other end of the couch, with Eddie sat cross legged on the floor in front of her, scribbling away in a notebook.

Without really thinking much about it, she reaches forward and starts playing with Eddie’s hair. He startles at first, glancing over his shoulder, but she just smiles at him and twirls a curl around her finger and he relaxes, so she doesn’t stop.

“Okay, I have to know,” she says, because really, Eddie’s curls are beautiful, just really dry and frizzy and she’s stoned and nosy and curious. “Is this a perm? Or is it natural?”

Eddie looks offended, shooting her a reproachful look over his shoulder and saying, “It’s natural.”

She nods, twirling a piece around her finger again. She can see Steve on the other end of the couch looking over sulkily. Jealous. She thinks it’s adorable, the way Steve quickly looks away when she glances over at him.

“It’s so crunchy,” Robin says, “how much hairspray do you have in here?”

Another affronted look. “None! I just washed my hair before I came here.”

It’s still a bit damp around the roots, so she knows he’s not lying. She gets her fingers really in it, pulls his head back a little bit, and he makes this weird sound in the back of his throat. It’s something between pleased and irritated, like when you pet a cat that can’t decide if it wants to purr or claw at your hand.

Steve huffs and pretends he’s still watching the movie, but Robin bets he’s jealous as hell right now. He has expressed to Robin several times how badly he wants to be allowed to play with Eddie’s hair but he can’t because that’s weird and guy friends don’t do that and he doesn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable.

As if Eddie doesn’t melt into a puddle of horny lovesick goo the second Steve so much as brushes against him.

It’s not really her place to tell him how many times Eddie has complained to her about his own pathetic crush, though, so she never does. Just lets them both lament and pine and complain to her about how badly they want each other, and how sad and tragic and woeful their lives are that it’ll never be requited love. Pats Eddie’s shoulder when he covers his face and whisper screams into his hands when Steve walks by wearing those stupid jock shorts and lets Steve lay his head in her lap and whine about Eddie’s arms and his hands and his mouth and—kinda just everything.

(It’s only fair, though. They’ve both heard enough of her salivating over the short skirts Vickie always wears on their dates. And that one low cut shirt she wears that shows off her cute tits. The least she can do is listen, even if it kinda makes her want to bash her head into the wall sometimes.)

Steve likes hair, she knows. Skincare too. He likes products and he understands skin types and hair textures pretty well, considering she’s sure he’s never learnt anything cosmetic-related, at least not formally. He put her on some new shampoo a few months ago and her hair’s never been so soft and healthy and wavy before.

Eddie’s hair is dry. It’s kinda fried, even. It’s brittle and tangled and not really rough to the touch, but definitely not as soft as it could be, and she knows it drives Steve insane. Like, Steve likes Eddie’s hair like it is—she’s sat through way too many sexually frustrated rants about how badly he wants to mess it up—but he knows how to help it, and he wants to, because it’s like, his love language or something.

“Damn. Your hair is dry.” Robin glances sidelong at Steve again, trying to project her thoughts into his mind. “You should use a hair mask or something.”

“Some of us are poor,” Eddie says indignantly, jerking his head away. He scoots closer to Steve’s side of the couch, out of her reach, and glowers at her as he pulls his notes to the other side of the coffee table. “My hair’s fine, thank you very fucking much.”

“I’m poor too, dumbass,” Robin points out. “I just steal Steve’s stuff.”

Steve snorts, letting his head loll back against the back of the couch, his eyelids heavy. He’s been quiet all night—he gets that way sometime when he’s high, just stops talking and sits there, quietly listening to whatever’s going on around him—but he speaks up for the first time in over an hour to mumble, “Not stealing if I’m givin’ it to you.”

“Whatever,” Robin says, waving a hand. “Touch Eddie‘s hair, dude. It’s crispy.”

Eddie shoots a desperate, betrayed look at her, then says to Steve, “I will bite your hand off, Steve.”

“Mhm, bet you will,” Steve says, ignoring the warning, because Eddie is all cozy in his plaid PJ pants and Steve’s old hoodie and therefore about as threatening as a small gerbil, “lemme see.”

He reaches out to touch with only the faintest flush on his cheeks. It could easily be blamed on his high, but Robin knows him as well as she knows the back of her own hand. Steve is absolutely losing his shit right now. He’s just really good at hiding it.

“Dry,” he confirms. His hand lingers in Eddie’s hair and Robin notices that Eddie doesn’t bristle nearly as much when Steve’s the one with his hand all wrapped up in it.

Rude. But understandable.

“What the hell,” Eddie complains, but he sounds decidedly less irritated and a whole lot more flustered now. He’s nowhere near as good at hiding it as Steve.

Robin hides a smile when she notices how he’s not doodling in the margins of his paper anymore, but instead twisting a ring around his finger and staring hard at the wall.

Okay, she's more than aware of the fact that she started this, but she’s starting to think that maybe she should, like, go. Give them some privacy or whatever. Save herself of having to experience this.

“Th’s’not a bad thing,” Steve murmurs in his soupy, slow, stoned voice. Robin might not be into guys at all—especially not Steve, he’s like, Steve—but she’s not an idiot, she can tell in a purely observational way how the gravely sound of it could be sexy. She’s not completely oblivious.

Neither is Eddie, apparently, because there’s a strange glazed look in his eyes that Robin is sure has nothing to do with the weed in his system. His adam’s apple bobs as Steve runs his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit near the roots to pull Eddie’s head closer.

Eddie goes willingly. Quietly. Steve looks delighted, a big stupid smile on his face.

She is seriously such a genius. Steve owes her, seriously.

“Not a bad thing,” Eddie echoes.

“No, s’nice like this anyway.” Steve gathers it all into one hand, like a ponytail, before letting it fall slowly, playing with it like that over and over as goosebumps break out over Eddie’s neck.

“How do I—” Eddie sounds like he’s choking, the back of his ears and neck bright red. “Uh—make it better?”

“A hair mask might help,” Steve says, rolling onto his side so he can get both hands in Eddie’s hair. He’s too out of it to notice the violent shudder that tears through Eddie’s body. “You should do a porosity test.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie says blankly. Robin nearly cackles. Eddie has no fucking clue what’s going on. He checked out the second Steve got his hands in his hair.

“That’s the one where you see if your hair floats?” she prompts, when it’s clear Eddie isn’t going to say anything else, too dumbfounded to process anything that Steve’s saying to him.

“Mmmhm.” Steve gives a little smile, pleased that she remembers, and of course she does.

Eddie’s eyes shut and he presses his lips into a firm line at the sound of Steve’s agreement, like he’s fighting some kind of demons inside. Steve’s still got his hands buried in Eddie’s hair, eyes glassy as he watches the frizzy strands run through his fingers.

“Maybe high porosity. Feels rough.” He tugs a little, maybe on accident, or maybe he’s too stoned to think better of it. “Wanna try a hair mask?”

“Uh,” Eddie says.

Robin kicks him, not at all subtly, and he coughs, straightening up a little bit.

“Uh, yeah,” he chokes out. “Um… if you think it’ll help, I guess. Why not.”

God, Eddie owes her too. She’s such a good friend.

Steve’s hands fall from Eddie’s hair as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, somewhat clumsily. He catches Robin’s eye, biting his lip in an excited smile, and she grins back, giving him a thumbs up.

“If the pizza shows up there’s cash in my wallet,” Steve tells her, getting to his feet and offering his hand to an absolutely flustered-looking Eddie. “C’mon, gonna show you how to take care of those pretty curls.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open, gaping like a fish out of water. Robin can’t help but snicker, grinning wider when he shoots her a bewildered, panicked look over his shoulder as Steve tugs him towards the stairs.

She curls into her corner of the couch, pulling the blanket closer to her chin and putting her focus back onto the movie as she waits for the doorbell to ring. Grease is always a classic, and, well, whatever happens between her two favourite idiots next is really none of her business.

She does turns up the volume, though. Just in case.

#steddie fic #steddie #THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER #updated with ao3 link

[cambion-companion]

hi, i’m not doing well. i had to give up my cats today, and my heart hurts a lot. i was wondering if i could request something soft if you have anything in mind. even some headcanons would be fantastic. i’m just heartbroken that i had to give up my babies on top of everything else i’m going through.

Oh darling I am so sorry. My heart hurts for you. I will most certainly write something to help in what little way I can.

Lips

Aemond x reader | soft fluff | admiring Aemond's mouth | trying a new lipstick leads to interesting shenanigans

"It's a lovely shade, perhaps a bit too red for my complexion." You smacked your lips together, having applied a thin layer of your newest cosmetic. "What do you think, Aemond?"

"I'm not the authority on differing shades of lipstick, my dear." Your lover leaned against the doorframe, watching fondly as you sat at your vanity. "It does look lovely on you...however I can think of other places it could be as well."

"Aemond." You scolded gently, rolling your eyes at him. "You're terrible."

"Hmm, so I've been told."

You rose from your seat, crossing to where he stood, wrapping your arms around his trim waist. You placed your head upon his chest, relishing the familiar smokey scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

A gentle finger hooked itself under your chin, lifting your gaze to his. "Are you well, my dear?" Aemond's violet eye drank in your features as it roved over your face.

You suppressed an instinctual grimace at the question. "I've...been better."

"I heard what happened. You need not disguise your pain for my sake." Aemond dipped his head, brushing his lips against yours before pressing a soft kiss to your mouth.

He pulled away slightly, your eyes fell to his plush lips, a giggle bubbling from your chest as you saw that your lipstick had transferred onto his skin. "You look quite dashing in rouge, I must say!"

"Gods..." Aemond moved to rub the back of his hand against his pretty mouth, but you caught his jaw with your fingers, pulling him back into your warm embrace. You kissed him soundly and he didn't put up a fight, even as you smooched his cheek theatrically, leaving behind a suggestive stain.

He pressed his forehead to yours, your gentle laughter mingling as you savored each other's comforting warmth.

"Come, let me clean you up." You led him to the sofa where the two of you sat.

"Something I am accustomed to saying to you." Aemond grinned as you swatted his shoulder.

You patted your lap. "Lie down."

"As my ember commands." Aemond laid his long body languidly across the cushions of the sofa, his head pillowed by your thighs.

You took your time, combing your fingers through the silver hair that fanned out across your legs. Tracing delicate fingers along the contours of his face, rising to lift the eyepatch from its place and set it to rest beside you. The sapphire gem glittered up at you, contrasting beautifully with the lilac of Aemond's remaining eye.

"You're lovely, my prince." You said honestly, continuing to run your fingers down his cheek, touching where your lips had left their mark.

"I...thank you, Y/N."

You smiled, nodding at him as you dipped a cloth inside the warm water of the wash basin beside you. "Sȳz taoba. Accept the compliment, don't reject it."

"Call me a 'good boy' again and I may not be able to lie still upon your lap, Y/N." Aemond's eye had dilated slightly at your praise, he gazed up into your face as you began dabbing away the rouge from his skin.

"Promises, promises." You murmured, earning yourself another low chuckle from the prince. "Now hold still, I'm going to clean your mouth. Can't have the court thinking you've caught some sort of skin ailment."

"Perish the thought."

"Stop talking, Aemond."

"Oh, right."

He closed his mouth, still watching you intently as you began gently rubbing off the lipstick. They were so lovely, his lips. The shape of his mouth something you had not seen before in man or woman. The sharpness of his cupid's bow tempered by the lush fullness of his top and bottom lips. When they were not pursed in displeasure or focus, Aemond's mouth was quite a pleasant thing to look at.

"Must be quite the stain." Aemond quipped, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eye crinkling at you.

"Mmhmm. Now hush." You pressed a finger against his bottom lip, studying the softness of his skin there, and how your finger could easily slide into his mouth with just one movement.

You traced the shape of his upper lip, having discarded the cleaning rag back into the basin. The curvature of his mouth fascinated you, and the more you studied it the more you wished to feel it pressed against your heating skin.

"You're clean." Your voice came out as a whisper, your eyes following Aemond's fluid movement as he rose to a sitting position, his face inches from yours.

"Cannot say the same for my thoughts." He intoned, his breath mingling with yours, his eye falling to your own parted lips.

"Are they ever?" You leaned in closer, craving the taste of him.

"On occasion." Aemond brushed his mouth against yours, your noses bumping. "Though certainly not when my lover has been caressing my lips with such fervor."

"There was a lot of lipstick on them."

"Hmm." Aemond's hooded eye was unfocused. "Shall we explore the possibilities of what else your pretty mouth can mark?"

"I could be persuaded." You reached up, tangling your fingers in Aemond's long hair, pulling him into you as his own hands stroked your sides.

He groaned quietly as you slowly pressed a kiss to his parted lips, electric arrows shot to your core as he bent you back against the cushions, leaning atop you as he deepened the embrace.

The shape of his mouth hot against your own awoke molten fire in your belly. You opened your legs to him, hugging his waist with your thighs as Aemond's tongue stroked along your own.

He broke away, his hair falling in a silver curtain to frame your faces. "We have to prepare for the feast that has...probably already started." Aemond sat up, looking regretfully down at your prone body as you arched against the sofa. "We will pick up where we left off after the festivities."

He raised your hand to his lush mouth, placing a kiss to each of your knuckles. "I know you're suffering, however silently, Y/N. Believe me when I say I will make you forget your troubles...if only for a little while."

"Your very presence eases my pain, Aemond." You cupped his face in your hand, caressing his bottom lip.

Aemond turned his face into your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. His fingers rubbing soft circles against your wrist as he held you to him.

"You may want to, ah, bring the wash basin over here." Aemond smirked mischievously as he donned his eyepatch once more. "We've made a bit of a mess. One that would be obvious in origin to those at the feast."

"Oh!" You touched your face self-consciously. "Wouldn't want the ladies of weak constitution to faint at the scandal."

"Nor the over eager men to draw swords for your honor."

"They wouldn't."

"You'd be unpleasantly surprised what bored lordlings get up to during their days at court."

The two of you helped each other clean the marks from your skin, it had gotten all over the outside of your mouth from the passion of your kisses. Aemond bit down his chuckles at your state of disarray after you shot him an arch glare. Once tidied and dressed, you walked forth from your chambers arm in arm, descending together to the great hall. Your mind quite preoccupied with memories of Aemond's soft mouth beneath your fingertips and what lay in store for you at the end of the night.

#aemond fluff #aemond oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfic #aemond imagine #aemond drabble #aemond targaryen scenarios #prince aemond x reader #hotd aemond x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd fluff #hotd aemond x you #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye x reader #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction

[underfaller]

felis catus

Reposted due to formatting issues (damn mobile) Pairing: Dottore x neko!reader CW: petplay, shock collars, spanking, medical experimentation Word Count: 2.1k

Perhaps it was your fault. You had been the one to swipe at him. However, that crazy doctor was asking for it. He’d been much too handsy, leaving no part of you untouched as he examined you. He’d poked you one too many times with one too many syringes filled with who knows what. 

Yes, Dottore certainly had it coming. You felt no remorse. 

So now here you were: your face pressed painfully against the cold, metal examination table, hands painfully twisted behind your back. You looked up at Dottore with glinting, furious eyes. 

“Let me go!” You hissed, your tail swished angrily as if you were trying to smack him with it. Unfortunately, you did not get that satisfaction.

“Now, why would I do that?” Dottore tilted his head mockingly. “When I started this experiment, I initially thought you’d only gain cosmetic features, could it be you’re becoming more feline-like, psychologically?” 

“Screw you! That isn’t what’s happening!” 

You always wondered how you got here. You came to the Second Harbinger willingly. You were always a sickly individual-- and you had been desperate enough to volunteer yourself as a test subject with the hopes that Dottore would be able to cure your ailments. However, instead of being relieved of any of your symptoms, you now found yourself with cat ears and a tail. Dottore’s current scientific endeavors were… interesting to say the least. You’d protested of course, but research consent isn’t really a thing in this laboratory. If this were fantasy, you’d find it to be a comedy. But since it was your life… 

Well, it wasn’t so funny then. 

“Or perhaps you were always catty,” Dottore laughed. “You’re certainly not a cooperative subject. I suppose we’ll simply have to observe you further for definite results …” 

“You better not turn me into an actual cat,” You squirmed indignantly, trying to escape his grasp. 

Dottore brushed his hand against your hair, burying it in your locks as he pressed your head down.

“If you continue to fight me, I just might. Though, that would be a bit disadvantageous for me.” 

The harbinger reached a hand out, using a slim finger to scratch behind your cat ears. It's embarrassing to admit that it felt nicer than it should. You shook your head, your ears twitching with irritation. 

“Don’t do that! I’m not your pet!” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Of course not!”

Dottore clicked his tongue.

“Tsk. The two are quite similar. However, the line between a test subject and a pet blurs when it comes to someone with your qualities, no?”

You finally manage to break free but before you can even turn around, Dottore once again pins you down, this time holding you by the scruff. “Hold still, will you?” He snapped. 

You’ve certainly heard that tone before. Perhaps it’s in your best interests to not retaliate further. 

“As I was saying, if you were a test subject, I suppose I should dissect you now. See how many pieces of you I can replace or modify before your body rejects them. A very grisly fate, but nothing you aren’t used to seeing here…” 

A dark grin formed on his masked face. 

“If you were a pet, I’d still take you apart-- just more slowly. I wouldn’t kill you so quickly. Perhaps I’d even let you choose what I alter,” Dottore shrugged. “Hmph, the choice is yours though. I respect my subjects’ wishes.”

You mentally scoffed at that. Dottore was certainly as much of a hypocrite as he was insane. 

Still, you preferred to keep your organs intact for as long as possible. 

“Fine. I’ll choose the latter.” 

“A wise decision.” 

Dottore leans in your ear, his mask tickling the delicate furred skin. 

“I suppose the first thing I should do, then, is punish you for scratching me. Such a disobedient pet needs to be trained before we can go any further.” 

You stayed silent, seething. You wanted to turn around and punch Dottore right in the face. You hated how he dehumanized you, how he saw you as nothing more than something to tinker and play with. 

But you knew how he was when you came here, why did you think you’d be any different? 

Dottore continued to press against you, keeping you in place as he rummaged in a drawer beside him. After a bit, he pulled out a shock collar clearly meant for animals. He dangled it in front of your face. 

“Do you know what this is?”

Your eyes widened and you grit your teeth. 

“Don’t you dare-” 

Click. 

Dottore fastened the collar around your neck and pressed the button in the middle of it. A sharp jolt of electricity shocked you. You cried out in surprise and pain. 

“This collar reacts to any vibrations in your vocal chords. It’s usually meant to prevent dogs from barking,” Dottore explained. 

His voice is basically dripping with anticipation. You can’t see his face, but you knew he most certainly had that shit- eating grin plastered on his face.

“In other words, if you use that unruly mouth of yours, you're going to get a nasty shock.” 

You scowled.

“That's- OW!” 

You yelped as you were once again shocked. 

Dottore laughed at your reaction. He kept you bent over the table as he slid your thin gown up, exposing your underwear. He rubbed your butt gently. You instantly stiffened. 

“And now it's time for your punishment.”

With that, he spanked you. Hard.

You cried out involuntarily. Sure enough, the collar shocks you almost as soon as you make such a  sound. You struggled wildly to get out of his grip. You couldn’t see it, but Dottore was looking down at you with sadistic glee. He was clearly enjoying your predicament. 

“Oh my dear, didn't I tell you that you have to be quiet?” He simpered, his voice sickeningly sweet. “You must be a slow learner.” 

Dottore spanked you again. And again. You grit your teeth, trying not to cry out. Your fingernails scratched the metal table as you pathetically tried to grip onto something. You turned, your eyes meeting Dottore as you glared at him with silent contempt. He stopped, leaning in close. His gloved hand stroked your cheek, a sympathetic smirk on his face. 

“Now, now, sweetheart. Don’t look at me like that. You know you deserved this. But fear not, if you’re good at enduring this, I’ll be sure to reward you.” 

Dottore  kissed you on the head before hitting you one more time, much harder than before. You let out a choked cry, burying your head as best you could into the cold metal. He grabbed your ass once again, rubbing the tender, red skin as if to rub the pain in. You whimpered softly-- which thankfully doesn’t set off the collar. 

“Very good. You’re learning, pet. But there’s still so much more for you to learn. So much more for you to experience.” 

Dottore raised his arm, using his teeth to pull his glove off before throwing it on the surface next to you. 

“And I’m going to be here to teach you every step of the way.” 

Your breathing hitched as his hand moved under your butt, feeling your crotch. He pressed his hand against the fabric of your underwear, his index finger grazing your slit. He instantly noticed how wet you actually are despite your apparent displeasure. He laughed aloud and you blushed, humiliation painting your cheeks red. 

“Oh, my little experiment. Look how wet you are. Are you enjoying this? Could this little brat actually be a masochist?”

“No way! Ow!” 

“Oho, careful, dear,” He murmured. 

You gasped as Dottore began to play with you through your underwear. You let out a small whimper as pleasure runs up your spine. This is more enjoyable than it should be. You’re so embarrassed you can’t even think. Dottore soon found your sensitive clit, rolling the bud lazily between his forefinger and thumb, squeezing and kneading until it grew engorged and aroused. Your mind began to go hazy as your breathing became heavier. Your tail flicked and curled as you involuntarily spread your legs. 

He chuckled. 

“Aw, look at you. You’re practically getting off just by my teasing,” Dottore mocked. “Are you that much of a slut? If I’d known that, I would’ve done this ages ago.” 

You pant, looking at the doctor from the corners of your eyes with a lustful expression. Your mind was swimming. You could feel his hardened member against your thigh. You should feel horrified, but instead your mind began to wander. The way he’s playing with you right now is more of a tease than anything. You wonder what it’d be like to feel something that large inside you…

“Hmm… Since you took your punishment quite nicely, I suppose you deserve a little reward.” 

You could hear him unzip his pants. Your underwear slipped to the ground. Soon, you felt his warm, erect cock against your bare cunt, wet and hot, yearning to be filled. 

You don’t have to wait long. He soon pressed himself into you. Your walls welcomed him, hugging his cock as he set a slow, methodic pace. You swore you could feel the veins of his member as he brushed against your bumps and grooves with each thrust. 

“Nngh…” 

You covered your mouth, trying not to let out a moan that you know would warrant a shock. 

“Tsk, now that won’t do.” 

Dottore suddenly plunged into you, setting a brutal pace. It’s only then that you cry out. The collar shocked you for every lewd noise you spew. The pain mixed with the pleasure… It's too much. You didn’t know if this is a reward or torture of the worst kind. You could feel yourself become tighter as your breathing hitched before you let out a pathetic, choked scream. Your cum spilled on Dottore’s dick as your orgasm painted your vision white. You shuddered, breathing shakily as your orgasm overtook you. 

But the mad scientist isn’t done with this test yet. Dottore continued to fuck you through your orgasm, the dulling pleasure lolling over you like waves before you’re suddenly overtaken once more by another building climax. He grabbed your leg, bending it up against the table surface as he pressed even further against you. From this angle, he penetrated you even deeper than before. Dottore gripped your hips tight enough to leave marks as he thrusted deeper and faster. You swore you heard him growl once or twice in your ear, obviously pleasured as much by you as you were of him. 

Did you just come again? You aren’t even sure anymore. 

You can feel tears prick your eyes, the overstimulation becoming unbearable. You don’t know if you’re feeling pain or pleasure at this point as you sob and whimper and moan against the table. Your belly bulged uncomfortably, a part of you is actually frightened that he’s going to pierce through your womb at this rate. 

Dottore saw your anguish and  kissed you once more. This time, you found a strange reassurance in it. 

“You’re doing so well, pet. Admit it. You love being used like this don’t you?”

“M…hm…” 

“What was that?” 

“Yes…” 

“Yes, who?” 

“Yes, master.” 

Dottore laughed softly, licking your salty tears. Your crying excited him more, you could feel his thrusts becoming more sloppy and uncoordinated as he got closer to climaxing. 

“Good girl,” He panted. “Tell me what you are. What you are to me.”

“I’m..your… pet.” 

“That’s correct.” 

Dottore groaned, letting his semen fill your womb. He pulled out and you instantly slumped against the table like a ragdoll. You don’t even have the energy to stand up, so you just sort of lay there, breathing heavily and shivering. You peered at Dottore with half-lidded eyes. Dottore adjusted himself before picking you up. You’re clearly in no position to walk in your fucked-out state, instead opting to curl up in his arms, burying your face in his shirt. He smiled down at you. 

“My little pet. Aren’t things much nicer when you’re obedient?” 

Inspired by @yandere-daydreams post

#dottore #il dottore #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Bathroom List Pt. 2

1 - stylistsims - Donation Tokyo Bathtub

2 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 The Sims 4 Parenthood Xtreme Shower Tub

3-5 - ArtVitalex - Vitner Cupboard Short, Cupboard High, Shelf (TSR)

6-12 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 novvvas Wabi-Sabi Bathroom (AESOP Amazing Face Cleanser, Geranium Leaf Body Cleanser, Oral Care Kit, Primrose Facial Cleansing Masque, Shampoo & Soap, Shaving Kit, AESOP Stuff)

13-14 - Mari - ms91 Cocoa Butter RC June 2016 & OBP June 2016 Beauty Creams Package Design

15-16 - Kittypixelz - 4t3 Mechtasims Essential Clutter Conditioner & Shampoo

17-19 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Slox Kopo Apato Set Beauty Product 1-3

20-21 - Onyx - Excelsior Towel & Towel Holder Free Standing (TSR)

22, 24, 27 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 PsychicPeanutKitty November Bathroom Clutter (Hand Soap & Lotion, Toilet Paper, Small Towels)

23, 25-26, 28-32 - SugarSSims - 4t3 CWB Dress Up Moment (Cat Ear Desk Mirror, Nail Polish Stand, Lipsticks in a Heart Box, Eye Shadow Collection, Fake Eyelashes, Kitty Blusher Stick, Cosmetics Clutter, Brush Holder)

33 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 KerriganHouseDesigns Slate Set Towels

34 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Too Faced Set (You're So Jelly Highlighter, Mr. Brushes, Better Than Sex Falsie Lashes, Shadow Highlight Palette)

35 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kawaii Stuff II Cosmetics Set (Apeach Body Lotion, Baby Face BB Cream, Balm, Body & Lip Creams, Cactus Oil Free Cream, Cat's Purrfect Cream, Hand Cream, Ice Cream Nail Polish, Lifting Cream, Mist, Moisturizing Emulsion & Oil, Peeling Gel, Pimple Stickers)

36 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kawaii Stuff II Extras (Acne Patches, Cat's Cleaner, CatChu Wink Lipstick, Cleansing Cream-Foam-Lotion, Deep Cream, Makeup Remover, Masks, Panda Cream, Panda's Dream Brightening Eye Base, Pocket Bunny Sleek Mist V2, Saturday Skin, Strawberry Milk Body Lotion, Whale Moisture Boost, Witch Piggy Pore Control)

37 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Beauty Blender Washing Machine

38 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 novvvas Lycka Bathroom Shelf

39 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Skincare Beauty Fridge Closed

#cc list #ts3cc #s3cc #s3ccfinds

[straykids-97]

Vermilion

“Why do we offer vermilion to God?”

Chan likes when you make him feel powerful. And one thing he likes to do is hunt… you. 

Warnings: cat/mouse dynamics/primal play, (Chan hunts y/n through a crowd of people), brat taming, dom/sub dynamics, fear play (Chan enjoys terrorizing y/n. A literal menace.) Sensory play, (Chan’s senses are heightened so the reader uses them to try and mess w him.) Blood play (duh. Chan’s a vampire.)

Word Count: 3.7k 

Pics below are how I imagine Chan looks at the reader when he's annoyed and well. The second is just hot heh.

You and Chan had been planning this excursion for weeks now. There was a festival happening near where you lived and you were dying to go. Chan, of course, being the protective boyfriend he was, didn’t like the idea of you going alone. There, however, was one small problem. 

Chan wasn’t human. He hadn’t been for at least 100 years. So, being a vampire, existing around a crowd of humans was difficult. Even though he was by your standards, ‘old’, he was still a young vampire to his Coven. But, you made it more manageable; you grounded him. 

“Did you remember your suppressing necklace?” You questioned, peeking up at him as he pivoted awkwardly. While Chan was graceful in his age, he sometimes appeared awkward around you. Especially when he was experiencing something new with you. It made him apprehensive, defensive even. This was something he hadn’t done since he was a human. And it made him uneasy.

He adjusted his dark shirt, his hands anchoring on his belt as he tightened it, “Yep. Going to get it now.” You fluttered your eyes a few times. Your mind went numb by observing your boyfriend do something as simple as adjusting his belt made your brain short circuit. “I’ll see you when you get home then?” You breathe out. “See ya.” He gave your forehead a quick peck before dipping out of the kitchen where you were standing. You cleared your throat, “Damn.” you bite your lip and watch him close the door behind him. 

After collecting yourself, you remember that you need to get prepared for the carnival while Chan was out. He’d be taking you directly after he gets home. So, you had approximately an hour to get ready. You intended on wearing a no-frills green summer dress with a deep V. You smooth the dress out and rush to the washroom to curl your hair in delicate waves. Just as you finish applying mascara, you hear the front door open. “Y/n?” Chan’s voice calls into your home, “In the bathroom!” You answer, as you unplug the now cooled-off hair machine and begin to wrap the cord around it. 

You bent over placing the curler beneath the sink when you hear Chan take a resonant breath, “Are you wearing a dress?” You turn to glance at him, brushing the hair from your eyes, you nod. “Yeah. Why, is it too much?” You question, looking down at your outfit. You peek back up at him with big eyes, hoping that he’d cave and let you wear the dress. Chan shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before taking one long step toward you. “No. Please change. I’ll meet you in the car.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and left you to stand there bewildered. 

Did he really just say that you couldn’t wear this dress? He literally bought it for you? 

You grit your teeth as you put your cosmetics away, “No? I’ll show you.” You grumble, tossing the last thing into your bag of makeup before tucking it away on your side of the sink. You toddle angrily to your bedroom and grab your jean jacket, “I’ll show him.” You fluff your locks onto your shoulders, jerking your jacket into place, and you stare at yourself in the mirror in your shared bedroom. With a definitive huff, you seize your phone and bag and marched to the door. 

Chan was too engrossed with his phone to detect that you hadn’t changed, “Ready?” He questioned, putting the car into drive. You simply nod and stare out the window, your heart racing. You hoped that suppressor was powerful enough that he couldn’t hear your racing heart. Normally, if Chan said to do something, you obeyed with no objection. Maybe it was because of what he was, maybe this suppressor was stronger than either of you realized…

After 30 minutes of driving, you reached the bustling city center where the festival was being held. Chan effortlessly found parking and got out to pay for the meter, you slowly get out of the car, adjusting your jacket and putting your purse across your body. You began to fidget; Chan was about to see that you hadn’t changed. You hoped that he wouldn’t take you both home. He totally would and you knew that. So you prayed he would have a change of heart for tonight and deal with you later when you got home. 

You wait patiently by the end of the car as Chan approaches you and you hold your breath as he takes your hand. “C’mon.” He nods his head toward the festival that was in full swing ahead of you. He offers your a soft smile as he steers you forward, and you feel a little better; maybe Chan doesn’t care as much because of his suppressor? You considered as he lingers near one of the stalls that had several different kinds of food. “Which one?” Chan asks, taping the glass that divided the food and you. 

You take a deep breath and tilt forward, gazing at the different kinds of corn dog choices. You bite your lip, deep in thought. You decide on the mozzarella cheese one, “I’d like to get the mozz-” you stop talking when you notice that the man behind the booth was shamelessly staring down your dress at your exposed chest, only glancing away awkwardly when he was caught, “-arella cheese one.” You stammer, glancing at Chan. He undoubtedly witnessed the man staring, and that you hadn’t changed. Chan’s gaze bounced between your breasts and the man’s face, who looked utterly petrified; a normal reaction when Chan was enraged near humans. “Coming right up!” The man squeaked, turning away and hastily getting your order ready. You gaze up at Chan, who narrowed his eyes at you for a beat before shifting to pay for the food. Shit. You thought as he calmly takes the food without thanking the tender, quietly handing your food to you. 

Chan takes your hand in his and guides you further into the festival, enjoying his food as he peeked around the throng of people. “Chan…” You trail off. He didn’t reply but you knew even if he didn’t have his superhuman hearing, a normal human could hear with how close the two of you were as you moved through the crowd. “Chan-” 

“We will talk about this later.” His tone was low and absolute. He didn’t want to talk about this here or right now. You drop it instantly, not wanting him to snap and get him into trouble with his Coven. You sigh and look over to a booth, “Oh!” You point frantically in the direction of a stall that had several kinds of stuffed animals. Chan chuckles, “Alright. Alright.” He sighs, permitting you to tug him toward the booth. After a few tries, Chan manages to win a medium-sized stuffed animal. You were happy, but Chan was aggravated. “If I didn’t have this ridiculous suppressor on, I could have won more than one of those dumb things.” He griped. “Well, I like the penguin you got me, thank you.” You squeeze the stuffed animal and pause to look around to see what to do next. Your eyes bounce over the different stalls that lined the street, “Oh, look at that one!” you go to grab your boyfriend only to grab nothing. You do a 360, discovering that Chan had kept wandering, leaving you alone to be shifted around in the crowd. 

Your heart rammed in your chest, panicking, you call out, “Chan?!” you curse to yourself. Chan wouldn’t be able to hear you with that suppressor on or smell you. Not that he could, there were probably too many scents that it would be hard to find you. Just as you sensed your chest constrict, you feel your phone vibrate in your purse. You frantically search for it, immediately answering, “Hello?” 

“Where are you?” Chan’s voice was calm, but he too sounded frantic. “I don’t know. The crowd moved me around, I have no idea where I am.” You confess, glancing around. “Do you see anything? What booths are near you?” He asked. You glance around, “Um… A few that are selling like necklaces and stuff?” Chan scoffs, “That’s nearly a dozen places. What else?” 

“I’m just trying to help.” You say, feeling irritated, “There’s a food vendor selling cakes.” You offer. Silence before you hear him sigh, “Do you see any carnival games?” He asked. “No. I don’t. Chan- I don’t know where I am.” There was a long pause. “Y/n, I’m taking the suppressor off to find you. Don’t move. Stay on the phone with me. Please.” He requests. You take a deep breath, feeling irked again. “You’re being awful insisting today.” You grumble. “Oh? How so?” He asked, the sound of carnival games playing in the background of the call. “First I couldn’t go with you to get your suppressor from the Coven,” you begin to list of things that he demanded of you, “and then you told me to change. You bought this as a gift. Why can’t I wear it?” You nearly shout. Your frustrations were aired out, and though Chan would most likely be upset, you felt better knowing that you had said them out loud. 

“That’s what this is about? Isn’t it?” He asks. “What?” You scowl. “That’s why you ran off? Because you’re upset that I asked you to change?” You groan, “No. I actually got lost, Chan. I’m not doing this for attention.”

“A likely story.” He scoffs. You grit your teeth and begin to wander away from the spot, not wanting Chan to find you just yet. Normally it wouldn’t bother you so bad, but after a long day of being ordered around, you could just scream. 

“I’m serious. I stopped to look around at the stalls and then you were gone.” You walk up to a stand where they were selling bracelets and various other items of jewelry and begin to speak to the vendor. “Y/n.” Chan sounded out, clearly annoyed. “I’ll take this one.” You point to a black bracelet, “Thank you.” You smile at the woman and continue walking away. “What?” You hiss. “You didn’t say that I couldn’t look around at the vendors.” You roll your eyes and begin to make your way through the crowd, looking around the various different stalls. You find one with a few sweets, “Oo!” You cry excitedly, “What? What happened?” Chan demanded. You stay silent as you near the stand, “Y/n, I swear to God-” 

“You shouldn’t swear to things you don’t believe in, Chan.” You chastise, rolling your eyes. “What flavors do you have.” 

“Jesus Christ- Y/n. You’re going to throw me into hunting mode if you keep acting like that.” He warned. “Maybe you’d find me faster.” You grumble, thanking the man as you shuffle along. You hear Chan hiss, “I’ve had about enough of you-” 

“Then hang up.” There was a long silence before Chan speaks. His tone his cold, making you freeze on the spot. “If you move anymore, you’ll have some significant consequences… Brat.” Chan had to have taken off the suppressor. He was hunting now. He was hunting you. He was no longer in the mood for dealing with the brat side of you. Part of you wanted to obey him so that you wouldn’t be in trouble, but the other part didn’t care. “Or what? Chan?” You dare ask. What was wrong with you? Did you have a death wish? Chan let out a dark chuckle, “Keep playing your games, little one. You never win. And there’s a lot of people… And I don’t care who sees. Just remember that while you’re running away.” You gasp softly, your skin heating up. He lets out a chuckle, “Run. Run. Run, little one. I’ll find you. And when I do…” He trails off, taking a deep breath, “You better hope you’ve managed to get away from people.” 

You instantly begin to run away from the booths, knowing full well that Chan will keep his promise and deal with the consequences later. He was old, his acquaintances were older and he had friends in high places. There wasn’t anything that Chan couldn’t do and get out of. So whatever he wanted to do to you at that moment was the least of his worries. 

You managed to get away from the busier part of the festival and began to catch your breath. After a few moments, you put your phone back up to your ear. To hear where he was or if he had hung up. You were on the outskirts of the festival now, you could make a straight shot into the walking trail conveniently a few feet away. That way you could at least run into the woods and lead Chan away from the people, preventing some nights from being ruined. “Where have you gone now?” He hummed, “You’re wearing my patience thin, y/n.” He tsked. “You started it.” You countered. Chan lets out a humorless laugh, “And how so?” 

“By being so bossy. You’re always so bossy for no reason. And now you’re blaming me.” You rolled your eyes, you shift to see a woman handing out free lollipops. You try to refuse, but she won’t let you. You thank her and look down at it as Chan replies, “Blaming you? Of course I am. If you would have just listened, our night would be going smoothly.” 

“If you weren’t so territorial of me, then we wouldn’t be in the spot we’re in now.” You roll your eyes, testing the lollipop. It was sweeter than normal, but you enjoyed the flavor. You decide to stand here for a moment to catch your breath. “You’re the one who put me into hunting mode, y/n. You know it’s dangerous around other humans.” He breathes into the phone receiver. From your perch near the sweet stand, you can see Chan perfectly; annoyed, hot, and bothered. You could tell by how tightly he was grasping the sleek, black phone in his hand.

“Me?” You scoff, “hardly. You started this this morning, Channie.” You tease. A soft breeze blew over your shoulder, causing your hair to fall into your eyes. His head snapped to you, “I most certainly did not, brat.” He seethes. You giggle, popping your lips around the lollipop in your mouth, “Oh? I was hoping you’d come finish it.”

“I plan on it.” Your face drains as he begins to stalk toward you. You drop your phone and sprint toward the woods. You could hear Chan growl behind you but that doesn’t stop you as you sprint off the trail. Your heart was ramming in your chest as you left the people behind in favor of the quieter woodland area that now surrounded you. You risk a peak behind you to see that Chan was not chasing you. You slow, glancing around to see if you could hear him prowling near you. But you could hear nothing as you stalled to a stop. You were lost in the woods; in your panic, you didn’t think about the possibility of ending up being lost. 

You take a deep breath and begin to slowly traverse the forest, wrapping your arms around yourself and glancing around. “Hello?” You call into the night. It was quiet, eerily so. It made you even more on edge knowing that the reason it was so quiet was that Chan was nearby. Woodland creatures ran away when supernatural beings were close, that was the only indicator that you knew he was following you still. Enjoying watching you squirm as you glanced around, panicked. “Alright. You can come out now. Before someone else finds me.” You raise your arms up. And then a plan forms in your mind. 

You stop speaking, taking off your jacket, “Would really hate if some other vampire or vampires were to come to find me… All alone and defenseless!” You toss your purse onto the ground, reaching underneath your dress to your panties, tugging them down your thighs. “Or for someone to find these.” You swish your panties on your finger. 

He wasn’t taking the bait. 

You sigh, slingshotting them off into the shady forest, “A real shame. Little, naive me.” You step away from the pile of your belongings and keep walking through the forest, “All alone, with no one to protect me from the large, powerful, unholy beasts out there!” You shake your hands for emphasis as you step over a fallen tree, making sure to drag your skin across the bark. You hiss at the sensation of your ass being rubbed raw but keep going forward, “Be a real shame if someone,” you run your hands through your hair, shaking it and wiggling the loose strands that fell out of your head onto the ground. You knew that your hair and blood held the largest amount of your natural scent and it drove Chan insane when he was frenzied. If he was really nearby, he wouldn’t be able to help himself much longer. “Big and strong attacked me right now. Especially if my boyfriend lets it happen. Might just have to break up with him for allowing such an atrocity-” You pause hearing something snap behind you. You gasp and whirl around, expecting to see Chan behind you. 

But there was nothing there. Your heart began to race, maybe Chan wasn’t actually there. Maybe it was someone else… You turn around to keep walking forward to see on a nearby branch your panties draped leisurely across the wood. Your heart thumps wildly, was someone else hunting you? Chan wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t leave your panties out like that. It made him angry knowing your scent was anywhere other than on you or him. Normally he’d grab them and tie your hands up with them later-

You whirl around, “Chan, this isn’t funny anymore.” Your voice falters slightly as you turn back around to see that your panties were gone again. You wheeze, fear gripping you. Whoever it was was closer than you wanted them to be. You took a step backward, bumping into something. Someone. You held your breath as whoever it was gently brushed your hair over your shoulder, “How cute.” a deep voice mutters. “Are you scared?” Your lip trembled but you couldn’t reply. Chan never let it get this far. He wouldn’t allow this to happen. 

You whirl around to see that no one was there, making you immediately twist around to see Chan standing a few feet away, his vermillion eyes watching you intensely. “Well?” His voice was that of the one you had just heard, making you feel leaps better, but the adrenaline still pumped in your veins. You feebly nod your head, and within a blink of an eye, Chan was standing right in front of you. You gasp, “Chan-” You begin to say but you were pressed against a tree, “Shut. Up. I’ve heard enough of your mouth tonight.” With that, he stuffed your panties in your mouth, growling in your ear as he unbuckled his belt. “If I hear you even make so much as a peep, you will not cum for a week. Do you understand me?” You nod your head. “Excellent. Pleased to know we understand each other.” He snarls, thrusting into you harshly. 

His red eyes flared with desire, “Look at me.” His fingertips dug into your ass cheeks, holding you in place as he fucked you against the tree. “You cum before I say, you’ll be in more trouble than you already are. Do you understand?” You nod your head frantically, tears welling in your eyes as you try not to moan. Chan’s rough, fast pace made your head spin but you tried your hardest not to make a noise. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears falling down your cheeks. You feel Chan’s tongue lick up the tears, a hot groan leaving his lips, “So sweet.” He moans into your neck, thrusting harder before yanking out your gag. “Fucking moan for me, princess.” He grunts. It only takes a few strokes before he has you screaming with pleasure. “Ch-cha-chan!” You cry, feeling your orgasm fast approaching, you knew you weren’t going to be able to fend it off. It was like he was setting you up for failure. 

Almost. 

“My baby wants to cum?” He coos, a wicked grin spreading across his features. You could see his sharp incisors on full display as he bares his teeth at you, “Hmm? You wanna cum for me? Like the sweet, little-fucking-brat you are?” You nod, “Yes. Yes.” You chant, holding onto his biceps, “Please. Please, Chan. Please.” He closes his eyes and reopens them, a new heat replaced in them. It was almost like the red in his eyes was burning brighter now. “Listen from now on?” He asked. You nod. “Obey me?” You nod at his request. 

He leans in, “Cum.” You gasp, as if you were his own personal puppet, your high came crashing down on you like ton of bricks, causing you to shriek. Chan groans, holding your hips and picking up his already inhuman pace, making various animalistic grunts and growls. “Fucking. Fuck. Fucking brat.” He groans one last time before stilling. You both pant for a moment before he gently places you on your feet. 

Your legs fail you like a newborn baby deer and you nearly fall to the ground. But, Chan catches you, chuckling, “Too much?” You look up at him sleepily. “Awe…” he coos as he bites his wrist. He helps you up, holding his arm out to you, “So you can walk out of here without an issue.” He watches as you lick his wound. It closes within seconds and you were able to feel the healing effects quickly. You could see a dribble of his own blood on the corner of his mouth, and he smirks. “I won’t afford you the same luxury when we get home.” He says as he hands you your belongings and your phone. “Here. You dropped these.” He helps you stand up, seeing his blood on your lips made his now dark eyes flash red, “We best find the car? Unless we desire to offend the family walking home? Hmm?”

tags: @anyamaris @vibessonvibes @whatudowhennooneseesyou@s3onghwaswifey

let me know if you want to be tagged!! Anything regarding The Red Saga can be found by the tag!

©️straykids-97

#bang chan hard thoughts #bang christopher chan #bang chan hard hours #bang chan smut #skz smut #skz drabbles #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #The Red Saga

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Smeared Hearts

Credit to @rosellemoon for this oddly, insanely compelling idea about the fluffy, rainbow Storian. I couldn't help myself, so I took her ideas and ran with them.

Here is the link to the original post.

@heyo-428 @cetastars @harmonyverendez Read this, if you’re still interested in the fluffy pen story!

Note:

I did toy around with the order of Rise’s series of events a little, and included elements of Fall. So, be warned: the continuity is by no means perfect, the tone is intended to be more comedic (and sometimes more modern?) than usual, and I wrote this more for the concept than the plot at first. You could consider it a loose chronological series of vignettes, if that’s easier to understand because it isn’t quite a full story. It cuts from scene to scene. Or, rather, it is a story with a lot of scene breaks. Also, this was kind of an impulse fic, so I didn't start with a plan until a little later, but I did edit.

⸻

When Rafal agreed to be named a School Master of the renowned School for Good and Evil, he hadn't expected to become a pet owner, or something of that ilk.

When he initially saw it... it was fluffy and rainbow. Oh, the indignity of it all, of his life. What had he agreed to?

He groaned. The Storian wouldn’t have been his first choice of godlike pens, but he supposed a magical, fluffy pen was better than no magical pen at all.

The Storian drew a heart on Rafal's hand. It was about the size of a coin.

He grimaced.

Why couldn't the pen have chosen a more tasteful mark? A crown, or an ace of spades perhaps. Even an abstract scribble would have been fine, preferable even.

When the Storian drew his brother's heart, Rhian had laughed at its tickle, and the Storian had taken his response as a sign that it was welcome to snuggle up with Rhian every night, beside him in bed like a beloved pet.

Rafal slept alone.

⸻

Rafal had lost all faith in the Storian.

The irritating pen knocked things from tables. It beat Rafal's dish-breaking record within a week. And, it mussed up his hair, and shed all over his robes, slacks, and jackets. If any comparison could be drawn, it was most like a recalcitrant cat, an everlasting thorn in his side.

He couldn't face his students covered in feathery scraps of rainbow fur! The Nevers would ridicule him.

Invest in a lint brush, he noted to himself. That would settle it.

And shave that pen to boot. Not that he could. The little devil was fast, and would punish him for high treason.

Rhian wouldn't mind, he told himself. But, his brother loved that worthless thing. Of course he would mind. The Storian was practically Rhian's child. Rhian's baby talk drove Rafal up the wall. He was so mawkish and cuddly with it, as if it weren't already a combination dust magnet and feather duster that aggravated allergies.

No way would anyone ever see him petting the thing. It was an object, not even a living object, just unusually sentient. It was a patently false imitation of a real animal.

Rafal’s Stymphs were far superior to the pen, and they obeyed him and his commands as any good pets ought to do. Though, he considered the Stymphs more akin to his faithful soldiers, pledged to serve his eternal cause of Evil than well… pets, or whatever the pen was to Rhian.

⸻

Lately, Rhian was becoming obsessed with the Storian, and it worried Rafal.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about Rhian getting attached, only to catch it belly-up, and be forced to fly to the nearest pet store and cosmetic apothecary to replace it with a magic-surgery-modified duplicate before Rhian saw. Getting the last fish to look identical had been one hell of a sleepless night he’d spent in a race to preserve Rhian’s feelings. He’d stayed up to ensure the new pet was in place, and had to bury the old one at the crack of dawn while Rhian was still asleep.

But, with a pen, that couldn't happen. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, he knew the worst had happened far too many times. Rhian tended to kill things with too much love. It was absolutely sickening. He'd overfed goldfish in the past, almost the Wish Fish too, if Rafal hadn't put an immediate stop to it, and he had overwatered various hydrophilic plants from humid, tropical climates.

Rhian didn't have the best track record when it came to pets. Or self-preservation for that matter. He’d struck up conversations with strangers left and right.

A pen could be good for him. It had no expiration date. It didn't even have a mortal life, so no matter how incompetent Rhian was, he couldn't kill it. No responsibility aside from keeping it entertained, no risk of accidentally killing it, something to distract him from Rafal's own wrongdoings. The pen could prove useful in that regard. Yes, he could live with it, he decided.

Then again, maybe the right question to ask was whether it had feelings. Could he insult the pen? And what would happen if he did? He was sure Rhian would be none too pleased. But what about the Storian itself?

⸻

Rafal eyed the heart on the back of his hand. It was glaringly obvious and far too… sentimental. He had to do something about it. Scrubbing vigorously hadn't worked. He'd only succeeded in scrubbing the skin of his hand red, raw, and dry.

Rhian had haughtily told him he needed moisturizer.

Rafal snapped back that he knew. “Go bother someone else with your fussiness, Rhian!”

In the end, he'd bought black, supple, leather gloves, fitting of his look. They molded to his skin perfectly, and they didn't clash with his typical mode of dress.

Rhian accused him of being needlessly "edgy." Well, there was just no satisfying him, was there?

But, Rhian was a squeamish fussbudget, and his opinion held no weight here. So, Rafal wore the gloves. And soon, the years turned to decades, decades turned into a century, and the Woods kept living.

⸻

Rafal wore his gloves every day without fail—until he needed the additional dexterity that could only be afforded by flesh and bone fingers while drowning in the sea amid Night Crawlers.

He tore off the gloves, and in his haste, flashed the rainbow-inked heart at James, James who began to snicker at the thing like it was the most contemptible mark in the world.

"Thought you were Evil. Eh, Master?" James taunted.

"Shut up. It's-it's Rhian’s,” Rafal lied, stuttering through his embarrassment. No need to explain a fluffy pen of all things to James. He'd only think Rafal a dolt.

The heart was so cloyingly sweet, but it still made him feel vulnerable when it was seen, out in the open.

Astonishingly, James’ previously murderous expression softened and its matching intent evaporated. "Guess you wear your heart on your sleeve then. Like the Good do, or as close to Good as you can get, huh? Wouldn't mind saving me then, wouldja?"

Rafal gave the heart a sidelong glance. “Fine,” he muttered unaffected with marked disdain.

In the end, neither of them made it to the underwater prison of Monrovia, which contained the infamous Saders, but no matter. They were both out alive, albeit drenched.

⸻

Suspended aloft, ever an eye, the pen bore witness to a stalemate between the School Master brothers and the Pirate Captain.

The Pirate Captain loped forward. “So, you've got a pen that draws maudlin hearts?” he drawled.

"Yes,” Rafal said through gritted teeth. The leather of his gloves was cracked and split by this point, and creaked when he held a staunch grip. He’d formed fists, but he held himself back. The man didn't deserve a blow to the jaw, yet.

Off to the side, James winced, and drew a great step back to distance himself from his sorcerer friend.

Ferret-boy lolloped into the fray. “Yer magical pen does what?” he piped up, as if he'd been deaf to the Pirate Captain's question.

Him on the other hand—he had it coming for him. Rafal bristled, clenching and unclenching his fist instinctually. His dispassionate gaze morphed into a glare.

“It be drawing that craven, girlish thing on ya hand? Gotta be stark raving mad fer that to ’appen,” Ferret-boy quipped again.

Rhian stiffened, face heating.

Rafal defended, “It's not stupid, fussy, or effeminate. Even if it is, it's my only tie to Rhian at the moment, and I, for one, would prefer to keep it, along with my immortality, if you'll excuse me, pests.” He nodded at James, and turned to leave.

The Pirate Captain lunged for the pen without warning.

The Storian darted away, answering with a sugary jingle. Then, it coiled like a spring, launched, and jabbed the Pirate Captain viciously in the chest.

"Oof," the bested Pirate Captain breathed, clutching his torso.

A true pity that it hadn’t drawn blood, Rafal carped internally.

Self-satisfied, the pen twirled in the air, and flew back to the brothers. It curled up in Rhian's waiting hands like an overgrown, weaselly, color-dyed rodent, its noodly form like a piece of rope gone limp.

Rhian headed back to the School, safely cradling the pen.

Rafal stayed back on the dock to deal with the pirates, and give James a proper send-off.

⸻

Rhian had never taken an interest in women’s undergarments until now, but he was desperate.

He had already sifted through the Beautification classroom’s storage, and had come up with nothing. So, now, he was knee-deep in Dean Mayberry’s dresser drawers that he’d pulled out entirely, and he found himself rifling through her delicates at an alarming rate.

He soon chanced upon what he was searching for, and fished out a pair of airy, white gloves trimmed in lace that she’d worn to a recent soirée. He pressed his lips together grimly. They would have to do. Hopefully, Rafal would be distracted anyway. His new attire could divert Rafal’s attention.

He reasoned to himself that a smudge meant nothing, and hummed to himself nervously. It couldn’t be covering up duplicity. That would be Evil.

He wasn’t Evil.

He buttoned the gauzy, eggshell white gloves up high with their glossy, pearl buttons. Then, he went on his usual rounds over the School grounds, pretending nothing was wrong.

Rhian should have known his brother would first set his eyes on his hands. His glove-covered hands.

⸻

As Rafal flew overhead, approaching the School's clearing, he roughly tugged on his gloves again. Then, he saw something had gone wrong as he glanced down at Rhian from afar.

Rhian clearly had a new, downy, swan-feather outfit, a cloak of pure, shining spun-gold, and something else. Something new. He was wearing dainty, white gloves.

Rafal caught sight of another, unsubtle change through the tower window. He was horrified to find that Rhian had apparently commissioned a golden cage for the Storian while he was gone.

Seemingly, Rhian now tended to it even more regularly, as if he were sure it would grant him a favor, like a genie or a magical creature of that sort would, once caught and released for a wish in exchange for its freedom.

How childish could his brother get?

The moment Rafal's boots hit the windowsill, he peeled off his leather gloves, and noticed that for once, from just minimal friction, the interference of the glove’s coarse fibers, the seawater and his sweat, his heart had smeared.

His heart looked more scrawled than deftly inked. It was a messy blur of rainbow splotches on his pale skin. It didn’t look right, smeared like a stain, an iridescent oil spill, formless and hazy, like liquified beetle wings and mercury.

It was supposed to be as permanent a mark as one from a branding iron. It was a fixed tattoo! It couldn't just be wiped clean away!

Rafal blinked, rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear his tainted vision.

The smudge stubbornly remained.

Something had gone wrong while he was gone. Something sinister.

Rafal stepped into the tower chamber, legging it over the windowsill. He did not observe the cloaked, vampiric man fleeing the scene, memento mori etched on his skin.

Rafal reasoned these circumstances out to himself slowly: Rhian had probably figured that because Rafal never took off his gloves, except in the dark, at night, to sleep, that he'd never notice anything was amiss. But something was. Something grave enough to compel Rhian to cover it up, to erase his mistake.

Their bond had been besmirched by something. By someone. A stranger Rhian had opened his heart to. But was their bond broken?

The implications sank in. If it was broken, he could now be killed.

Rhian flung open the door, and greeted Rafal with cheer, yet he seemed wary.

Uncharacteristically, Rafal reached out to Rhian for a hug, and used the rare moment of closeness to yank Rhian's glove off.

The seams burst with the amount of force he applied and the pearl buttons popped off, catapulted in all directions, clattering to the floor, bouncing and rolling between the stone tiles into every last crack and crevice.

Rhian gasped and tried to shove his hand into a pocket.

Rafal trapped him by the wrist.

Beheld, as sure as day, was a bloodred V slashed in ink, like a scar of rouge in Rhian’s disfigured, melted, rainbow heart stamped around it.

Rhian's hand turned gelid, clammy, and slick in Rafal’s grip.

Someone had replaced him, Rafal concluded, without a word.

Rhian did not even try to offer excuses. It would be too humiliating to explain how he’d let Vulcan violate him during one of their dinners. He blushed at the candlelit memory.

Rafal dropped Rhian’s wrist. “Woe are we,” he sniped bitterly.

Rhian’s eyes welled with tears, but Rafal wouldn’t look at him.

Rafal couldn’t look at Rhian.

In fact, both brothers had fallen silent as the pen scratched away, swishing back and forth like a pendulum.

Rafal glared at the fluffy pen that shivered and flounced and puffed itself up like a fox's tail in the breeze. From across the room he could sense the pen's swift movements as it whisked through the air.

Wisps of shed fluff floated in the sunlight filtering through the silver curtains in spotlit shafts.

He felt the swoosh of the pen's fluff.

It twitched like it was winking at him, and slunk towards his legs like a cat. The pen twined itself around his legs in greeting. For several rounds, it wound itself around him.

He stood uncomprehendingly until his rage got the best of him. He extricated himself from the pen, and couldn’t bring himself to care about brushing the fluff from his slacks.

Rafal jumped out the window, to fly off, and figure things out for himself. The crisp air stroked his bare hands for once, and the sharp wind ripped away the excess fluff, battering his clothes and rippling cloak.

Now, he had to keep his heart in sight at all times, until he reversed this curse. No matter if anyone thought anything while his heart was exposed. They could all go to Hell for all he cared. He was doing this for Rhian.

And to save his own lost heart as well.

⸻

He flew away at full throttle, landed, and set off at a brisk pace, slamming into a boy with golden curls, grey eyes, and a cherub-like face. The exact sort of fellow Rhian would crush on!

“Who are you? Are you the V?” Rafal demanded.

The boy looked confused, and narrowed his eyes, fuming. “Name's Midas," he gruffed, putting up a front. “Who're you?” He stabbed a finger at Rafal's chest.

“Your worst fears,” threatened Rafal placidly.

Midas’ eyes widened.

Rafal shot back up the silver tower, and hurtled through the window, Midas in tow, grasped in his iron grip over the starchy fabric of the boy’s shirt. Coolly, he tossed aside a squirming Midas, who scudded across the room, aided by his sorcery, and left the boy for a moment, vowing to deal with him later.

He turned to Rhian, who stood agape, next.

⸻

Rafal marched deeper into the stone chamber, snatched Rhian's wrist, and dangled his limp hand in front of their faces. “What's this?” he said quietly, menacingly, pressing down on Rhian’s pulse.

He dragged Rhian up to the Storian, and released him.

Rhian stumbled forward, only managing to stay upright with Rafal’s firm hold on his shoulder.

“WHAT'S THIS?” Rafal shouted at the trembling pen, now thrusting his own outstretched, ink-stained hand at the pen.

The Storian, previously backed up against a bookcase, leapt into its cage, and rattled around. It cowered at the back of the cage, against the golden bars.

“This can't be what I think it is. I love him,” Rafal assured the pen feverishly. He sank to his knees in desperation, casting his gaze up at the pen.

Rhian dropped to the floor with him, and looked pleadingly at his pet.

Long and sinuous, the pen performed a twist in midair with a light jingle, as if considering the chastened School Masters before it, contemplating their tale. It moved with broad brushstrokes, white streaks of erasure, fine, gossamer threads spinning through the air, weaving around the brothers’ forearms.

The hearts vanished off their hands.

Rafal flinched, and shielded Rhian.

Rhian quivered, his heart throbbing against Rafal's own pounding rib cage. He gripped Rafal's upper arms, bracing himself behind his brother for the worst, for his precious pet to turn on him.

Yet the pen forgave.

It hovered over their hands, and drew new hearts, the same as it had done a century before.

⸻

Note:

I'd love to know your reactions and thoughts, or if anyone laughed. What specific parts got a rise out of anyone? Did I manage to shock anyone, with anything? I’d love to know what. Feel free to comment anything and ask any questions if there’s confusion.

I hope everything’s up to par. Did anything (specific or not) feel out of character? I didn’t check the books, and I sort of forgot what Hook’s, the Pirate Captain’s, and Midas’ dialogue sound like. If anyone catches any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know. Also, if there's anything else wrong grammatically, or in terms of clarity, please tell me.

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #fall of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #rhian #rhian mistral #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #fotsge #fotsfgae #my post #my headcanons #the storian #storian #man vs. pen #fluffy rainbow storian #my fics #my writing #smeared hearts #sm

[glitchthewitch]

So I don't really buy the whole canon that Alastor never showers or brushes his teeth, even if I received screenshots of Vivzie saying so. You're telling me this egotistic man, raised mostly by his mother, would not take care of his hygiene the same way he maintains his appearance? If he smelled, no one ever physically reacted to it even when he got up in people's faces, including Lucifer, who would have no problem pointing it out.

So why his teeth yellow? Coffee stains most likely. It would not surprise me if he drinks 10 cups a day, even when he was alive. Most whitening is done artificially, and is purely cosmetic. The main reason our teeth rot faster than our ancestors' is due to diet mostly, especially sugar.

Now for a much sillier theory. We all know that aside from creole cooking, his diet is mostly raw meat. Given his teeth, that would be very healthy for a carnivore like a cat or a dog. Now one of the natural ways carnivores, specifically dogs/wolves, can keep their teeth clean is by chewing raw bones. Bad breath is generally a sign of something being wrong with their oral health.

So please imagine for a second, this dignified gentleman trying to gnaw on the bones of his kill with the same etiquette that he would use at his mother's table. I dunno about yall but that both sounds hilarious and possible.

#Hazbin Hotel #Alastor #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor headcanon #i'm a serious writer can't you tell?

[stardewremixed]

Shower Thoughts

Abigail is a shower girl, singing her favorite punk rock songs slightly off key. Switches up her hair dye every other month. Otherwise, a pretty simple routine. Has mastered the perfect cat eyeliner and a little mascara.

Alex is a soak after a long, arduous workout, and drowns himself in Old Spice products. Uses an exotic scented shampoo - guava.

Elliott is a long bath kind of guy, complete with candles and rose petals, and a writing tray to capture his thoughts. Spends hours on his hair, nails, skin, etc. Immaculate self-grooming habits.

Emily has a whole wind down routine, complete with warm shower, meditation to find her Zen, and lofi sounds to lull her to sleep. Quick shower before work in the morning, fluff drys her hair. It's just that perky.

Harvey is particular about his grooming routine. Cleanliness is next to godliness. He's a shower-to-wake-up-in-the-morning kind-of guy and a shower-to-wind-down-at-night kind-of guy. Frequently shaves and grooms. Doesn't wear cologne so not to disturb his patients with allergies.

Haley spends hours in the bathroom, primping, curling, mani-pedi touch ups, fogging up the mirror with steamy hot showers. Heavy on the perfume. Light floral scents. Flawless makeup.

Sam is a quick cold shower in the morning kind-of dude. Whatever's on sale for cologne and deodorant. Showers daily and uses hair gel. Would totally play with Vincent's rubber ducky if he takes a bath.

Maru is a Navy shower kind-of gal. Freaky fast. She has better things to do with her time. Light sunscreen and a little lip gloss.

Sebastian takes longer than his sister. Rolls out of bed half awake and stands in the shower for a few minutes to be more alert. Thinks about weird stuff in the shower. Like the Reddit argument he had over how to pronounce GIF. The best ingredients for sushi. The weird dream he had last night about the Wizard, a clown, and a ghost dog walking into a bar...

Leah would skinny dip in the lake. Fresh water. Moonlight. Liberating. Not that she does it too often. Otherwise it's a short shower. Turns the shower off when soaping up to save water. Has the same hairstyle since middle school. Lip gloss, brush of dewy foundation, mascara, a little light earthy toned eyeshadow. There. Ready.

Shane avoids it as long as possible. Heavy heavy heavy on the Axe. Does the whole scruff thing. It works for him.

Claire falls asleep in the bath, with a glass of wine, reading a book. Wakes up in cold water realizing she needs to evaluate her life. Buys cheap cosmetics with her employee discount.

Victor is clean shaven... always. He's a normal shower guy, uses aftershave, a little citrus cologne. Sends out his dry cleaning.

Olivia is a luxurious bath lady. Loofah, bubbles, champagne, candles, facial, classical, sit back and soak... ahhhhh! Victoria's Secret perfume. Something strong and vanilla. She's got her makeup routine down pat. Red lipstick is her signature. Looks like a different person when she doesn't wear any makeup.

Penny is sad the plumbing doesn't work half the time in the trailer. She enjoys long soaks in the spa, sweating out her toxins, listening to nothing but the water when showering in the locker room. It's a nice change over her mom yelling at the game on TV.

Lance likes his spiked hair. Lots of mousse and gel to get it perfect. He's a shower-under waterfalls-bathe-in-the-ocean type of gent. Uses a sea salt scrub. Rugged deep woods scented cologne.

Magnus - why shower when you can just use a cleaning spell? Such a time saver! But if he must, he will set up his tub in the woods and soak under the stars.

Sophia - has a grape chapstick she loves, special orders her pink hair dye, washes her feet nightly, showers every other day, no look is complete without her cotton candy blush.

#stardew valley thoughts #stardew valley #sdv alex #sdv abigail #sdv elliott #sdv emily #sdv harvey #sdv haley #sdv penny #sdv maru #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #sdv shane #sdv leah #sve sophia #sve olivia #sve victor #sve magnus #sve lance #sve claire #sve headcanon #shower thoughts

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found - Chapter 8

Summary: Jude, Cardan, and Pellia head to Hollow Hall, where they encounter a few surprises—including a betrayal that could end everything. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 9168

Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, death.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER SEVEN

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

A/N: I barely edited/proofread this. What's that one meme? "No beta. We die like men." Something like that. Yeah.

Also, about what happens in this chapter...? I'm sorry in advance.

***

By the time Jude made her way back to her room, the pixie had helped herself to her host’s brushes and hair ties and rooted through her drawers looking for creams and cosmetics. 

Cardan couldn’t blame her for the frustration she’d shown upon finding absolutely nothing; he had already decided that once he was turned back into himself, whether they were enemies or not—and truly, he wasn’t certain where they would stand—he would have to talk with Jude about her dismal lack of reverence for her poor skin. 

Pellia had also taken it upon herself to loot the makeshift armoury beneath the bed and had found a sleek, curved knife—an assassin’s blade, she’d said, pointing out the hidden poison compartment in its hilt—which was now thrust through her belt. She’d also liberated a whetstone and was now sharpening the blade of the stolen guard’s sword, with no small amount of cursing as her shaky hands made the task more difficult. 

Cardan didn’t miss the way Pellia flinched and froze momentarily at the creak of the door when Jude entered, balancing a tray of food on one hand and a steaming teapot in the other. He headbutted the door closed as she brought the tray to her vanity.

“Dinner rolls, vegetable and chicken soup, fruit—and tea, to help with the pain,” Jude announced. 

“Chicken soup?”

Jude gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My sister likes to bring us human things sometimes. Here.” She nudged the tray toward Pellia. “And stop going through my stuff.”

The pixie smiled sweetly at the last part, fluttering ruby lashes at the mortal girl as if to say, Who, me? But she didn’t comment as she moved from the bed to the vanity. Cardan envied her ability to remain insolent in the face of Jude’s sharp-enough-to-cut-glass glare.

Pellia didn’t even flinch, just lifted the teapot one-handed, swore as she nearly dropped it, adjusted her grip, and poured, sloshing tea over the sides of her cup as she did. She set the pot down with a clunk and a grimace.

 “What’s in it?” Pellia’s teacup was only half full, droplets running down the porcelain sides. She watched through the steam as Jude listed off a handful of herbs on her hands. Those ruby brows went up, an expression she seemed to make often.

“Girl, that’s not painkilling; that’s, like, all-sensation-in-my-entire-body killing.”

“If you don't want it—”

“No, I absolutely do. Please,” she added with a wince as Jude gripped the pot’s handle. Cardan wasn’t certain whether that wince had been borne of pain or out of the mere fact that she’d said please so genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm. He got the feeling it was both in equal measures.

As Pellia ate, Cardan joined Jude at her wardrobe to save her from committing egregious fashion sins. He hissed his disapproval to veto the tunic she was reaching for—grey on grey was not the look, especially when the leggings were a cool shade while the tunic carried warm undertones—and nosed the one beside it. 

“Jude,” Pellia said quietly from her spot at the vanity. “We need to find Balekin as soon as possible. I read the letter to Madoc, and—hold on. Did you just take fashion advice from a cat? I wish I had that on video.”

Jude’s cheeks warmed slightly and Cardan meowed indignantly. I may be a cat but I still know how to dress! he wanted to shoot back. 

At the same time, Jude demanded, “Why were you going through my stuff?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Her tone was, somehow, both genuinely confused and unbearably haughty, but before Jude could respond, Pellia waved it off and pointed out, “Anyway, you know cats can’t see the same colours we can, right?” 

Cardan would have protested, but he had noticed colours were different, especially in the beginning. He was mostly used to it now, though, and he knew some of Jude’s wardrobe from memory anyway. This top in particular was a desaturated dark blue with green undertones, long sleeves, and a deep V-neck that she had first worn about a year ago. He knew that because the image of her in that shirt, the way it hugged her waist just right, had blazed in his mind every time he’d closed his eyes for a solid week afterward. He knew good fashion when he saw it.

“Stop changing the subject,” Jude snapped.

“I wasn’t, I just thought you should be aware that you are taking fashion advice from the equivalent of a half-blind—”

Cardan’s angry growl cut her off.

“Okay, alright, sorry,” she retreated. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, kitty.”

“The letter,” Jude demanded.

“Right, yes. The deal I made with our favourite prince was that he wouldn’t harm my sister so long as I did what he wanted. But if Balekin thinks I’m dead, then there’s no more deal. There’s no one holding him accountable.” Her hands curled into fists on the hem of her borrowed tunic. “I don’t want to think about what he might do to her then.”

“You—”

“Should have thought the deal through more and made him promise to release her once I’d caught Catboy over here?” she snapped. “Yeah, I know. I was a bit panicked, considering my fourteen-year-old human sister was kidnapped by Elfhame’s soggiest piece of toast.”

“I—what?”

“Haven’t you ever, like, spilled water on your toast? And then it gets all gross and mushy? It’s literally the worst.”

Jude shook her head. “I can’t say I have. But regardless, I wasn’t trying to blame you for it. I was just going to say, you don’t look like you’re in the best shape to go tonight. Maybe we should wait a day.”

“No.” Pellia’s tone was sharp, her eyes flinty, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can do what I have to. I don’t care about myself; I just need Amber to get home safe.” More quietly, she added, “Please.”

Jude breathed deeply, then sighed. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. I can tell I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, so we’ll go tonight. But for now, rest.”

Pellia nodded, one corner of her mouth tweaking upward in an almost-smile. “Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude in the pixie’s red eyes was the nicest emotion Cardan had seen yet. It almost made her seem approachable.

“Try to eat something,” Jude instructed, heading into her small bathing room. “I’ll be back.” 

Pellia gave a distracted wave of assent and mumbled something that could have been, “Try to stop me,” through a mouthful of soft bread. She ate quietly for a while, supplementing the meal with sips of tea. 

“This stuff’s strong,” she remarked with a nod of approval toward the teapot. “Painkilling, indeed.”

Cardan would have missed the next thing she said, breathed into her teacup as she sipped, had he not been bestowed the lovely gift of heightened cat hearing: “Maybe if I drink enough it’ll kill my emotions, too.”

He twitched his ears, letting out a short mrrow of laughter. The pixie glanced at him and huffed, something between a smirk and a wry smile crossing her lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought the same thing. You want some?”

In previous times, Cardan might have said yes. Yes, tea to fix the ache in his heart. Yes, tea to let him drink away the piercing, twisting blade in his gut each time his father overlooked him or his brother tossed an insult his way. Yes, because he was empty and miserable and he loathed it, loathed himself, loathed everything about this world and his place in it.

But now? Now he wasn’t so sure. 

Pellia, apparently, hadn’t missed a single one of the thoughts or feelings flickering across his face. She hummed, setting her cup down to take a spoonful of soup. 

“Perhaps I did you a favour then, dear prince.”

Cardan flattened his ears at that. Certainly he had been more content in these weeks with Jude than he had been—perhaps ever in his entire life—but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was deserving of his thanks.

“Or not.” Again, Pellia had read his thoughts on his face. 

The hair along his spine puffed up involuntarily. It was unnerving—how she could read him so easily, even in this form, even having never known him. 

“Don’t worry, kitty,” she smirked. “I won’t tell her how much you’ve enjoyed being her pet. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. In response, Cardan gave her an eyeroll of epic proportions. 

It only served to make her laugh, which seemed to cause her pain, judging by her wince and the way she downed the remaining tea in her cup. Despite himself, Cardan felt a small amount of smug satisfaction at that fact. 

It didn’t last long. Her eyes fixed on his in a way he just knew was meant to be antagonistic. Then she dipped a corner of her bread in the soup and proceeded to chew with her mouth open. He glared back, ears flattened, and hissed his most menacing hiss. He wished Jude would hurry up with her bath. At least she wasn’t annoying on purpose, unlike Pellia, who seemed to delight in getting the last word. 

Rather than sit here with the pixie, Cardan headed for the balcony door, which Jude always left slightly ajar for him. But as he slipped outside, he heard Pellia call, “Don’t you want to stay and supervise me? Make sure I don’t get into trouble or steal her prized possessions or something?”

He turned back with a grumble because, damnit, she was right. If he left, nothing was stopping her from putting her grubby little hands all over everything in Jude’s room. Not that he would be much help if she did decide that was what she wanted to do—he was a cat and she was clearly trained in combat and treachery—but at least he would know she had done something. He could tell Jude, and Jude could end the pixie’s whole career with one punch. He’d seen her training, knew how fast she could move and what strength was hidden in her mortal bones. Jude was beautiful and deadly, and Pellia was roughly five feet tall and had just spilled tea on the desk while trying to pour herself another cup. 

So Cardan stayed, and Pellia continued to be dreadful by the mere fact of her existence and without even doing anything at all. 

They were quiet for a long while, Pellia staring across the room to the window as she ate small portions at a time, and Cardan shifting awkwardly every now and then. Pellia turned her unnatural gaze toward him, considering. His skin prickled. He wasn’t fond of the way she seemed to be sizing him up, fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her head, manipulating him into some undoubtedly terrifying plan as though he were a pawn at her disposal. He fought the twitching whiskers that were the cat equivalent of a laugh. She noticed regardless, and her own lips quirked up in a tiny, barely-there smile that didn’t match the hollow, aching look in her eyes.

She glanced away, blinking. When she looked back again, Cardan almost couldn’t see that depth hidden behind her bravado. Almost.

“Listen, kitty,” she began. Her mouth opened slightly, and she floundered a moment before she was able to force the next words through her lips on a quivering breath. “No matter how we prepare, this isn’t going to go how we plan it. Guaranteed.” 

She set her tea down and wiped her hands on Jude’s borrowed clothes. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the dagger in her belt, following its curves, tracing the seam around the top of its hilt. She nodded to herself, as if confirming something, before her eyes flicked up to meet his own again. 

“We need to plan for betrayal. From all sides.” Cardan's skin prickled under the intensity of her eyes boring into his. Slowly, he nodded, flicking his ears forward. 

I’m listening, the gesture said. 

A grim, determined smile played across the pixie’s face. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking…”

~ ~ ~

Jude towel-dried and braided her wet hair after her bath. She had taken her time to soak and wash as she sorted through everything that was unfolding. Pellia’s explanation of why she was here in the first place, as well as confirming Balekin as the mastermind behind it all, had helped, but it didn’t solve things completely. 

Neither Jude nor the pixie knew why Balekin had bothered with Cardan’s cat-metamorphosis in the first place, instead of just killing him the way Jude suspected he’d had done to Dain. Although, she supposed, considering Dain was widely thought to be the most popular contender for the next High King, it would make sense that Balekin might want him out of the way. And Cardan—pre–cat era, of course—was cruel and a menace, and would have presented less of a threat.

“Still seems like it would have been simpler to just kill him,” Jude mumbled to herself, then immediately felt bad for entertaining the thought.

She dressed quickly before leaving the bathroom, a habit she had gotten into since discovering her feline friend was actually the missing faerie prince. 

In her room, she found that Pellia had finished eating and passed out on the bed, curled on top of the sheets. Her dishes were arranged neatly on the vanity.

Cardan chirped softly in greeting from his spot by the window. 

“Has she been out long?” Jude whispered.

Cardan flicked his tail and stood for a long, languid stretch.

Jude sighed. “You could at least try to communicate with me.”

The annoyance that flared in response to Cardan’s answering yawn was quickly dampened as he twined between her feet, demanding to be picked up. She obliged.

“By tomorrow, you’ll be yourself again,” she told him, scratching the soft fur on his jaw. He purred at her touch, and she tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart ache. She wasn’t sure when she had grown so fond of him. Maybe, after this was over, she would get a cat. It wouldn’t be the same, though.

A sudden apprehension struck her. “Either that, or we’ll all be dead.”

Cardan’s purring halted abruptly at the words, and he twisted in her arms to meet her gaze, his amber eyes steady and determined. Softly, he rested one fuzzy front paw over Jude’s heart, giving her a slow blink.

There was something in his gaze, an emotion that took Jude a moment to decipher: trust. A small, hesitant smile fought its way onto her lips, and Cardan chirped softly, stretching out to poke her nose with his own. 

Then he flopped bonelessly back into her arms, lifting his chin so she could scratch his favourite spot. 

Jude rolled her eyes and released her grip on him. “Oops.” 

He scrambled as he tumbled from her arms, somehow still managing to land gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he strutted away, nose in the air.

She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile as she began gathering the supplies they would need to confront Balekin, leaving the cat prince of Elfhame to sulk.

 ~ ~ ~

The moon was sinking low in the ever-lightening sky as the trio made their way toward Hollow Hall once more. Pellia set the pace, a steady march, while Jude brought up the rear with the lithe black form of Cardan riding fluidly on her shoulder. She had quickly discovered that walking behind her was the only way she could reliably keep track of the pixie’s movements. The red-haired girl moved so quietly, her steps often syncing with Jude’s own. Despite their truce, Jude didn’t entirely trust the other girl at her back. 

They walked in silence for the first half of the journey, the only sounds coming from their soft footfalls on the leaf-littered floor and the whisper of wind through the Milkweeds. Then Pellia stopped abruptly, and Jude promptly collided with the other girl’s back. Cardan meowed in alarm, scrambling to keep his place on Jude’s shoulder. His claws dug through her shirt and into her skin.

“Thanks for the warning,” Jude quipped, as equally annoyed at the cat prince as at Pellia.

“Ow,” Pellia accused. “That was rude.”

“You just stopped with no warning.” 

“My bad. I didn’t realise I needed your permission to stop walking.”

“You—”

“Look,” Pellia interrupted, pointing at a low bush a few steps into the underbrush. Its dark leaves were glossy and adorned with sharp points. There was some kind of black berry clinging to the stems. The pixie crouched next to the bush and began picking the fruit.

“You’re hungry?” Jude didn’t know Pellia very well, but after the way she’d refused to wait any longer to go after her sister, she was a little taken aback by the pixie’s apparent lack of focus. Then again, stopping for a picnic was certainly unexpected, and nothing about Pellia had been predictable so far.

“No, idiot,” Pellia clarified. “It’s sanguineberry.”

Jude stepped forward to take a closer look. The berries, which she’d thought were black, actually appeared to be a deep red in colour and were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were clustered in twos and threes, but Pellia twisted them off the plant one at a time.

“Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” The redhead shrugged. “Most people think it’s mildly poisonous—stomach cramps, excessive sweating, maybe vomiting a bit of blood for a day or two if you’re really unlucky—so it isn’t really gathered much. But actually—” she unsheathed the assassin’s dagger and pierced the flesh of a particularly large berry—“it’s a powerful analgesic.” 

Pellia brought the punctured berry to her lips and sucked the juice out. It deflated like a juiced orange. 

“Pellia!” Jude exclaimed, trying to grab the fruit from the pixie’s hand. She was too late. The pixie had already swallowed it, leaving the skin slightly deflated. Jude’s hands curled into fists. “I really don’t think vomiting blood is something you need to add to your condition right now.” 

The pixie just laughed. “Do you actually think I’d eat something that I just told you was poisonous?”

“It is a distinct possibility.” From his spot on her shoulder, Cardan made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.

“Shut it, catboy,” Pellia rolled her eyes. “It’s only the skin that you can’t eat. Look.” She peeled the skin back to reveal a pulpy red interior. It looked like a warfield. “The juice is safe to ingest—and, like I said, it’s a great painkiller.” She grinned a seemingly-bloody smile, her teeth stained from the sanguineberry juice. “If you eat the skin though, then it’s a pain causer.”

“Ha ha,” Jude deadpanned. She was about done with this conversation. “Time’s ticking. We need to go.”

Pellia nodded, suddenly serious. “I just need to collect some of these first.”

At Jude’s slight frown, the pixie smirked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”

~ ~ ~

“Where did you come from?!” 

The guard on patrol outside Hollow Hall was easy to sneak up on and easier to dispatch. Pellia had barely finished quipping, “Your mom’s house,” by the time Jude had the guard on the ground, face in the dirt. He was thrashing, demanding to know about his mother and whether she was safe. 

“My humour is lost on you,” the pixie sighed. 

“That was supposed to be funny?” It seemed more like psychological warfare than humour to Jude, but then, maybe that was what Pellia found humorous. 

“At least he gets it,” Pellia shrugged, gesturing to Cardan, whose whiskers were twitching in a cat’s smile. 

They left the guard—incapacitated but alive—behind and headed for the door. They halted at the sound of a voice.

“Alas returns the lost prince,” it said.

Cardan growled. Jude’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. Pellia let out an impressive string of curses at the sight of the enchanted door and its inhuman face. Her dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.

“I thought you’d been here before,” Jude said. “This seems like a pretty difficult thing to miss.”

“I didn’t use the front door that time,” Pellia said, scowling at the enchanted face. “I’d heard about this thing but what the hell—who dreamed you up?”

“What would your mother think of that vocabulary?” the door chided. “Or that nursemaid of hers, for that matter? What was her name—Annie? No: Angela! I’m assuming she’s the one who raised you? Spirited you away so you couldn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?” 

“How do you—actually, nevermind. You’re creepy and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Pellia moved to shove the door open, but it spoke again.

“Ah, ah. Tell me where you’ve been hiding all of these years?” it rasped. “It mustn't have been on the Isles, or I would have known.”

Pellia gritted her teeth so hard that Jude could have sworn she heard them creaking. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was turning her knuckles white. “One more word and I dig the point of this into your eye,” she threatened.

The door swung open.

With a last glare at the enchanted door, Pellia dragged Jude and Cardan inside. She led them out of sight of the entrance and its magical guardian before turning to face Jude. 

“From here on, we split up,” she said. 

Jude nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to find your sister while I go after Balekin?”

Pellia gave the other girl a half-smile. “I’m sure,” she said. Jude’s frown deepened as the pixie added, “I need you to promise me something.”

“What…?”

“I need you to promise that, no matter what you see, you won’t interfere. Balekin is my fight. I just need you to find my sister.” Pellia’s eyes were blazing once again with that same determination. It sent a chill down Jude’s spine.

After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. “Okay. You get Balekin. I’ll find Amber.”

“Thank you. And good luck.” 

“You too.” 

Pellia turned her ruby gaze on Cardan, and they locked eyes. “Ready, catboy?”

Mrrroow, he responded.

Pellia smiled then slipped away, practically melting into the shadows.

~ ~ ~

“She’s kind of annoying, but I hope she doesn’t get herself killed,” Jude said. She was following Cardan through the crooked stone walls of his one-time home. 

Was it still? He wasn’t so sure. Although he could never say so, when he closed his eyes and thought about home, the image he found was starting to look less like Hollow Hall or the Palace and more like whitewashed walls, wooden beams, and smoky windows. It was starting to look like the arms of a mortal girl who had dedicated so much time and effort into returning his sorry self to fey form. 

Cardan turned into a small room—a closet, really, and scratched at the carpeted floor. Jude got the hint, running her fingers over the rug until she found the catch in one corner where it didn’t quite fit so snugly against the wall. She drew it back to reveal a trap door and, beneath that, a ladder extending into the darkness.

“Fantastic,” she muttered. “I hope I’m not about to lower myself into a hole in the ground for no good reason.”

Cardan was half-amused and half-insulted by the implication in her words. She’ll be there, he wanted to say, but he could only chirp reassuringly.

Jude scratched under his chin with one finger before inviting him to climb up onto her shoulder. 

Happily, he purred. 

At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel ran out to either side. He kept watch to make sure no one was coming, his feline eyes comfortable in the dim light. When they reached the bottom, Cardan gave a soft mrrow and gestured to the rightmost path. 

The tunnel was wide but low. Had he been in his own body, Cardan would have had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his head against the earthen ceiling. As it was, Jude had a couple of inches to spare, even at the lowest points, and Cardan was able to cling to her shoulder as she walked. This suited him just fine—he didn’t find the damp, earthy scent particularly appealing, and he didn’t want it all over his paws, thank you very much.

The tunnel began to slope downward and continued like that for another hundred metres or so. Amber’s makeshift cell was at the bottom of that slope. 

The rooms beneath Hollow Hall weren’t meant to house prisoners—not really. They were a safety precaution and a way to sneak around, known only by Balekin, Cardan, and a small handful of Balekin’s inner circle. 

Amber was being held in the hastily blocked off back half of an alcove that Cardan distinctly remembered as having been used to store unopened wine casks at some point. On a hook set into the hard-packed earthen wall was a key, dangling alone on a large keyring. The metal bars of the cell looked like they had been repurposed from a fence or a gate somewhere. A bucket in the corner served as a chamberpot, and a few cushions and a blanket was her bed. 

All in all, it was better than Cardan had expected, considering his brother’s habitual treatment of humans. 

“Amber?” Jude asked, stepping into the alcove. The girl at the back of the cell looked up. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her mousey brown hair was tattered, her brown eyes wide and cautious as they took in the girl and cat before her. A smatter of freckles stood out against sickly skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks. 

“You’re a person—a human,” Amber said, studying Jude. “Are you… awake?”

“Um, yes.”

The girl sat up a little straighter. “The others weren’t. The servants. They’re like zombies.”

Cardan could hear Jude swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her brow furrowed, her jaw tightening. 

“I’m awake,” she promised. “I’m Jude. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”

That got the girl’s attention. Amber’s whole face lit up and she was suddenly on her feet. Cardan couldn’t imagine feeling that much excitement toward any of his siblings, even the not-so-bad ones. 

“Pellia’s here?” Hope was blossoming on Amber’s features, brightening her eyes and bringing her back to life.

“She is,” Jude said, grabbing the key to the cell door. “We’re getting you out.”

With a metallic click and an aching groan, the door to the cell swung out, and Amber followed, throwing her arms around Jude. The young girl’s relief was palpable. When her eyes started to water, it sent a pang through Cardan’s heart, so strong he had to look away.

That was why he was the first to see the figure that loomed out of the dark tunnel: Madoc.

“I was hoping it would not come to this,” the Redcap’s voice rumbled off the walls. Jude spun around, shoving the girl behind her.

“Madoc,” she said. Cardan knew her well enough by now to recognise the slight tilt of unease on her mouth, the way her breathing sped up ever-so-slightly when she was surprised, just for a heartbeat, before she steadied it again. He felt the hair along his back stand straighter in response to Jude’s emotions. 

Apparently Madoc could read her too. “You think I was unaware all this time that you were sneaking around with that?” He jerked his chin in Cardan’s direction, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.

“A cat?” Jude said, eyes narrowing. 

Cardan hissed, half at Madoc and half at Jude for acting like he was some common stray—he knew her angle, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“You are too intelligent to think I would believe that you have not figured out who that is. You broke into my office, stole my correspondence, and expected that I would not notice? Unlikely.”

Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She was edging away from the open cell and toward the freedom of the alcove, nudging Amber along with her.

“Not really.” Madoc rested a hand on his sword hilt, a subtle threat. “Stop shuffling and put the girl back in the cell.”

Jude’s hand found the hilt of her own sword. “No.”

The identical shiiiing! of two swords being unsheathed simultaneously sang into the damp earthen tunnels. Cardan leaped to grab hold of Amber, trying to drag her out of harm’s way as Jude and her foster father faced off. 

There was no escape with Madoc blocking the alcove entrance, so Cardan nudged the mortal girl toward the wall, where she could slip behind the open door. That way, Madoc wouldn’t be able to corral them back into the cell. A quick glance up showed him a wide-eyed, white-faced Amber. He clambered up to her shoulder and leaned in, forcing a purr in an effort to comfort her. 

As steel rang against steel, Cardan tried to figure out if the trembling he was feeling was Amber’s or his own. Probably both. 

He flattened his ears as Madoc slid his blade down the length of Jude’s, bringing him inside her guard. She tried to shove him back but he disengaged with a quick twist and sent her stumbling back. As she fell, the sachet of protective herbs she kept on a cord around her neck slipped from under her tunic. Madoc lashed out with one green clawed hand, snapping it from her neck. 

Cardan could feel the magic tingling in the air as the Redcap opened his mouth to speak. 

He couldn’t let Madoc glamour Jude.

That was the only thought on the cat prince’s mind as launched himself, all claws and teeth and feline fury—straight onto Madoc’s face. Hissing and spitting, Cardan clung to the older fey, raking his nails across green skin until blood oozed from various wounds. 

Madoc screamed—in pain and anger, deep and earth-rumbling and vicious. His sword fell from his grip, hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. He clawed at the cat whose nails were so deeply embedded in his skin, howling the whole time. His hands were bruising, grasping Cardan around the chest and neck, and try as he might, the prince couldn’t fight him off.

Thankfully, there was no need: Jude, recovering her feet and her weapon, saw the opportunity as it presented itself. She planted one foot against the wild, reeling Redcap’s hip and shoved. 

Her foster father stumbled back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. Cardan sprang away as he fell into the cell. Amber, still behind the door, slammed it shut, and the lock engaged with a loud click!

No one spoke. Jude pocketed the key, and she and Madoc stared at each other for a long time, their panting breaths—one tired, one angry—the only sounds in the subterranean room. Slowly, Jude picked up the sachet of herbs from where it had fallen. She re-knotted the broken cord and strung it over Amber’s neck.

“To keep you safe from glamours,” she explained, but her voice seemed quiet and far away, as though it had been swallowed by the earth. 

Blood roared in Cardan’s ears. He tried to take stock of his body—was everything intact? He twitched his tail, his ears, then did a full-body shake. Nothing hurt too badly. His ribs and neck were a little sore from where Madoc had grabbed him, but nothing was broken, no blood drawn.

Not mine, at least, he thought, flexing blood-sticky claws. He shuddered. There was no way he was cleaning that off the cat way. 

A hand brushed his shoulder and he looked up into walnut eyes. Jude. He climbed into the proffered arms. She felt warm and solid, and Cardan could almost feel the tension of the past few minutes drain from his body.

“Thank you,” Jude whispered.

She cast one more glance at her foster father, whose hands  were wrapped around the metal bars, before taking the Amber’s hand and leading her out of the alcove. 

“Let’s go get your sister.”

~ ~ ~

The silver-eyed prince was in his room when she found him. 

The heavy wooden door was cracked open, a sliver of wavering torchlight spilling out into the hallway. An invitation, taunting. Apparently, Balekin was expecting her.

So much for the element of surprise. She almost wanted to laugh, to release the nervous energy that was curling in her stomach, rendering her body electric with anticipation. 

This is it. She was either going to free Cardan and save her sister… or die trying. Hopefully the first option, but still, her mind spun. Everything felt so similar to the first time—when she’d arrived in Faerie to confront Balekin, furious and fear-filled—and look how badly that had gone, her mind insisted.

She shook her head, as though doing so could dislodge the thoughts from her brain. She’d been stupid that time, rushing in with no plan, wielding weapons and white-hot rage as her tools of revenge. This time, she was ready. This time, she had a plan and allies and she knew what she was facing. This time, she was writing the rules.

Pellia drew her sword, the one she’d stolen from the Palace guard what felt like aeons ago. Raising it to deflect a surprise attack, she pushed the door open with one foot and stepped inside. 

The centre of the room was empty except for the large area rug covering the flagstones, the furniture pushed back against the walls. In a large armchair at the far side of the room, his loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway to expose his bare chest, sat Balekin. 

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in,” he sneered. He held a goblet in one hand, swirling its contents idly. A naked sword was propped against the armrest next to him. “Where’s your entourage?”

Pellia said nothing, just moved farther into the room.

“Nothing to say today? No witty remarks?” 

She stopped at the edge of the rug and Balekin tsked. “Boring,” he said. “I thought you’d be more interesting now, not less. Maybe your sister’s life on the line is taking its toll, hm?”

“And whose fault is that?” Pellia responded, red eyes meeting silver.

The prince smirked. “She would have been safe if you had upheld your end of the bargain.”

“I did my part!” The words slipped from her mouth without any forethought. Her sword point was aimed at Balekin’s chest, like he wasn’t half a room away. Pellia gritted her teeth, calming her voice. “I did my part,” she repeated. “I was working for you. I was following your orders. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

Balekin hummed noncommittally. “I must say, I thought you would be a little more difficult to catch. You disappointed me, Nerium.”

“You’d know about disappointments,” she said acidly. “And can we talk about the whole ordering-to-kill-me thing, ‘cause that wasn’t part of the deal! They fucking tortured me, and I didn’t talk, but you couldn’t even do a little thing like not order my death?!”

“You were a liability.”

“Fuck off.”

“And so the teeth come out,” he chuckled. “Does that not feel better?”

“Things will be ‘better’ when I have my sister, and you’re six feet under,” Pellia snapped.

Balekin smirked. “Bold words, considering you’re the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.”

“Respectfully,” Pellia said, trying hard to keep a leash on her temper, “if one more dumbfuck sentence like that comes out of your mouth, I am going to violate the Geneva Convention.” 

When Balekin’s face flickered with confusion, she said, “War crimes. I’m going to commit war crimes.”

The dark prince smirked. “You plan to fight me? In that state?” He laughed, a full-belly laugh that made Pellia want to throttle him.

She knew it wasn’t the best plan. She knew she was weak, still unhealed from her injuries and recovering from torture and starvation. But she had no other choice. She would fight, and maybe she would even get in a few good cuts before he took her down. She just had to keep him occupied long enough for Jude and Cardan to free her sister.

“Are you scared?” she taunted.

Balekin chuckled again, recognising the bait for what it was. “I am not the one who should be afraid,” he said, draining the contents of his goblet and trading the cup for his sword. He rose to his feet. “Try not to bleed all over my carpet.”

Torchlight flickered off live steel as they circled, each tracking the other’s every move. Their feet shuffled across the rug. The fireplace crackled in the background. 

Maybe, if she was lucky, Pellia could get the first hit—incapacitate him early and end the fight before he could take advantage of her injured state. 

Fast as a snake, she struck, aiming for the muscle between his neck and shoulder with an overhead slash. Balekin met her attack, deflecting her sword and shoving his own point-first toward her throat. 

She swayed out of the way just in time, though his blade did catch the side of her neck. Blood welled from the scratch. Pellia ignored it, stepping into him in an attempt to catch him off guard. Steel screamed against steel as her blade slid down the length of his. They were locked toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth as the prince pressed down harder. This may not have been her brightest idea, and she knew he recognised it too.

“Bad choice,” he said and hooked her ankle with one foot. Pellia went down. Her back hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs. She had just enough sense to roll out of the way before Balekin’s sword plunged down, piercing the rug where she had been a heartbeat before.

Pellia scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and brought her sword back to the guard position. She was moving on autopilot, her muscles taking over while her dazed mind caught up. Balekin let her rise, smirking. 

They circled again, the prince’s movements smooth and predatory while Pellia was still trying to catch her breath. Her fractured rib burned, but she pushed the pain aside, blinking rapidly. She just had to keep him occupied until Cardan found them. 

This time, Balekin attacked first. He went low, slashing for her thighs, and Pellia brought her own sword down to meet him. The clash of their weapons rang off the stone walls. 

She disengaged, knocking his blade away, and that was when she saw the opening. With all her strength, Pellia lunged forward, her swordpoint thrusting for his heart—

Balekin’s smile was that of a predator, baring its teeth as it moved in for the kill. He swayed out of harm’s way, caught her wrist in one hand, and threw her across the room.

Pellia soared. 

During the brief moment she was in the air, she found herself hoping that Cardan wouldn’t be too angry with her for failing. She hoped he and Jude would find Amber and help her get home. She hoped her sister would be okay without her.

Then Pellia slammed into the ground.

~ ~ ~

Jude followed close on Cardan’s heels as he led the way through the stone corridors of Hollow Hall. She held her sword ready in one hand, holding onto Amber’s wrist with the other. She tried not to be frustrated at the slow but steady pace they were setting—it wasn’t fair to expect Amber to keep up after having been locked in a cell for who knows how long. 

Still, she worried about Pellia facing Balekin alone when she was already injured. She would need to be one hell of a fighter to have a shot at winning that match up, and while she carried herself like someone who was capable, Jude didn’t get the sense that Pellia knew when to back down. 

Which is why, despite her promise not to interfere, Jude wanted to be there to step in if it looked like Balekin had the upper hand. But first, she had to get there.

The sound of clashing steel rang out in the next corridor. Jude slowed as she rounded the corner. Halfway down the hall was an open door that spilled light from within and, about ten feet earlier, a shallow alcove. The trio stopped before it.

“Stay here,” Jude said to Amber, tucking her into the space. “And hang onto this—just in case.” Jude unsheathed the long dagger at her hip, handing it to the girl. 

“Is Pellia in—” Amber started, brown eyes wide. She was craning her neck to see past Jude to the open door.

“Yes,” Jude said, pushing the girl back gently and forcing her to meet her eyes. “And I’m going to help her but you need to stay here, got it? I can’t help Pellia and watch out for you.”

Swallowing, Amber nodded, taking the weapon.

It was confirmation enough for Jude. She headed for the open doorway, Cardan racing at her heels—and stopped just inside the threshold, in time to see Pellia crash into the rug-covered floor. 

Jude winced, stepping farther into the room, sword raised. Cardan hurtled past her to stand between the downed pixie and the menacing form of his older brother. Balekin regarded the cat calmly, spun his own sword, and glanced sideways at Jude. 

“Oh, look: your friends have come to your rescue,” he taunted as Cardan hissed, hair puffed and claws out. 

Pellia was on her back, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to recover the air that had been forced from her lungs. Cardan put one soft black paw on her shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she coughed. 

Balekin looked almost annoyed. “Having others fight your battles for you, Nerium?” he said. “I thought you had more pride than that.”

Still breathless, Pellia struggled to sit up. “I do,” she said, swaying and blinking hard. She looked at the mortal girl, red eyes meeting walnut. “Jude, you promised.” 

Jude’s lips thinned, displaying her scepticism. She searched the other girl’s face, trying to find something to indicate the pixie was okay, but Pellia was pale and swaying unsteadily. 

Yes, she had promised not to step in. But if she didn’t, the chances of Pellia being alive to take her sister home at the end of this were slim. Jude tightened her grip on her weapon.

“Pellia—” Jude started, but the pixie cut her off. 

“No,” she snapped. “This is my fight.”

Balekin laughed. “Stubborn to the end. Will you still feel that way when I run you through?”

Pellia smiled back, cold and ruthless. “Violence isn’t the only way to do battle, Balekin. You’re playing my game now; maybe next time you should read the rules.”

She grabbed Cardan by the scruff of his neck, hauling the cat toward her and climbing to her feet. He scrambled as she lifted him into the air, flailing against her hold until she drew her stolen dagger. She placed its tip against the delicate skin of Cardan’s throat, and he stopped struggling. 

She’s going to kill him, Jude thought, stunned. She could feel the blood draining from her face. After everything, she’s going to kill him. And she’s going to use my knife to do it.

Balekin was less stunned. “You won’t kill him,” he chuckled. 

“No?” Pellia gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt. “And why's that?”

“What would you gain? Killing him won't get you your sister back.” Disdain coloured the prince’s voice, but there was something else, something other—the slightest tinge of uncertainty hiding in the space between his words.

Pellia nodded, considering. “Maybe not. But what do you really know about me?” Her breathing was heavy and pained. Her eyes bore into Balekin's with a fury so hot it could have started a wildfire. “Killing him might not get me my sister back, but it sure as hell will cause you some issues,” she spat. 

The fey prince was quiet for a long moment, calculating. Jude’s heart dropped all the way to her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from Pellia to Balekin, from hot, wild rage to cool, quiet calculation. Then Balekin straightened, an ugly half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“I do not think you have an accurate read on my relationship with my little brother,” he explained. The words were oily smooth and indifferent. Jude wanted to scratch them off her skin. “I would not cry if he were gone. I do not care for him the way you care for that mortal brat.”

The reference to Amber caused the pixie to flinch. "I didn’t say you cared," she snapped back. “I don’t think for a moment that you'd be sad over his loss—you’d have to have a heart for that.” She held Cardan higher and stepped closer to Balekin. “I just think it would cause you some problems. How can you be his benevolent saviour if he's dead? How can you manipulate someone who owes you nothing?”

Balekin opened his mouth to speak, but Pellia shook the cat, pressing the knife closer. Cardan squawked in alarm, and his brother fell silent.

“Isn't that your plan?” she ranted, voice rising. “Isn’t it?! Massacre your family, but keep him—” she nodded to the cat hanging uncomfortably by his scruff “—safe, so you can play the saviour? So he’ll be indebted when you find the antidote to the spell that made him this way? I’m not done,” she snapped as Balekin drew breath to speak.

Veins were pulsing in the dark fey prince’s forehead, his eyes a rage-filled inferno. His jaw was so tight Jude could almost hear his teeth creaking under the strain. Any moment now, he would erupt.

“You don’t care about Cardan,” Pellia continued, “only his royal lineage. You just need someone to put the crown on your head. Well, news flash, buddy,” she scoffed, “it won’t be him.”

Balekin lunged for Pellia with an inarticulate roar. She must have seen it coming as Jude had, though, and a quick sidestep carried her out of harm’s way. The fey prince’s momentum carried him forward to trip over Pellia’s extended ankle and he skidded across the floor to stop at Jude's feet. 

Jude, who jumped backward to avoid a collision. Jude, who looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. Jude, who couldn’t hide her look of complete and utter horror at the sight before her. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and also as though it were trying to beat out of her chest. Her body was numb. She stared.

Balekin turned, too, his sword falling from his grip as he beheld the scene taking place. 

“You bitch—” he snarled.

Across the room, Pellia crouched to lay the still body of Cardan on the floor. Darkness coated his cat's chest, a red stain seeping into the carpet beneath him. Jude’s dagger in her hand ran red from hilt to tip. 

When she spoke, the pixie’s voice was quiet. Flat. 

“What's your plan now, Balekin?”

Jude could barely tear her gaze away to see the prince’s reaction. His face contorted with fury, a hate so black it nearly seeped the light from the room. Balekin screamed and charged for Pellia—then stopped. 

He looked down. The silver point of Jude’s sword protruded from his stomach. The anger fell from his face as she tried to figure out what it meant, what had happened. When Jude yanked her blade from his body with a slight squelch, he swayed, stumbled forward, then fell at Pellia's feet. 

Jude barely noticed. She was halfway to Cardan, scrambling, the floor feeling oddly immaterial beneath her feet, when Pellia’s voice rang out, laced thick with glamour:

“Stop,” she commanded, and Jude felt her feet freeze beneath her. 

Those stupid herbs. In trying to uphold her end of the deal, in trying to help Amber before all else, she had given up the one thing that had protected her against the glamour. She threw herself against the magic restraining her, but still her feet remained locked to the ground. 

Panic began to creep through Jude’s veins and hot tears burned her eyes. 

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in Pellia’s magical hold. "Let me see him!" 

The pixie looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you, Jude,” she said. She sounded sincere. It meant nothing.

“Fuck you!” Jude’s voice broke over the words. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “How could you?! He did nothing! You were supposed to help him—you're a liar!”

Pellia shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, then, glamour lacing her voice again, she ordered, "Please, be quiet." 

The air rushed from Jude's lungs. No matter how much she screamed and sobbed, no sound came out. With silent tears streaming down her face, she collapsed to her knees. 

Pellia turned back to Balekin. Panting from the pain of his wound, he had struggled his way onto all fours and drawn a knife. It was a simple matter to knock one hand from under him, sending the prince crashing face-first into the carpeted floor. Pellia lowered herself to a crouch beside him and laid the edge of her dagger under his jaw. 

“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “Let's not do that, shall we? You lost. Now tell me: what did you use to bind the cat spell?”

“What does it matter?” Balekin snarled. “You’ve already killed him.”

“Humour me.” Pellia’s voice was sweet and deadly, dripping honey over a razor sharp blade. “I’m ever so curious.”

When he still refused, she applied pressure to the weapon at his throat. A thin line of blood sprang up where the blade met flesh, and the prince flinched.

“The ring,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. “The match to the one you put on him.”

Pellia smiled, cold and sharp, giving him some space to move. "Remove it for me." Balekin's fingers trembled as he did, though with rage or fear Jude couldn’t be certain. The stone set into the band was the same warm orange as the cat's eyes. Jude’s heart ached at the thought of never seeing those eyes again. As Balekin dropped the ring into Pellia's hand, the air in the room seemed to crackle. Through wet eyes, Jude looked to Cardan; shimmering white light glowed over the cat's changing body.

“Thank you,” Pellia said from her spot with Balekin. Neither she nor the prince seemed to have noticed Cardan’s transformation.

“Would that misfortune follow you, any path you take,” the injured prince spat—an ancient curse. 

Pellia raised her eyebrows at him, unphased. “Go stick your dick in a toaster, fucknugget.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the naked-but-very-much-fey body of Cardan now lay. 

“It’s over, Catboy. You’re good now.”

Jude didn’t understand what she meant at first. Her confusion was answered a moment later as Cardan sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. Then it hit her full force as she realised—Cardan had just sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. The shock of it was enough to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Jude,” Pellia said, “I release you, as long as you promise not to stab me.”

Still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, the girl nodded, and the glamour broke. She hurled herself across the room at the newly-returned fey prince and dipped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure whether to hug him or hold his hand or die of embarrassment over the sheer amount of relief she was feeling—or over the fact that he was sitting there, fully nude and still glowing with the effects of the spell, which she was just processing now. Jude felt her cheeks flame at the realisation. Cardan, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected. 

Instead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, Jude,” he said. 

She could feel herself turning an even deeper shade of red. “Um—hi,” she stuttered, her tongue feeling awkward in her mouth. “I’m—I’m glad you’re back.” She studied a particularly interesting spot on the stone wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.

That didn’t last long. Cardan began to sway as the light around him faded. Instinctively, Jude reached out to steady him. He fell against her. 

“Jude,” he said again, insistent as his voice started to slur with sleep. “You need to know….”

Then he passed out.

~ ~ ~

Pellia watched as Jude hurtled across the room to Cardan's side. It had been difficult for her to intentionally allow the girl to believe she had killed Cardan. After all, Pellia knew firsthand what it was like to have someone important stolen from right under your nose—the feelings of helplessness and despair and anger that it provoked. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been a quick affair, just long enough to force Balekin to remove the ring that bound the spell. 

Pellia wiped sanguineberry juice from the assassin's dagger before sheathing it at her hip. Her body ached, protesting its recent treatment, and she knew it would only get worse as the adrenaline faded. She wished she had thought to save some of those blessed painkilling berries, instead of putting them all into the poison vial hidden in the dagger's hilt.

“Pell?” 

The pixie girl spun toward the voice. It came from the main doorway, where a slight figure stood, shrouded in shadow. Pellia swallowed. 

“Amber?”

“PELLIA!” Amber exclaimed. She rushed forward, tackling her older sister in a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down her face.

“Can’t breathe—” Pellia winced at the pain in her ribs but held on just as tight. She pulled back for a moment to fervently check her sister’s face. Amber was pale, her cheeks sunken and eyes haunted, but it was her.

Pellia took a breath that morphed into a sob. She'd done it. Amber was here. She was real and solid and alive, and she was here. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pellia whispered., burying her face in her sister's hair as they sank to the floor. 

Amber held on tighter. Her tears turned to sobs as the two girls clung to each other, neither wanting to let go. “I—I thought I was—" she hiccuped and started again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Pellia's heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry.”

The younger girl shook her head, her face still buried in Pellia’s shoulder. “You were right,” she admitted. Her voice cracked, and she clutched at Pellia's clothes, holding on as tightly as she could. “It’s scary here.”

Pellia’s heart broke in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home.”

***

A/N: That wasn't that bad, right? Happy ending? For everyone except dear Balekin? Also, I know this started mainly with Jude and Cardan. I'm sorry to anyone who is disappointed about the copious amounts of Pellia screentime. I haven't read FotA in like three years and I don't remember enough to write them in-character. So yeah, Pellia took over.

Theoretically, there is one more chapter to be written. Will I actually write it? Who knows. (Probably, but it'll take A Bit.) (I've learned my lesson about posting as I write... So much respect to people who are dedicated and organized enough to do that. You really gotta have the plot figured out first. Anyway. Lesson learned. If I ever write anything else, I will finish the story before posting.)

Thanks for reading, friend. Hope you enjoyed. <3

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @black-like-my-soul @mirubyai @eldritchred @hpcdd3 @myunfortunatenightmare @angelpaulene ​ @localgoof @garnet-baby @iamaprincessallgirlsare

#lost & found fic #fota #folk of the air #jurdan #folk of the air fanfic #holly black #elfhame #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #htkoelths #tcp #the wicked king #twk #the queen of nothing #tqon #qon

[petgroomingblog]

Unveiling the Pet Pampering Paradise: Discovering Pet Grooming Trends in Dubai

Welcome to the vibrant world of pet grooming in Dubai, where pampering your furry companions isn't just a luxury—it's a way of life. As pet lovers in this bustling city, we understand the importance of keeping our beloved pets not just looking their best but feeling their best too. we'll delve into the latest trends, tips, and insights in the pet grooming scene of Dubai, uncovering how grooming isn't just a routine but an enriching experience that contributes to our pets' overall well-being. So, let's embark on this journey together and explore the secrets of pet pampering in Dubai!

The Mood-Boosting Magic of Pet Grooming:

Imagine your pet prancing around, tails wagging happily, after a thorough grooming session in Dubai. Pet grooming isn't merely cosmetic; it's a mood-enhancer! Amidst Dubai's energetic atmosphere, a content pet is a delightful sight. Regular grooming not only keeps them looking good but also contributes to their overall happiness.

Building Trust Through Pet Grooming:

Pet grooming isn't just about brushes and baths—it's a bonding experience. In Dubai's diverse pet-loving community, trust is paramount. Taking the time to groom your pet builds trust and strengthens your bond. It's a heart-warming experience that leaves both you and your pet feeling connected and happy.

Grooming for Different Pet Breeds:

Dubai's pet grooming salons understand that different breeds have unique grooming requirements. For example, long-haired breeds like Persian cats or Pomeranians may need more frequent brushing and de-matting to prevent tangles, while short-haired breeds like Dachshunds or Bulldogs may require specialized shedding treatments to reduce loose hair.

In conclusion, pet grooming in Dubai is more than a routine—it's a pathway to a happier, healthier pet. By delving into the connection between pet grooming and positive behavior, we create a harmonious environment for our beloved companions. Let's embrace pet grooming not just as a task but as a meaningful way to enhance our pet's quality of life in Dubai's dynamic pet-loving culture.

#PetGroomingDubai #DubaiPets #PamperedPets #GroomingTrends #PetCare #HealthyPets #HappyPets #DubaiLiving #PetLove #PetWellness #GroomingTips #FurryFriends #PetLovers #DubaiLife #GroomingGoals

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Blood Sacrifices part four

TW: gore, broken bones, organ damage, blood, torture, nudity, religion, paganism, false god, vampire whumper, human whumpee

Ve'Qren slowly looked Drehl over.

"Undress," he ordered.

With a hard look in his eyes, Drehl derobed and laid his jewelry atop the folded cloth. Swirling patterns of red and orange cosmetic paints covered his skin.

Ve'Qren allowed himself a moment to admire Drehl's slender form, longing both for different circumstances and to sink his fangs deep into the man's flesh.

He circled then, as though a jungle cat, assessing his prey. Humans were weak, truly, and Drehl stood utterly defenseless.

Ve'Qren lunged, and Drehl's head hit the clay floor with a sickening crack. This served only to further excite Ve'Qren, sitting astride his prey's hips.

In a moment of overexuberance, Ve'Qren dug his claws between Drehl's ribs, spurred on by his gruesome screams.

Pressing downward, he was greeted by the beautiful snap of broken bones. The inside of Drehl's body outdid even his skin in warmth.

Still Ve'Qren clutched the shattered ribs within Drehl's chest, feeling the delicate organs working beneath them.

Drehl was beyond screaming now, trying only to keep himself breathing. Every labored inhale brought his lungs closer to puncturing on shards of bone or the claws of Ve'Qren, all dyed brilliantly red.

"Are you still in doubt?" Ve'Qren asked, his lips brushing against Drehl's ear.

Drehl shook his head wildly.

"You are to speak when spoken to," Ve'Qren hissed.

Drehl gasped, trying to forms words, any phrase which could aid him.

"I am waiting."

"I'm sorry," Drehl managed, too softly to be heard by any, save for Ve'Qren.

He passed then into unconsciousness, far too pained to retain his senses.

Ve'Qren rose, admiring his art. Drehl's caved in chest, bones slicing through tender flesh, all slathered in the blood still pouring forth from his wounds.

"I hope this has proven an apt demonstration," Ve'Qren said loudly, making eye contact with each of the priests in turn.

"Yes your godliness," Lohl said. "Please have mercy on the rest of us. We abhor Drehl's behavior and shun him as we should."

"I am a forgiving and merciful god," Ve'Qren decided. "Call for a medic, and have his wounds tended to. He shall return to his responsibilities when he is fully healed."

"Yes your godliness." Lohl sighed in relief, color returning to his pallid cheeks. "Your kindness is astounding. Swua, go now and fetch Cetaes."

Swua rose and set forth from the temple, forcing themself to walk at a measured pace.

"Daes," Lohl continued, "clean this blood to the best of your ability, but do not touch Drehl for even a moment."

With great relief from no longer having to stare upon Drehl's broken body, Daes took her leave to collect water from the river.

"Tyri," Lohl finished, "you are dismissed."

Tyri did not keep his composure as the others, running with great haste to the comfort of his home.

Ve'Qren settled onto his throne, which Lohl's shaking form still knelt beside.

Ve'Qren ran his fingers though Lohl's curls, making his hair filthy with Drehl's blood. Lohl melted into the touch, even as it sickened him.

"I know you will not disappoint me," Ve'Qren purred. "You have always been loyal. I have deep apreciation for your service."

"Yes your godliness." Lohl's words were thick with tears. "Now, if it pleases you, I will receive further instruction of your plans."

Taglist: @elim-flower @devourerofcheesecake @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whumpshaped @boxboysandotherwhump @thecyrulik @heavenly-whumper @whumpitisthen

#Whump #Religious whump #Vampire whumper #Human whumpee #Torture #Broken ribs #Whumpblr #Undo punishment #Slightly nsfwhump #Abraham original: Hot off the press

[dewydovahkiin]

hear me out…

spets that have an s/o that has a thing for fictional slashers and begs them to dress up for them, then they admit that they like doing that and dress up more often 👀

SCREAMING WITHOUT THE S I can’t put into words how much I love this idea. Ubi needs to stop with their current shitass cosmetics and give us what we really want; slasher spetz. I need Michael myer!fuze to come true so I can slap his ass through his jumpsuit.

Tachanka-

It’s not hard to convince him to wear a costume, especially if you promise something good comes out of it *wink wonk*. Alexsandr loves the attention you give him and your excitement. Even though I’ve said it before, he’s deffo the type to bang you in full costume and it still stands so like…it’s gonna be a regular thing anyways and he’ll make sure you know it 😩

Kapkan-

Getting him to dress up is like trying to put a sweater on an angry rabid cat. It’s not happening or else you will suffer being bitten. Seriously, Maxim bites. And he will not be sorry.

Buuuut if you did get him to do it you better tell him how good he looks. He won’t show it but he loves getting attention from you, so if it means getting more attention then he’ll do it with a sigh and a grumble. He won’t admit to liking it but he’s much less hesitant to do it in the future, especially if you give him attention somewhere else iykyk

Fuze-

You have to bribe him to do it, there’s no other possible way. Shuhrat will brush you off and tell you ‘no’ but with enough promises and feeding him your home-cooking he’ll do it. He quickly realizes it’s worth it. He didn’t realize exactly how much you liked slashers until you felt him up in his costume and wouldn’t leave him alone, but now he’s willing to do it again. He’ll endure a mask or paint if It means getting his ass grabbed again

Glaz-

You tell him to dress up and he does it, no questions asked. Timur knows exactly what your motives are when you ask him to dress up like your favorite slasher and he will reap the full benefits of it. He’s very enthusiastic about it.

#x reader #r6siege #r6s x reader #rainbow six siege #tachanka x reader #fuze x reader #kapkan x reader #glaz x reader