filthy creature

Starters for Demon muses!

If your muse is a demon:
“Oh, turns out that you’re not that stupid. I thought that you would never figure out what I am.”
“It’s not how I actually look.”
“Have you met a demon before?”
“Do it if you want. Your weapons won’t hurt me anyway.”
“Your weapons look funny to me.”
“How did you figure out that I’m not a human?”
“What do you thing you’re going to do with that Holy Water?”
“What?? You’ve lured me into a trap?!”
“A trap? How dare you?!”
“I’m not afraid of your angels.”
“I’m not afraid of your Gods.”
“Take the salt away from me.”
“Exorcism? Really? You think you can save them?”
“I’m too powerful for your toys to work on me.”
“Even if I’m a demon, it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel.”
“Not all demons are the same.”
“Humans… You are so quick to label everyone. I’m not like others.”
“I don’t need your soul.”
“I might be a demon, but I’m not trying to trick you.”
“I know that it’s hard to believe it, but yes a demon wants to help you. Just trust me.”
“You’ve known me for so many years… And now you are trying to run away because I’m a demon? I’ve been like this all this time!”
“I’ve always been like this.. why are you scared now when you know the truth?”
“Aren’t you scared when you finally know the truth about me?”
“Sorry that I couldn’t show my true face.”
“Will you hate me now that you know that I’m a demon?”
“I can help you.. But will you trust a demon?”
“Want to make a deal?”
“My deals can not be terminated.”
“If you want… You can have your dream life. But after ten years I’ll come for your soul.”
“Congratulations, you have just sold your soul.”
“Now your soul is mine.”
“Never trust a demon.”
“I will make you suffer!!”
“I will enjoy your pain.”
“It looks like I’ll have a feast tonight.”
“Your soul smells delicious.”
“Scream! No one will hear you!”
“Pray as much as you want! It won’t help you anyway!”
“Aaaaaahhhhh!!!! Not the Holy Water! It buuuurrrnnsss!!”
“A circle of salt? Wise.”
“Pour as much salt as you want.. But you can’t stay in that circle forever.”
“Uh oh… it looks that you’re out of Holy Water.”
“You will never understand me, human.”
“You think you’re strong human?! Think again!”
“No one cares about the demon..”
“Why would you care about me? You know that I am a demon.”
“I don’t need your compassion.”
“Why are you not scared of me? Do you understand that I’m a demon?!”
“Have you summoned me?”
“Why have you summoned me?”
“Who dared to disturb me?!”
“You’ve summoned me.. now we must make a deal.”

Towards a demon muse:
“I know what you are..”
“You’re a demon!”
“What are you?!”
“No… this can’t be true.. you can’t be something so foul.”
“I always knew that there’s something wrong with you!”
“I’ve sensed that you’re not a human.”
“I knew that you’re not a human.. Just never showed it.”
“Even if you’re a demon I still care about you.”
“I… I don’t care that you are a demon.”
“Demon or not, you’re still important to me.”
“You have been a demon.. all this time?”
“Stay back!. You.. you monster!!”
“Please, don’t hurt me! I’m begging you!”
“Don’t kill me… Please…”
“Are you going to posses me?”
“What do you need from me, you filthy creature?”
“Posses me… Take my body.”
“I thought that I knew you..”
“Stay away from me. You’re scaring me.”
“I’ve killed hundreds like you.”
“I know how fight against you.”
“So demons are real?”
“Don’t tell me that demons are real.”
“I’ve trained to kill demons.. And it’s time for you.”
“Salt, Holy Water, book about exorcism.. believe me I’m prepared.”
“You’re heartless.”
“How could you do that?!”
“I want to make a deal.”
“I don’t know what else can I do.. help me.”
“I’ll give you my soul for their life.”
“I don’t care anymore… I want to make a deal.”
“Your eyes… they’re black.”
“You are unusually friendly for a demon.”
“Aren’t demons supposed to be merciless killers?”
“You’re different from other demons.”
“You will help me?.. But you’re a demon.”
“Why would demon want to help me?”
“Why would I help a demon?”
“Why would I trust a demon?”
“I don’t trust you.. You’re a demon.”
“How could someone love a demon?”
“How could I feel something towards you?”
“Monsters like you don’t deserve to be loved.”
“Monsters like you don’t deserve happiness.”
“Even demons need some love.”
“It doesn’t matter that you’re a demon.. You still deserve to be happy.”
“I’ve never thought that I’ll have so much fun spending time with a demon.”
“I never thought that I’ll be calmly talking with a demon.”
“Are other demons also so nice to be around?”
“Can you feel something else that a need to kill?”
“Are you truly so cruel like everyone is saying?”
“What do you want?! My soul?!”
“Take my soul! I don’t care! Just leave me alone!”
“Take my soul! I don’t care! Just leave them alone!”
“Yes.. I’ve summoned you.”
“I’ve summoned you and you much obey me.”
“What?! I wasn’t trying to summon a demon!”
“I didn’t knew that reading this will summon a demon..”
“Give me back my soul!”
“I want to end the deal.”
“You’ve tricked me! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a demon!”
“Wait.. you haven’t tricked me?”
“You’re a demon.. there’s no way that I’ll allow you to stay alive.”
“Go back to hell!”
“I’ve finally summoned you my master.”
“Let me serve you.”
“You won’t be able to get me in this circle of salt!”
“Taste some Holy Water!”
“It burns you doesn’t it, you scum?!”
“You won’t lay your nasty fingers on anyone else!”
“Come! They will not find you here!”
“No! They will find you!”
“What have you done to me?”
“You shouldn’t have left hell.”
“Why do you care? You’re a demon.”
“So how do souls taste like?”
“A demon?.. Here?”
“I’ve imagined demons differently.”
“This is exactly how I’ve imagined demons.”
“I’m honoured to meet you.”
“Even if you made everyone else trust you, demon… know that I never will.”
“May I ask… how actually old are you?”
“What does hell look like?”
“What will happen to me after You take my soul?”
“You’re a demon.. You wouldn’t be able to understand me.”

anonymous asked:

hi i like birds. do u like birds? i’m curious because i like birds. thak u

no they scare me & i was traumatized when i was little into associating them with being incredibly germ ridden filthy creatures. as both a germaphobe and a human who is scared of screeching talon beasts of the sky dominion, they terrify me

Urmom is a place, really

(disclaimer: this will probably make more sense to latin american people, i’ll try to translate it the more accurate possible way)

I’m an Alchemist and the campaign took us to a slave house, needing to search for answers i used the disguise extract to look pretty much like Seneca Crane from hunger games with Salvador Dali moustache.

Arriving at the slave house, the owner was being roughed up by the classic thug asking for lunch money, i mean protection service, since we needed the dude alive, i entered regally in the scene.

 "what are you doing you swines!?“ - with the most pompous and grandiloquent voice i could make

 "Get lost man, this doesn’t concern you”

 "Filthy creatures, i will not tolerate harm to my protegees, cease at this instant!“

 "And who the f*** are you!?” - the thugs with the most “wtf!?” face ever. 

 "I’m the Duke Urmom!“ - I spouted (the spanish name i used would be Conde Tumare which is pretty close to Conchetumadre a slang for Motherfucker).

 Suffice to say i rolled nat 20 in the next 2 bluff checks, so now everyone there believed im a proud and rich noble owner of Urmom, and he will be my go-to disguise for the rest of my adventures.


Xayah wanted to stay on foot, to keep going all across the world until somehow she managed to fall off the side of Runeterra and disappear. 

She hated them. Those filthy, evil, vile little humans and those blind, ignorant Vastayan’s too! They were worse in a way, closing their eyes to the truths that surrounded them. 

Sometimes, she wanted to kill them too. Wanted to watch their blood soak through her feather daggers, watch their faces drain of life and become as empty as their damn skulls. Xayah angrily dug her teeth into her bottom lip as she kept moving, swiftly stepping around the skeletal body of a dying tree.

This forest, like so many others…was dying. Vivid evidence of the truths Xayah wanted to spread. Yet they didn’t see it. Couldn’t see it. Her amber eyes swept around her, taking in every dying tree, every fading spark of magic. The dark canopy of the trees overhead cast the woods in almost complete darkness, but Xayah walked without hesitance. 

After all, the farther she walked, the more distant the Mirai became. Doubts clouded her head, as dark as the forest around her. Doubts she carried with her at every moment, doubts she buried deep inside herself. Questions.

What was the point in trying to free the Vastayan’s? What was the point in trying to educate them and to give them the power to destroy their oppressors? They didn’t see the humans in that light. Humans, those filthy monstrous creatures, had taken everything from them and yet her fellow Vastayan’s were their “friends”? It was one thing if they were too scared to stand up for themselves, that was understandable, but to willingly let the humans have reign over this world? How could they live like that? How could they continue to wake up, day after day, knowing their magic was being stolen from them? How could they raise their children in a world where the humans were slowly but steadily destroying them?!

Without Wild magic the Vastayan’s could no longer live.

They had to know that. Yet they wouldn’t take up a weapon, wouldn’t journey with her. 

It didn’t make sense.

She wanted to give up. Wanted to end this pointless dream that seemed as if it would never bloom to fruition. Angrily, she summoned a feather dagger, running her thumb on the sharp edge and finding a familiar, old comfort in the pain that shot through her.

“Please stop that, babe. You know I don’t like it when you do that to yourself,” A soft voice called from behind her.

Somehow, she had thought she was alone. The voice shocked her and she gasped, like a child waking from a nightmare

Rakan was using that gentle, pleading voice. That voice she could never ignore and had never been able to. Xayah stilled her angry steps, stiffening. She turned on her heels, eyes livid with rage, and his gaze found hers. He flinched when he saw the anger etched across her face and her heart wrenched even as she opened her mouth.

“I don’t give a shit what you like.You don’t get to tell me what to do? If you don’t like it then leave, Rakan.” Her words were callous, and he was visibly bothered by them. His handsome features became drawn and sad and her heart shattered.  

There was a swollen, sickly moment as Xayah waited for his reaction. She wondered if Rakan would turn his back and leave her. She knew he was only in this for her, but what was so great about her? He could have anyone. She had seen him charm other women with a wink alone. He could have any woman in the world. It wouldn’t be shocking if he gave up this life of hardship for the comforts he once had as a travelling dancer.

Her amber eyes burrowed into his blue, burning and cruel and cold at the same time. Daring him to leave, begging him to so she could be alone in her misery. Her body visibly trembled, and she pushed her thumb into the dagger until blood dripped down her hand. But it wasn’t comforting pain anymore, it was just pain.

She turned to walk away again, tearing up, but he swiftly swept towards her, gathering her in his arms. He was warm. So deliciously warm and she leaned against him, eyes burning with the threat of tears. The feather knife’s magic faded from existence as she pushed her face into his chest.

“You know I’ll never leave you, babe.” Rakan smiled, brushing his fingers across her cheek and lips, and she leaned into his touch. She ran her own fingers through his waves of white gold locks and enjoying the way he smiled despite her anger. Her heart pounded and she shivered again when he gently scattered kisses all over her face.

“Mwah, mwah,” He grinned, and then captured her chin in one long fingered hand. His jolly expression faded, becoming more serious, and he leaned down. She sighed with relief when he kissed her mouth, his lips hot and soft. Her anger seeped away as their mouths crushed together harder, and he groaned and squeezed her in his arms so tight she thought she would break. They stayed like that, her in his arms and their mouths melded together.

When he finally pulled away, the anger was gone. His warm, cerulean gaze brushed hers and she forced her own away. Guilt clenched her heart. She had hurt herself, had been so cruel to him. But she knew Rakan understood. He always did, always had. Always knew just what she needed. As if sensing her thoughts, he smiled knowingly.

“Why are you giving me that look,” she asked suspiciously, and he smiled wider.

“Let’s talk about it.”

“What,” she snapped, anger in her tone but not in her heart.

“Let’s rest a bit, we can talk about it.”

Xayah crossed her arms. “We don’t have time to waste. And we’ve already talked about it, I’m through with talking, I want actions not words.”

“Nah. It’s alright, okay? We’re fine.” He pushed her hood back, and ran his fingers through her hair. He kissed her again. His words, so soft and gentle, brushed against her and soothed her. Seeped into her, like sunshine, and somehow it was okay. She was fine. She bit her bottom lip as tears stung her eyes, and began to drip down her cheeks.

“We can talk about it. If you want,” he offered. Anger flared in his eyes when he noticed her tears and he snarled. “I’ll go back there and smack those fools myself,” he spun, cloak billowing, and marched away.

She laughed despite her tears, “Rakan!”

He turned back to her, his face devoid of humor.

“No one makes my baby cry. No evil human, no blind Vastayan, no one. Only I get to, you understand me?Her stomach was full of butterflies and knots and she laughed.

“Yes, I understand that.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled, tugging on his arm. ‘C’mon, help me set up for the night.”

He muttered to himself as he set his travelling pack down next to a tree, digging around in it. When he caught her staring he smiled a little. She gazed out into the forest. This alone was a sign of their superiority. If a human made camp in a dangerous forest like this, they would be eaten or killed by some creature within the hour. Yet animals recognize them as friends, they didn’t harm them. Xayah set her own pack down as he ranted and paced back and forth.

“Damn them! How come they don’t see, Xayah? How come they won’t join us?”

Xayah turned towards him, a smile on her lips. “Because we’re the only smart people in this whole damned world. Fuck it, Rakan, we don’t need them. They’d hold us back, anyways. Those fucking fish for brains.”

His face lit up, like the sun. “That’s right,” he parroted, “We don’t need those fools!”

She turned her gaze away again, and found it strange how just a few moments before she had been full of rage, had wanted him to leave her so she could be alone and miserable. Truthfully, Xayah couldn’t imagine her life without him. Not anymore. How many days would it have taken before she’d died from heartbreak alone?

She lowered her fingers to her still bleeding thumb, and sighed pleasantly as she closed the wound. An old habit. She had Rakan now. She didn’t need the pain. In fact, she didn’t need anyone or anything. “Rakan. We’ll kill anyone who stands in our way, including those braindead Vastayan’s.”

“Yep. You’ll kill everyone,” he agreed pleasantly, nodding his head and winking, “and I’ll watch. I love it when you let me watch.” His smile was infectious. She giggled, cheeks red as she grabbed the collar of his cloak and kissed him hard.

“So, do you wanna join me, or do you wanna watch,” she teased, placing his hands on her waist, swaying against him in the beginning of a dance. His eyes grew dark and he smiled and everything was perfect.

Rakan was right. 

They were fine. Everything was okay. As long as they were together, it would remain that way.


Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader (female pronouns)

Summary: Regency AU! You’re the only unmarried daughter of a wealthy family, but the man who has your heart is Poe, a stablehand. When your family announces your engagement to a man you’ve never met, will yours and Poe’s love survive?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of a forced engagement

A/N: Forbidden romances are my favourite trope ever omg

Originally posted by dawnofthedusk

Poe was whistling to himself as he worked away, grooming the grey mare in front of him until her coat shone. He chuckled as she nudged him with her nose, and he scratched her muzzle affectionately before going back to his work.

“You’re seeing her today, aren’t you?”

He looked over the mare’s back to see Han, the head stablehand, leaning over the stall door. Poe shrugged nonchalantly.

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“Miss (Y/N) from the big house. You’ve been whistling all damn morning.”

“Being in love makes a man whistle,” Poe shot back with a grin as Han scoffed.

“And you couldn’t‘ve fallen in love with someone at your level?”

Poe straightened up, all traces of laughter gone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Han raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, she’s not like you and me. Her parents won’t let her go unmarried for much longer, and they won’t be looking for a suitor amongst stablehands. I saw a fancy carriage pulling up about an hour ago, looked a very handsome young gentleman going inside.”

“Probably just some cousin of hers,” Poe insisted, despite the panic biting at his mind. If your parents wanted you to marry someone, there was nothing he could do to stop it without exposing the relationship you’d been so carefully hiding for the past year.

“Don’t go getting your heart broken, son,” Han said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “Falling for someone above your station never works out well.”


Your heart had plummeted to land somewhere near your feet.

Your parents wanted you to marry. No, they didn’t want you to marry, they had already arranged an engagement without so much as a word’s notice to you.

Your heart ached for Poe; you had promised him that you’d meet him at noon, but your parents had insisted on you taking a walk with Armitage Hux, the so-called gentleman they intended for you to marry. Everything about him turned your stomach, and he was nothing compared to Poe; where Poe was confident, Hux was smug and obnoxious, where Poe’s eyes were dark and warm and full of laughter, Hux’s were cold and calculating. His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“Perhaps you’d like to see the stables?” you offered hopefully, trying to find a way to get to Poe. Hux sneered.

“No thank you. I’d rather stay away from those filthy creatures down there. The horses are no better, I’ll wager.” He burst into cold, cruel laughter, and you bit your lip to stop yourself crying. You could never marry this horrible, horrible man.

Hux didn’t leave until late that evening, and the minute his carriage had disappeared down the drive, you were off at a sprint towards the stables. Guilt, fear and anxiety gnawed at your belly as you came within sight of the old building, the lanterns lit outside the barn doors a telltale sign of how late you were to see Poe.

All of the horses had been brought inside for the night, but the stable was in darkness except for one solitary lantern at the far end. You could hear a familiar voice, singing and mumbling softly to the horse in the stall, and your heart clenched.

“Poe?” you called quietly.

The voice stopped, and you held your breath as the stall door swung open and then shut again.

“Miss (Y/N), shouldn’t you be with your fiancé?” Poe asked coldly. You flinched at his formal address and tone.

“Poe, I can’t marry him,” you told him, tears welling in your eyes. “This isn’t what I want, they’re giving me no choice.”

As soon as he heard the heartbreak in your voice, his composure dropped and he stepped towards you, taking you in his arms. You breathed in deeply as you clung to his chest; he smelt of horses and outdoors and freedom, whereas Hux had smelt artificial and overpoweringly of money.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered against his shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. “He’s coming back tomorrow with his parents.”

Poe pulled away suddenly, his hands firm on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. His own eyes shone with tears, but blazed with determination in the dim light of the lantern.

“Marry me,” he said simply. “(Y/N), marry me. We’ll run away tonight, they’ll never find us.”

Your lips parted in shock, your hands coming shakily to cup his cheeks.

“Poe, you’d be ruined. If anyone found out, they’d never employ you again, and you’d be done for,” you told him regretfully, fresh tears welling in your eyes.

“But I’d have you,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against yours. “The rest means nothing to me.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips, and you kissed him softly. “Then yes, I’ll marry you.”

A grin to match yours spread across his face, and his hands came to hold your waist as he pressed kiss after kiss to your lips until you couldn’t stop giggling.

“Go back to the house, pretend to take ill and go to bed. I’ll prepare a couple of horses and come for you when it’s time,” he promised, kissing you again.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, running your fingers through his dark curls. “Be quick.”

“I will. I love you, my darling.”

With a final kiss, you disappeared into the night to return to the house for the last time. Poe watched from the doorway, his heart fuller than ever as he thought of how soon he would be able to call you his wife.

“When I said be careful, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

He turned sharply to see Han coming out of one of the stalls.

“Don’t try and stop us,” Poe warned. “You know how unhappy she’d be if she married the way they want her to, and you know I’d never forgive you if you got in our way. I love her, Han, and I won’t let anyone in this world or the next come between us.” A single tear ran down his cheek, the force behind his words too much to contain.

The older man chuckled. “When did you hear me say I would get in your way?”

Poe frowned in confusion. “But you-”

“Take Bee and Artoo,” Han told him, gesturing to the skewbald mare and the grey stallion behind him. “I’ve saddled them already, those two’ll get you far from here before her family even notice she’s gone.”

Poe was shocked into silence, and the grey-haired man chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder before making his way out of the stable.

“You didn’t really think I’d rat you out to those rich bastards, did you?”


You held your breath as you crept down the main staircase, pulling the hood of your thick cloak over your head to hide your face as you hurried across the marble floor. A glance over your shoulder at your childhood home brought no feelings of apprehension or regret, and you slipped through the doors into the cold night air.

Poe stood a few metres away in the shadows, a horse on either side of him. He dropped their reins upon seeing you, and pressed his lips to yours in a tender, passionate kiss.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hushed. “You know that if we do this, I won’t be able to keep you the way you’ve grown up living.”

“Do you promise?” you whispered, a grin on your lips. He smiled against your lips, before helping you up onto the grey horse. You gathered the reins in your hands as he mounted his own horse quickly, adjusting a small saddlebag that he had fitted.

“Shall we?” he asked, reaching to take your hand nearest to him. You squeezed his fingers reassuringly, not planning on letting go.

“Try and stop me.”

A/N: Feedback on this in my ask would mean the absolute world! Thank you for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week!

Tags: @leilei-draws @yourwonderbelle @lovepoe @blackleader-standingby @lovingrevolution @cocoatales @propertyofpoeandbucky @just-another-resistance-girl @fortheloveoflamp @human-writes-and-arts @rebel-scum-stuff @kboogie09 @kaydelc0connix @cobalt-one @poedameronandothertrash @firefeatherx @sleepylunarwolf @thefirebreather00 @poerebel @anxiousteengeek @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @interwebseriesfan24

A Happy Birthday ficlet for hippymamalove  (

“Son.”  Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of Draco’s rooms, looking unwontedly ill at ease.  “May I come in?”

Their relationship had been strained since the war.  Draco found he resented his parent’s slavish early devotion to the Dark Lord while simultaneously being grateful they’d broken free at the end.  They were grateful he was alive and resented his surly attitude.  It made for uncomfortable mealtimes and they tended to avoid each other between those meals.

“Of course,” Draco said with as much graciousness as he could muster.  “It’s your house, after all,” he muttered as his father stepped across the threshold.

Lucius grimaced at that but didn’t say anything, just settled himself in one of the arm chairs Narcissa had had covered to match the green bedspread the year Draco had decided he wanted only Slytherin colors in his room.  “Draco,” he began, “when a boy grows up he may experience certain… changes.  You may begin to feel urges that – “

Draco cut him off.  “Father,” he said, his voice tight with embarrassment, “I’ve known how to do a contraceptive charm for quite some time now.”

“That’s… that’s good but it’s not,” Lucius stopped and shook his head.  “Have you actually…” He trailed off.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Draco said, his arms crossed as he glared at his father, “but no.  The war kind of made that impossible.  But you don’t need to worry about me coming home with a half-blood embarrassment.  Hogwarts made sure we all knew how to –“

“It’s not that,” Lucius said.

“- And I’ve known for years that masturbation doesn’t make you blind and – “


“ – And I’m eighteen years old so don’t you think this little sex talk is a tiny bit late?”

“You’re a Veela.”  Lucius just got the words out as quickly as he could

Draco’s mouth had been open to continue talking but just gaped at his father and no words came out until, at last, he said, “Not possible.  We’re purebloods.”

Lucius nodded.  “Of course, but Veela blood isn’t considered impure, and once you find your mate it won’t even impact your life that much.”

“Find my what?”

Lucius took a deep breath and, now that Draco was really paying attention began to explain.  Malfoy men were Veela.  It wasn’t well known outside certain select families but it was true.  When they matured they began to experience intense cravings for a single sexual partner.  The bond was irreversible and absolute.  At the mention of ‘marking’, a term that made Draco cringe, he stopped his father’s horrifying monologue.

“A Mark?” he said.  “I think I’ve had enough ‘Marking’ to last me forever.”

“You won’t be able to…” Lucius sighed. “It’s not like what happened with…”

“You mean it won’t seem like a good idea at the time only to turn into a bloody chain tying me to what is not a good idea at all?”  Draco demanded.

“When you find your mate –“

“A mate.  Like a fucking swan.  Or an albatross.  Great.”

“ – You’ll understand.  When your mother and I – “

“No.  I refuse to think about you biting mother in some hideous, animalistic bonding ritual.  That is just… no.”  Draco looked like he wanted to throw up.  

Lucius sighed again.  “Draco,” he said, trying to be as patient as he could.  “You don’t have a choice.”


“If you don’t find a mate – your mate, because you’ll fixate on one woman – you’ll waste away.”

“This just gets better and better,” Draco said.  “So, find a nice girl, explain I’m not a pureblood but some vile creature, and, oh, by the way, would she mind if I started gnawing on her shoulder because if I don’t I’ll pine away into nothingness.”  He slouched into the armchair that matched the one Lucius was in.  “Any more bad news?  Do I have to drink blood or do I turn into a wolf at the full moon or anything?”

“No, no werewolf,” Lucius said.  “No vampire.  There are the wings, of course, – “

“Wings?”  Draco lifted his head.  “Wings?

“- And claws but only if you aren’t able to control your emotions.”

Draco mouthed something that might have been ‘fucking great’ but didn’t say anything else out loud; he just slumped lower in his chair and buried his face in his hands.  

“You’ll know your mate when you meet her,” Lucius said in a tone that was probably meant to be encouraging. “Now that you’re an adult and the… the urges… are going to start happening you’ll know her the moment you see her, even if you’ve walked past her a hundred times before and never noticed anything.  We’ll have a party, invite everyone we can, you can just mingle and you’ll find her.”

“Because if I don’t I waste away,” Draco muttered.  “And then I get to convince some girl to let me start chewing on her.”

“You’re a Malfoy,” Lucius said, a hint of the familiar arrogance back in his voice now that this painful conversation was almost over.  “And the old pureblood families all know about Veelas.  No one will – “

“Object that I’m some filthy magical creature.  I get it.”  Draco shuddered.  “Could you get out now?  Please?”  

After Lucius nodded and left Draco raked his fingernails down his arm, over the Mark he couldn’t get rid of, couldn’t hide, leaving a series of long red lines before he bent over and tried not to sob.  “Why couldn’t he just been talking about wanking off?” he muttered to himself.  “Why?”

… … … .

The party was a success, even by Narcissa Malfoy’s high standards.  Despite their family’s questionable social standing after the war she’d managed to convince enough people that this affair – supposedly a fund-raiser to help rebuild small businesses in Diagon Alley – was not to be missed that both ballrooms had been opened and people flowed from one to the other, champagne glasses in hand, while house elves bobbed in and out of the crowd balancing trays of starters on hands held above their heads.

Draco moved through the crowd a smile plastered to his face, sleeves down to hide his Mark.  He’d begun to feel the urges his father had discussed and the need to find this woman had started to feel all-consuming.  They weren’t even sexual, which was what he had expected.  He just needed to find her and smell her, touch her.  He’d sit at her feet and ask nothing more if she’d just let him.

Assuming he could find her.

If he couldn’t it became clearer with every passing day that his father hadn’t been exaggerating when he said, “waste away.”

He’d walked through the party for hours, making endless small talk with his mother’s friends and their boring daughters and felt nothing.  Not a spark.  Not a flicker.  Nothing.  He’d had a brief, truly horrifying moment, when he’d seen Ron Weasley and Harry Potter and felt something churn in his stomach but it had been some kind of false alarm.  The three of them had exchanged tense pleasantries and Harry had mentioned that that Mudblood friend of his would be along later with Ron’s little sister.

Draco hoped, the strangest hope he’d ever had, that it would be Ginny Weasley.  His father had told him, in a second equally awful conversation, that his mate would be equally drawn to him.  “Like a bee to nectar,” he’d said.

“Or a moth to bloody flame,” Draco had muttered but he’d been grateful to realize that he wasn’t going to have to actually court this mystery woman.  She might be as unhappy about the entire situation as he was but she’d no more be able to control her urges than he would.  

Ginny Weasley was pureblood, at least, and taking the Chosen One’s girlfriend would give him a certain malicious amount of pleasure even if she was a blood traitor and kind of irritating.

“I’ll be so good to you, whoever you are,” Draco whispered under his breath as he made his way to the foyer to try to breathe in a little cooler air before he reentered the fray.  “I’ll do anything you want, just make this burning need for you go away.  Just keep me from dying.  I know I’m a… just…”

Ginny Weasley came out of the small lounge, her head turned to talk to someone behind her, and Draco felt nothing.  Not her, then.  Well, that was to be expected.  Hundreds of girls at this damn party and not one of them was his mate.  Not one of them was his lifeline.  He turned to trudge back into the ballroom when he felt a hissed intake of breath behind him followed by the sound of glass shattering on the marble floor.

He turned.  Hermione Granger was standing there, her hand to her mouth and a broken champagne flute at her feet.

“You’ll ruin your shoes,” Draco said stupidly as he stared at the splashes of wine on what looked like satin high heels.

Ginny looked from one of them to the other, her confusion evident.  “Hermione,” she said, “are you okay.”

“I don’t… I need to sit down,” Hermione whispered.  

Draco rushed to drag a chair across the floor to her, the Weasley girl staring at him as if he’d grown a second head – or sprouted wings, he thought with a frown – the whole time.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as she sat down.  “I just… I’m sorry; this is very embarrassing.  I just felt suddenly faint.  I’m sure…” She put a hand out as if to steady herself and Draco leaned down to kiss the back of it.  She jerked when his lips brushed against her skin and he felt his own stomach lurch.

“Granger,” Draco said, then tried again, “Miss Granger.  I have something I need to tell you.”

By the time he was done Ginny Weasley had dragged over a chair of her own, ordered more champagne from a passing house elf, and peppered him with questions while Hermione sat there, as if in a state of shock, her hand nervously playing with his hair.  She’d run her fingers down a strand and then let it go, only to pick it up again.  Draco knelt in the puddle of champagne at her feet, bits of glass cutting into his lower legs, as he explained and re-explained the situation.

“This is not fair,” Hermione said at last.

“I am aware,” Draco said, fighting the urge to rest his cheek on her knee.  He expected her to rail against her own unwelcome bond to him, to the boy who’d made her school years unpleasant with taunts, who had thought of her as a Mudblood not an hour ago.  

“How can you be just trapped like this,” was, however, what she said.  “You… no one even told you?  Not until you were on the cusp of dying because you had to find… is this party really about Diagon Alley?”

“I can assure you,” he said, “a not insubstantial sum has been raised to help businesses rebuild.”

“But this was to find me,” she said.  

“The Malfoy family is matching all donations,” Draco said helplessly as he wiped his sweating hands on his trousers.  

“Was it the war?” she demanded.  “Did no one warn you because of the war?”

Draco looked at her, confused, but Ginny was beginning to smirk.  “The bond really does go both ways,” she said.  “Well, Draco Malfoy, welcome to having Hermione Granger outraged on your behalf.”  She stood up.  “I need to go find Ron.  This is the best thing ever.  He might actually turn purple.”

“Shite,” Draco looked at Hermione. “You’re with Weasley.  I…” The earlier idea that he’d enjoy gloating on getting to steal the Chosen One’s girlfriend was replaced by horror at the idea Hermione might be made upset in any way at all.

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “We realized almost immediately after the war that… are you bleeding?”

Draco looked down at his knees. The blood from where her broken glass had cut him had seeped through his trousers and was tinting the puddle in which he was kneeling.  “Just a little,” he said.  “It’s not a – “

“Do you lack any sense of self-preservation at all?” she asked in an aggrieved voice.  “Merlin, get up and let me heal your knees.”

He pulled himself to Ginny’s chair and flinched as the witch next to him yanked broken glass out of his skin with one incantation.  “Thank you,” he said right before she leaned over and, as if unable to help herself, pressed her lips into his.  He groaned and pulled her forward over the heavy chair until she was half in his lap, her mouth on his, his tongue licking uncertainly at hers.

That was how Harry Potter and Ron Weasley found them.

For years whenever Ginny told the story of how she was there when Draco and Hermione Malfoy realized they were meant to be, she ended it with, “And Ron did turn purple.  Three different shades.”  She always sounded so pleased about that.  “Three,” she’d say, shaking her head with pleasure.  “Three shades, if you can believe it.”

(More dramione drabbles by colubrina on


Ten years ago, it began. Post-war. First, the screening programme, the DNA checks, then the register, the emergency measures. And soon everyone calls us creatures. Filthy creatures. Every voice. The TV. The computer. Say we have… we have sickness in us. We have weakness. It’s in our blood. They say that our blood cannot go on. That we cannot go on.


Bioware: The Codex gives you various info about several locations and aliens/other races.
Fandom: Genitals.
Bioware: …You may read what color Turian blood-
Fandom: Genitals.
Bioware: …Or what Vitae does with Qunar-
Fandom: Ge-ni-tals.
Bioware: *clears throat* And now you can look up Chat exchanges between the protagonist and your romanc-

“The Skulduggery Pleasant” sentence starters
  • “Doors are for people with no imagination.”  
  • “We’re not retreating, we’re advancing in reverse.”
  • “You don’t know what it is, do you?”
  • “I told you what it is, it’s a horrible monster. Now shut up before it comes over here and eats us.”
  • “Kindness suits you.”
  • “I think I’m quite allergic to it.”
  • “I’m placing you under arrest for murder, conspiracy to commit murder and, I don’t know, possibly littering.”  
  • “So that plan worked out well.”
  • “Your entire plan consisted of, and I quote, “Let’s get up close and then see what happens.”’
  • “I think the whole thing worked out rather beautifully.”
  • “You are vastly outnumbered.”
  • “Your situation has become quite untenable.‘“
  • “You are within moments of being swarmed by these filthy creatures of undeath and torn apart in a maelstrom of pain and fury.”
  • “Okay, that’s a new one on me.”
  • “I need a weapon.”
  • “I’ll buy you a stick for Christmas.”
  • “It’s not that I want you to go, it’s just that I don’t want you to stay.“
  • “There is no such thing as winning and losing.”
  • “There is won and there is lost, there is victory and defeat. There are absolutes. Everything in between is still left to fight for.”
  • “Until then, there is only the struggle, because tides do what tides do–they turn.”
  • “Are you kidding?  I jumped off a building – of course I’m hurt.”  
  • "Panic? Fear? Three empty parking spaces in the Sanctuary?”  
  • “If things go wrong, I’ll lead them away.”
  •  “If you don’t see me in five minutes, then I’ve probably died a very brave and heroic death.”
  • “Oh and don’t– Oh, and don’t touch the radio–I’ve got it tuned right where I want it and I don’t want you messing that up.”  
  • “You are such a moron.”
  • “Don’t be jealous of my genius.”
  • “Every solution to every problem is simple. It’s the distance between the two where the mystery lies.”  
  • “I love you all, even those I don’t
    particularly like.”
  • “Found something?”
  • “Look, this is all very, very weird.”
  • “How would that be OK??”
  • “Stop doing that.”
  • “Stop doing what?”
  • “He could be a butterfly dreaming he’s a man.”
  • “I haven’t had a chance to do it nearly as much as I’d like.”
  • “You have no idea about presents or what they mean. The last
    present you gave me was a stick.”
  • “So this is it? Is everyone here?”
  • “Aren’t you afraid it might get stolen? We’re not exactly in a good part of town.”
  • “It’s really not as bad as it sounds.”
  • “So this—What’s happening and what’s going to happen, this isn’t your fault.”
  • “You can’t control everything, and not everything is your responsibility.”
  • “I wanted to tell you then, but I didn’t have the words and I didn’t have the time.”
  •  I’m here because I choose to be.
  • “You save my life. I save yours. That’s how we work.“
  • “Until the end.”
if zara died instead of livvy

“It’s over, Annabel,” Julian said. He didn’t look triumphant, he looked weary. “It’s done.”

Annabel gave a low growl in her throat. To Emma’s relief, her eyes were not on Julian – something gray streak behind him, silvery blade flashing. Cristina?

However, when the figure slowed to a stop in front of Annabel, Emma realized with a shock that it was Zara Dearborn, her normally perfect bun was coming loose with flyaway strands, her hazel eyes were bright with fury. It was the first time Zara looked like a Shadowhunter.

She stalked towards Annabel, who made no move to retreat, and the Centurion held a sword to her heart.

Everything was slightly off-kilter, Emma analyzed, narrowing her eyes – Zara’s posture, the way she was gripping the blade, the angle she pointed it towards her heart. One thing was for sure – Zara never fought her own battles. She had next to no experience fighting in real life, and this reflected that.

Annabel Blackthorn,” she snarled, “look at what you’ve done. You shouldn’t have come here, listened to that boy who fed you lies.” She did not reply, only gazed at her stonily.

Zara laughed. “For my entire life, your family has been the bane of my existence –” how ironic, Emma thought dryly – “so what better than to kill you right here, right now?” She paused, the hand clutching the sword wavering slightly but never leaving her chest. “You know you deserve it, running off and trusting that filthy creature, that warlock. Loving him. You’re not one of us. You never were.”

Emma’s breath hitched within her throat. Was Zara really going to do it? She only had to thrust the blade one inch, maybe two for an instant kill, and there was nothing Emma could do to stop it. She let out a bitter laugh. Of course she would. She wanted the glory of being the one slaughtering Annabel, this time for good, to get her reputation back and to be pronounced hero. One kill was a small price to pay. Emma felt an overwhelming wave of hatred towards the Centurion and prepared to intervene –

Faster than even Emma could register, Annabel shot to the side, lunged forward, and drove the jagged edge of the broken Mortal Sword straight into Zara’s heart, as easily as a pin on a butterfly.

Everything seemed to freeze around them. Zara gasped as she looked down at the hilt protruding from her chest. Blood was already pooling out at an alarming rate.

“You,” she coughed blood on Annabel’s blue dress, “you – ” She never got to finish, because Annabel wasn’t done. She did something that made Emma look away, and she heard Julian gasp with horror and Zara wail in pain, like a banshee. It was an inhuman sound, for all the inhumane torture Annabel suffered through. At last she vehemently yanked the blade out of her and watched Zara crumpled on her knees, without an ounce of pity. Emma locked eyes with Julian, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, as Annabel turned to run. She left the Centurion dead at Emma’s feet.

It was funny how many times she had imagined strangling Zara, Emma thought, but now there she was, limp as a doll and covered in a puddle of her own blood. Emma supposed she ought to feel sympathy for her death, but to tell the truth, she couldn’t. Even death does not give one the excuse to erase any of their past sins.

Julian was gesturing wildly at Annabel – Emma briefly forgot about her, and cursed her carelessness. She ran, building up speed just as she saw dark smoke erupt from the window behind Annabel. It had the force of an explosion and knocked the wind out of her, and as she crawled back on her knees, she saw the flash of a symbol burned in her brain: a crown, broken in half.

The smoke vanished, and Annabel vanished with it.

maybe in another life

Steve/Tony, MCU, post-Infinity War, major angst.
Warnings for character death and mental illness.

When Steve thought back to that day, he memories felt unreal, as if he were watching a movie about someone else’s life.

He’d seen Thanos grab Tony by the neck. He heard the tortured wrenching of the armor even over the sounds of the battle. Thanos had looked down at Tony with a distasteful grimace and tossed him aside with no more consideration than if he were swatting a fly.

Steve had seen Tony flying through the air, impacting a concrete wall hard enough to smash it, heard the sickening screech as rubble and debris rained down on top of him.

He vaguely remembered sprinting towards the pile, throwing chunks of concrete and metal aside, digging until his knuckles bled and stuck to the inside of his gloves.

But mostly he remembered that when he found Tony, his armor was split by deep, ugly gashes and the ground beneath his body was stained crimson.

The arc reactor had sputtered and gone dim, and when he ripped the faceplate off the suit, Tony’s eyes were blank and vacant, staring at nothing. He wasn’t breathing.

He’d heard someone yelling, then realized it was him. The sounds of battle faded into the background as he stared in horror at the crushed shell of Tony’s armor lying in a pool of blood.

It might have been hours later that he felt a hand on his shoulder. The streets around them were quiet and it was dark. “Steve,” Natasha said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, “He’s gone, Steve.”

No, Steve decided. No, he would not accept this. Not when they had finally managed to mend the rift between them, to start trusting each other and working together again. Not when they had only just found their way back to each other.

He was going to save Tony. He was Captain America, and saving people was what he did.

Keep reading

Olivia Would Do Anything For Her Daddy. Anything.

I never wanted to be a father.

When I was younger I was a stupid kid with big dreams. I lived in a tiny little shitsmear of a town in the middle of the rust belt, a place where kids unironically hopped on their dad’s tractor to hitch a ride to school in the mornings. I used to gaze out at the endless fields of shoulder-high corn, ridged like green corduroy off into the horizon, and I would think to myself, “Fuck this. Fuck this so hard.”

I’d always been a horror movie geek, and in my junior year of high school I scrounged together enough cash to buy a cheap video camera off eBay. I got my friends Anna, Kevin and Dylan together, and, from sundown until curfew, we’d be out in the woods shooting our own homemade horror flick. We didn’t know what we were doing; the shots were dark as hell, you couldn’t hear 80% of the dialogue, and the fake blood looked like dollar-store barbecue sauce (because it was). But it gave us a purpose, and The Killer in the Woods became our own little masterpiece.

I was ecstatic. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and I had a plan for finally escaping that terrible small town with its pervasive manure stench and its suffocating right-wing god-and-guns culture. I promised myself that, as soon as I’d saved up enough from my crappy gas station job, I was going to catch a bus out to LA and become a filmmaker.

And then Anna got pregnant.

We weren’t even dating, exactly. Actually, if you want to get technical about it, she was Dylan’s girlfriend at the time. But Dylan’s nutty Christian parents had discovered naked men in his browser history, and they threatened to kick him out of the house unless he could prove he wasn’t “tainted by perversion.” He started dating Anna, and though I’m sure he cared about her in a way, Anna told me he would recoil away from her when she tried to kiss him, as though she was sticking a dog turd in his face.

Anyway, she was at my house late one night while I was editing the movie, telling me all about what a joke their relationship was, how confused she’d become, how lonely. I don’t have an excuse, not a good one anyway. I told myself I was helping out a friend in need, but honestly we were both just horny teenagers who weren’t thinking. It’s okay, I told myself. No one will know. Just make sure to pull out, and it’ll all be fine.

Anna was Catholic, and she refused to even consider getting an abortion. She told me she was going to raise the baby, and that I could stick around if I wanted, or not. I was scared, and angry, and deeply confused about why this was happening, just when I was so close to finally getting out of that town. I thought long and hard about leaving anyway, but I remembered how hard it was on my mom and me when my dad took off, and I swore I’d never do that to anyone. No, I wasn’t going to be like my dad. I was going to take care of my responsibilities like a real man.

So I stayed.

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prompt by @i-ship-it-irl : I need you to write me some bamf prince of hell Magnus soon or I may die. If you could include the line “I’m a prince/son of hell, dick face” that would be gr8

Not many things could impress Isabelle Lightwood

The air laid thick around their heads like a smothering blanket. The volcanic marsh rumbled beneath them as the warriors struggled, blades catching the light like sunbeams.  

Izzy groaned as another circle member lashed at her. Her and Alec had been fighting for hours now, but it seemed no matter what they did, new opponents kept coming.  

She dodged the knife flying in her direction and tilted her wrist. With a blink of silver, her whip wrapped securely around a boy’s arm, a circle rune glistening eerily yellow on his neck.  

She clicked her tongue. He was so young.  

What was he doing in the circle?  

She was about to take him down when an intense pain shot through her skull, and she was yanked backwards.  

Izzy gasped.  

Keep reading

Dog dragons

Mccree: Now dogs are a man’s best friend! Can’t go wrong with good bloodhound to keep ya company.

Hanzo: Dogs? What filthy creatures. Do not dare to invite such foul beasts into our home.

Mccree: Now I know you know yer dragons pull some shady moves!

Hanzo: You dare insult the Shimada’s ancient spirits?! They are highly esteemed within the clan and you dare compare them to filthy mongrels! Hah! How absurd.

Mccree: Last time I checked, yer “Amazin, powerful, beasts” destroyed our good couch.

Hanzo: ….perhaps