#because it's

[monaetheworldsdestroyer]

[a-kinda-boring-writer]

Since it's Blossomfall day for me apparently, can I just throw out there how hilariously bizarre it is that the Erins would retcon the one singular significant scene in OotS she has with her future mate that could potentially be read as set up for their off-screen romance? And they replaced him with Mousewhisker, of all cats???

I'd be so curious to know what was the thought process behind that decision.....

[lifeisatrial]

It will be a very special present from the universe to me if Johnny Marr magically appears on stage at the Franz Ferdinand concert to play Build It Up. Please. For me.

[sleepymoonlady]

sooooooo this isn't the usual kinda pose i do and

probably will CONTINUE to be a rarity but

here have a vermilion rose thirst trap

(warning: rose bush under cut)

[astrella-is-stupid]

happy holidays! have this little thing i drew based off my family's tree

[morphestic]

i think it's funny how ranpo knows nothing about navigating public transportation and is always having the agency members give him a piggyback ride when he canonically knows how to drive

[drakyns]

❝ i am not afraid to give you everything. ❞

ㅤhere’s how to prepare a heart for eating: make sure your sampler is starving first, trembling and thickened hands tired of holding things and people he will lose. let him trace road maps through the blue veins of your skin, let him press his lips across your neck as he breathes in your scent and gets drunk in your presence, let him get addicted to the soothing cold of the crook of your neck, let him nip on that raw flesh itching for affection just like you do sometimes, too. meet his supplicant gaze and memorise how it simmers for more closure even if there are no inches left between you two.

ㅤmarinate his yearning for a tad longer, and ruffle his hair with your hands until he’s on the verge of pathetic whines. glaze his mouth with a bit of your taste, and sit on his aching lap because you’re his offering, and he’s never had a gift this holy. peel his armour away by taking off his heavy coat, uncaring if it hits the floor, for you want him to have you whole, and so fully naked he shall be, too. mince his grief by cupping his cheeks, wiping away tears that have no more water to spill and kissing the fore of his ever-anxious head. measure his purrs, and if his cheeks are reddened, know that he’s already on point. part his bottom lip with your thumb and scratch under his chin—you just neatly tucked a napkin for his upcoming meal. his teeth are sharp, and you know they will make a mess of you as if you are a pomegranate, wine-dark, and wanting. notice how he already drools for your sight; the plums of your chest only harvest pools of greed into barbaric eyes. your heart is ready. set it on a plate. tell him: ‘i am not afraid to give you everything.’

ㅤnow watch as he thrusts feverishly, and your heart is devoured pinkly and perfectly seasoned with buttered skin love. his canines sink deep in your flesh, lodging themselves like knives finding their scabbards, as sobs spill in half apologies. truth is he is grateful, he is afraid, he is a romantic—he is the biter, the lover, the cannibal good at mercy. he’s eating you not out of anger at the world but because he cannot stand being separated from you. a sentimental creature he is, twisting his set of teeth in unspoken tragedies but well-lived. you know this—his, yours—pain. he wraps his arms around your waist as he licks you and gets a purchase of your nipples, and you know through his extended sigh he is begging you to come closer—he wants you through tendons, bones, blood, spirit and life. you’ve never felt more loved. your heartbeats, once so slow, drum in your ears. just listen, just listen, just listen, he’s praying: let me make you mine / don’t leave / i need you.

ㅤyou throw your head back, and he takes your swallowed invitation. he moves his hips against yours, and your beloved-hated moon tickles his strands; it is the night in a forest, and he is the wolf’s cowered breath opening you, piercing himself inside you, and he is sorry he needs this so ferally, but you aren’t. you find a welling pride in this triumph of fulfilling him as he fills you, and you swallow a smile of pleasured noises. he loves you for it. rapid nails mark your sides, your hip bones are yours no longer, your once-pious skin is tarnished by his hunger, and he moves you up and down, up and down, up and down. you learn just how warm your ichor can be with his fingertips. he bites, he scratches, he kisses, he embraces, he yearns. he will take your everything. perhaps this is the most selfish thing he has ever done for himself, you consider—he wants you to steal even your breath as you collapse, and you’re fairly certain your reds weren’t meant to taste as sweet as they do on his fangs.

ㅤand through sweat and panting, you look down, and you’re a scrambled feast to his appetite. he gazes up, so enamoured that you think your heart is blowing his pupils, and he has that rockiness of men pleased after lunch: “i love you.” and you know that means he wants more. needs more. let him forget. show him he will not lose. not you. again. again. again.