iron soul.
black steel


I guess you could say…


The cat’s out of the bag…

takes you home




"Well, look what the cat brought in! Every body wasn’t kitten around." 


He waited, claws digging into the edge of the building until he felt them sink into brick and cement. C’mon, bastard. Black tendrils of shadow matter slipped out of a dark alley, unfurling from a stairwell. They took form again, becoming a silhouette, then a full body. Quietly, the armored panther began to scale over the edge of the building, reiatsu pushing out of his body to defy gravity. Hind legs bent and tucked, still clutching the edge as he stared at the other’s back, watching him tip his head up and smell the air for any lingering scent. 


Muscles tensed, poised for attack. Gajeel wouldn’t have the chance to track him, because he was already kicking off of the building, leaving a small crater and a broken ledge in his wake. Lurching through the air, his body remained straight to build speed. He broke one enormous sonic boom, combined with the sheer force of his quadrupeled reiatsu. His arm shot forward to slam into his opponent, and the street absorbed a fraction of the impact until it couldn’t hold up. The crumbling noise around them was concrete. Breaking through that, they only continued to drill past earth and sewage pipes, then a thin layer of rock, before a hollow area beneath the city broke their fall.

Tiny animals trilled in alarm, scampering away. He smelled moist, fresh dirt and minerals. They appeared to break through the earth and plummet into a cave full of glistening stalactites. Above them, there was a long, gaping hole stretching from ground level to district Delta. Clots of rock began to roll off of his armor as he leaned back to crouch on his haunches, aiming a triumphant leer down at Gajeel.


Grimmjow hit him like a freight train, the welcome force of his body sending a terrific explosion of pain through his ribs.  He twisted to guard against the slashing blades and let the power bring him down into the colder, darker earth, entombed in its concrete husk.  Jagged fragment snarled and split beneath him, lashing his back, sheering away fabric like soft wool, razing the iron-coated flesh beneath.  Above him, the mouth of an open chasm gaped behind Grimmjow’s head, then grew dimmer and smaller, the faint glimmer at the end of a long tunnel by the time his head hit the ground with a boom of solid impact, and he found himself cratered securely in the bosom of the deep dry earth.

The resounding echoes reverberated off the walls, crashing down a myriad of unseen corridors and chasms, the air that had been stagnant and breathless for so long upset by the sudden impact of new life. Gajeel felt the warmth of blood beneath his head, and Grimmjow’s daring smile floating like a thin sliver of the moon.  Around him, the dimly lit cavern glittered with chiseled hieroglyphs, as ancient and primal as the urges in him now.

He didn’t wait for the echo to die out.


Wanting was so easy.  His desires were so simple, unburdened by logic and restraint. He took a hissing breath, and then swept Grimmjow’s blue locks into one hand and yanked down, leaning up into an aggressive kiss. There was no registration of thought, no decision, no acknowledgment of his thirst — only the manifestation of it. The simple act of doing.  The tongue, the teeth, the lips, the muscular capture of the other’s body against his own, wrestling to sweep him over onto his back, to sink deep into the grooves between his armor, down to the flesh and bone and tendon beneath.  The durable armor clung fast, repelling attempts to peel it away and bemusing Gajeel’s insistent fingers as they slid over each plane and groove, searching, feeling, for the one chink that would lay him bare.


illusoryswordsman replied to your post
( the easter bunny is weird, man. )

// you know the easter bunny isn’t so weird when you’ve been in close contact with some pretty freaky demons. ha ha, sera’s just easily excitable and any chance to put bunny ears on and do silly things is very much embraced. 

[ did somebody say ‘put bunny ears on’ ]


You're finally getting some pussy Gajeel. So proud of you. Just have Grimmjow checked for fleas first.
Anonymous said—

"Shaddup already! Tch— Whatever! It’s gonna be your funeral, grayface, once boneface finds out you’re callin’ him a pussy.


"… … …Gh… do ya really think he might have fleas…?"

Hey, fucko anon who was harassing Gajeel about his relationship with a catman-- it's not bestiality, we call it interspecies erotica.
Anonymous said—

"Exactly! It ain’t— Wait, what!?"



Hey guys! Who’s up for a little comically mindless violence? I’ve got a brand spankin’ new muse all fresh and shiny and hot off the presses. I’ll start following the masterlist myself once I’m home from work, but it’d sure help me out if you could follow holyfraggaroley to cut down on time! Step right up, ladies and gents — and of course, the classic Lobo disclaimer:

Thanks! ;)


He felt invigorated by his position and the brief flash of surprise on the dragon slayer’s face. Or what he perceives to be surprise; all tense muscles and wide eyes until it twists into excitement. Hackles stand up at what he can already smell. Certain pheromones, exhilarated, competitive energy. Grimmjow wasn’t a subtle or patient man about his wants. What’s more thrilling, is that he can feel it reciprocated. 

Energy snaps sharper through his limbs as he stares at the opportunity, the prize. His blood was pumping wildly. Not that Grimmjow cared to control his impulses in the first place, but this form heightened his senses and brought out his true self, easily making him more carnal. Barely keeping reign over his desire, dark claws sought to embed and hold his body. He immediately wanted something to tear into, to dominate before he slipped away again. Exhilarated as he is about having this short-lived triumph, the way Gajeel can easily dissolve into smoke and slip away, is still frustrating. He wants to be able to control when he can claim him.

A glimpse of tendrils rising up from the dragon slayer’s tongue. The tip of his tail twitched frantically, aggressive excitement bristling up his spine like a bare wire. He was tempted to seize him again, wanting to engulf the shadowy substance and take it all, before Gajeel dissolved into nothing. His fist clutched air, claws scraping against pavement. The smoke cleared and he sprang up on two legs again, eyes searching, ears sensitive to any small noise, even over the noise of the city. Knowing his quarry so well, he had a hunch the bastard would try to jump up somewhere unexpected. His gaze swept the immediate vicinity, sticking to the ground and the shadows.



Over the distracting, hot excitement, tense seconds passed and his mind went back to the construction site. Gajeel had been damn fast, shooting like a bullet out of the pit and easily snatching him by the ankle. Without half a second to think about the asshole’s new shadow form, the world had abruptly twisted by, his face dredging up as much dirt and rocks as his bare fingers until he twisted through the air and broke his fall against something hard and metallic. Experience prepared him, left him incensed by the memory, and he bitterly swore he wouldn’t let him get away with that stunt again.

He’s glaring down at his shadow as a pair of bright eyes wink into existence. With his palm abruptly whipping up, he fires off a bala straight for that grinning face in the darkness. The instant it knocks a minor crater into the ground, leaving behind sizzling concrete, Gajeel is gone and the game shifts to another chase. He can’t help his own dagger-grin tugging wide at the side of his mouth.

"Keep running, fucker!


Howling with gruff laughter and energized with a new hunger, forelegs slammed down in pursuit, springing off of powerful hindlegs in a customary gallop. The noise of metal claws hammering, digging up debris as he reached further for the retreating silhouette each time, yearning to close the distance between predator and prey. This continued as he blasted attacks at him whenever he had the chance, swiping with the blades protruding on his limbs to catch something tangible; flesh, iron scales, even if it was futile. Then, he kicked off of the ground and disappeared in a blur of white. He could play his game and appear on a rooftop further away, watching, if Gajeel ever noticed the sound of pursuit abruptly stopped. He had to, after all, stop moving to take notice. He had to stop being an untouchable shadow, eventually. Although he’s impatient, he’s capable of waiting and stalking along when he knows the reward is going to be greater.

He ran, and the ground exploded at his heels as though he trod on fireworks, hot pellets of earth spitting at his heels, charged with the hungry energy of his assailant.  Over his shoulder, Grimmjow’s pointed teeth, like intersecting porcupine quills, seemed to lead the rest of his body like a bobbing beacon.  The voracity of him radiated like heat off molten lead, but the magnetism was mutual, a strange pull that kept Gajeel teasingly in orbit — dashing only so far ahead or behind, darting about him without the intention to leave him in the dust, but only to share his frenzy.  The pursuing form was coated in armor, but beneath it was a body — Gajeel could feel its pulse — and like a shell of hard candy, it too could be eaten away.

The razor-sharp blades zipped along and through him, sometimes clean through the shadowy mass, sometimes separating long lines of flesh to draw fresh blood beneath.  He seemed to hardly feel them.  Rather than pain, they opened up searing mouths and poured a scalding heat, and when he whirled to strike — or sometimes, merely to grab, touch — the spatter of red blood against the white of Grimmjow’s armor seemed ethereal and unfamiliar.  Darting past a splay of claws, his smirking lips ghosted close against the other’s.  He dove for the cover of a shady alley, eager to be sought and found, pulled from his hiding place and matched — when suddenly, the chaos ceased.

Grimmjow was clever too.

In the cover of the shadowed alley, wound in tendrils about the posts of a wrought iron balcony, Gajeel’s clouded eyes scanned the surroundings for his familiar foe.  The remnants of his energy lingered in the atmosphere like an electric charge, but the man himself was gone, leaving Gajeel in brief, agitated silence, the itch to continue, to prolong the clash, driving him out into the open, to spring upon him, should he have merely changed the direction of the chase.

But even in the open street, the Hollow was nowhere to be found. Gajeel growled. Find me, fight me. Materializing again, he lifted his nose to the air and attempted to sniff beyond his own excitement — his blood and sweat and animal desire — racing the clock against his own limits, knowing the activation of Shadow Form drew upon a well of energy that often left him spent in the aftermath. He wanted his fight, he wanted his due.  And most of all, irresponsibly, despite all discipline, he wanted Grimmjow, before the shadows faded, before his mental clarity returned, before logic could convince him to take the wiser choice, to turn his back, and say no.




"If you care so much, I don’t wear human clothes often enough for it to matter." Such a light, baggy hakama is actually practical and very comfortable.

"Yeah, ‘cause ya’d chafe like a bastard." But he understands the appeal of loose clothing to a frequent fighter. Still, he pauses to contemplate Grimmjow in ‘human clothes,’ and grows a subtle smirk. "… Picturin’ you in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt’s a damn riot, anyway."