cellshaded
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It's clear that the person doesn't have intel; he doesn't know why the hell Ivan's still going at it. Unnerving to see it play on his face, an expression Till used to wear once broken to his core components, as Ivan's hands follow a routine down a stranger’s frame.
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His father is aghast at the new rasp in his voice. At his first evaluation after the surgical suite, they rear up so viciously at the sound that for a moment, he expects to be struck. It's a novel thought — that's just not their style. The worst parts of his life, now knotted together. The rotten parts still there, only jumbled. Faulty reassembly.
Or: this is not a story about a phoenix.
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if you really love nothing by desmodus
Fandoms: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
23 Jan 2026
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It's a dangerous game Sylvain is playing. He can see each opportunity as it passes within inches of him. Maybe that's Sylvain's problem. He doesn't disappear enough on the battlefield. He's always still there, a little ways apart from his instincts, always wondering if he moved wrong, if he chose to move wrong—
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Sylvain can't conceive of a relationship with himself that doesn't involve pain. As such, he goes out of his way to make it hurt.
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Bookmarked by cellshaded
23 Jan 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"You're still not listening," Felix spits. "What is it going to take?"
Sylvain spreads his empty hands. He'd say he doesn't know, but he sees it as clearly as Felix does. Hell, Sylvain saw it first. A punched-out and perfect circle of sky above a well: it was his hole to die in, and he's carried it with him ever since.
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Sometimes you've watched that kill on the local news by hummingbeeoOo
Fandoms: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)
09 Mar 2025
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“Hey, man, you need a ride?”
A kid, in his 20s. Black tousled curls, green eyes. His cheeks are round, some baby fat still clinging to him, but it’s offset by the strong line of his jaw and a square chin. Frank’s knife aches in his pocket; he wants to flick it open, press the tip of it into those cheeks, first one, then the other. Watch the flesh dip, then split and part for the blade. He wants to carve that face.
“I’m headed for Nevada,” he says. “Any bit could help.”
“Hey, it’s your lucky day!” the kid says with a broad grin that stretches his plush cupid lips really far. “Hop in!”
Frank climbs into the back seat, slips off his backpack.
“Thank you boys so much,” he says, extends a hand. “My name’s Frank.”
The kid on the passenger side shakes it, easy and firm.
“I’m Daniel, this is Armand.”
Or: it's 1979, two maniacs are in love, and serial killers make for good lunch.
Bookmarked by cellshaded
22 Jan 2026
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drag my feet like a zombie now, do i freak you out? by This_world_of_beautiful_monsters
Fandoms: Anne Rice's Talamasca: The Secret Order (TV 2025)
04 Nov 2025
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"You're not very good at this." Her voice is low and rough, gently teasing. Her head dangles at an impossible angle, loose strands of hair sliding over her arm. Guy squeezes his eyes shut, but he can't escape from the gold in her hair, piercing through his lids. "They really sent you in without a lick of training, didn't they? Poor little thing."
__The dead women watch, and they are always there.
Bookmarked by cellshaded
20 Jan 2026
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The last time Louis saw the ocean up close was—1998. An island off of Miami. Flat, breezeless night.
Or: shards of the past seventy-seven years.
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Bookmarked by cellshaded
18 Jan 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
“Venial sin,” comes Louis’s traitorous voice. “Mortal sin.” The words claw up. “You know what makes it a mortal sin, Armand?”
Armand’s hands, patting Louis down with the towel, go still.
“Grave matter,” says Louis. “That’s the first thing. Something serious. Then full knowledge. You know it’s a sin. And full consent. You have to accept it. Embrace it even. He said—” The careening edge of laughter. Armand winces and he swallows it back. “He said it’s pretty hard to commit a mortal sin.”
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He came in the door like a hurricane, her father.
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Claudia, in a mouthful of interludes.- Language:
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Bookmarked by cellshaded
18 Jan 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
So the Shah permits the sister to come sleep under their bed. Dunyazad, the sister, comes and kisses the Shah’s hand. Then she lies and listens and waits. She has to listen, so she can know when the sounds cease, when the main event of the wedding night is over. Then she calls softly in the dark, Sister, will you tell me a story?