#*due to dry air and dust

[chicago-geniza]

Two things can be true (my PCP deserves an end-of-year holiday vacation and also I need someone in that office to fill my prednisone and Symbicort scrips before the 31st so I'm not suspended in Shitty Lungs Disease hell & New Year Insurance Purgatory simultaneously) (autism be damned yr boy will make an urgent care Unpleasant if their oxygen drops below 90% for over 24 hours; I WILL make it everybody's problem & make sure the haggard, harried nurses know whose fault it is!!!)

In case it was not obvious: Insurance, it's insurance (they wouldn't let me fill my scrips early before The Holidays or have a telehealth visit & I couldn't come in person because, you know, there was a blizzard lol)

[writers-potion]

Could you give any advice for "descriptive" writing of any scene or action scenes or mapping out the scenery (Mountains, forests, streets etc) - i believe this is a struggle for Non-English speaking writers due to lack of vast vocabulary.

Common Scenery Description Tips

Vocabulary is clearly an important part of description, but it doesn’t have to be a limit. The most important thing about description in fiction is picking the right details to mention:

How does the details add to the mood of the story? A mountain ridge will be dark, gray and foggy if the overall mood is meant to be mysterious/brooding. In contrast, a mountain can be brilliantly snow-capped, lush green and “smiling down” upon the character if they’re out for a light stroll.

How are the contrasts/complementary aspects being brought out?

Are you using the five senses? You can even combine the senses, ie. blue ringing of the church bells

(If you have the POV character) what 

Some other tips for setting description:

Use similes and metaphors. Creative figures of speech always get my attention as a reader. 

Mention story-specific elements. For example, “The sky was the shade of Zoes’ eyes” or “the mountains looked like a group of trolls sleeping on one another” 

Be concise. Today’s readers don’t want to read paragraphs and paragraphs about one landscape. Outline the larger elements in the scene, their location and general mood. Add some details, then move on. 

If the same location appears multiple times, differentiate the description little by little as you write, instead of trying to lay out one scene in too much detail at once. 

That said, here are some helpful words/phrases:

Forests/Mountains

Color: bone-white, phantom-white, hazy gray

Sound: rumbling, booming grumbling, bellowing clapping, trundling, growling, thundering

Shape: crinkled, crumpled, knotted, grizzled, rumpled, wrinkled, craggy, jagged, gnarled, rugose  

Action: sky-punching/stabbing/piercing/spearing, heaven-touching/kissing, snow-cloaked/hooded/wreathed/festooned

Sloping sides, sharp/rounded ridges, high point/peak/summit

Majestic, gargantuan humbling, vast, massive, titanic, towering, monumental, mighty, vast, humbling

Mountains having faces, etc. 

Seas

Color: blue-green, crystal-clear crystalline, emerald, frothy, hazy, glistening, pristine, turquoise

Size: boundless, abyssal, fathomless, unconquerable, vast, wondrous

Sound: billowing, blustering, bombastic

Action: boisterous, agitated, angry, biting, breaking, brazen. Churning, bubbling, changing, brooding, calm, convulsing, enticing erratic, fierce, tempestuous, turbulent, undulating

Alluring, blissful, betwitching, breezy, captivating, chaotic, chilly, elemental, disorienting

Deserts

Sight: A landscape of sand, flat, harsh sunlight, cacti, tumbleweeds, dust devils, cracked land, crumbing rock, sandstone, canyons, wind-worn rock formations, tracks, dead grasses, vibrant desert blooms (after rainfall), flash flooding, dry creek

Sounds: Wind (whistling, howling, piping, tearing, weaving, winding, gusting), birds cawing, flapping, squawking, the fluttering shift of feasting birds, screeching eagles, the sound of one’s own steps, heavy silence, baying wild dogs

Smell: Arid air, dust, one’s own sweat and body odor, dry baked earth, carrion

Touch: Torrid heat, sweat, cutting wind, cracked lips, freezing cold (night) hard packed ground, rocks, gritty sand, shivering, swiping away dirt and sweat, pain from split lips and dehydration, numbness in legs, heat/pain from sun stroke, clothes…

Taste: Grit, dust, dry mouth & tongue, warm flat canteen water, copper taste in mouth, bitter taste of insects for eating, stringy wild game (hares, rats) the tough saltiness of hardtack, biscuits or jerky, an insatiable thirst or hunger

Streets

Dusty, fume-filled, foul, sumptuous, broad, bucolic, decayed, mournful, seemingly endless, empty, unpaved, lifeless, dreadfully genteel, muddy, nondescript, residential/retail

Bleach, flimsy, silent, narrow, crooked, furrowed, smoggy, commonplace, tumbledown, treeless, shady

The blacktop streets absorb the spring sunshine as if intent upon sending heaven's warmth back through my soles.

The streets absorbed the emotions in the air, the city as the steady and reassuring mother.

The streets were a marriage of sounds, from bicycle wheels to chattering.

In the refreshing light of early daytime, the streets had the hues of artistic dreamtime, soft yet bold pastels.

Cobbled streets flowed as happy rivers in sunlight.

Parties

Some extra tips for locations like parties, where lots of action is going around practically everywhere:

Focus on the important characters - where they are, who they’re with. 

Provide some overall description of the structure of the party scene (a pool, a two-storey house with yard?), then move on to details. 

Don’t try to describe everything. 

whirlwind of laughter and music, a symphony of joyous chaos.

It was a gathering that shimmered with the glow of twinkling lights and echoed with the rhythm of dancing feet.

The air was alive with excitement, buzzing with conversations and the clink of glasses.

Every corner held a story waiting to unfold, a moment waiting to be captured in memory.

It was a tapestry of colors, a mosaic of faces, each adding their own brushstroke to the vibrant canvas of the night.

Laughter cascaded like a waterfall, infectious and unstoppable, filling the room with warmth.

The night was a carnival of senses, with aromas of delicious food mingling with the melodies that filled the air.

Time seemed to slip away in the whirl of the party, moments blending into each other like colors on a palette.

The energy of the crowd was electric, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat, binding everyone in a shared moment of celebration.

It was a celebration of life, where worries faded into the background, and the present moment was all that mattered.

[mrskokushibo]

Sweetness

Mitsuri x fem!reader x Obanai

Warnings: Sex, Smut, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Slight girl on girl action, Threesome

Summary: The atmosphere of a warm and sunny day at the start of spring permeates this short and hot smut. You get interrupted in your chores, but honestly, the distraction is exactly what your deprived body needs.

Masterlist

The otherwise so neat garden beds outside the Butterfly Mansion were in need of some pruning. As you were squatting and pulling out the freshly sprouted weeds, your efforts were accompanied by the gentle buzzing of bees collecting nectar from the delicate, first flowers of spring, and by the chirping of industrious little birds. The air was balmy, but not yet hot enough for you to brake in sweat, thus you were very comfortable and worked through the entire length of the garden bed without much effort.

Suddenly, there was a fluttery sound above you and as you looked up, two forest pigeons landed, one by one on a branch in the tree. The male was performing the courting dance routine, spreading his wide fan-like tail in an attempt to attract the female. You smiled to yourself at the ways of nature and proceeded to put away the gardening tools in the shed. As you washed your hands in the outdoor basin, you remembered to check on the laundry drying on the line on the other side of the courtyard.

You took your time strolling across the lawn to the clotheslines, the washing fluttering in the breeze, creating an opaque filter for the bright sunlight. It was already dry, the smell of freshly washed cotton overpowering the spring scents momentarily. You began the meticulous process of folding each and every sheet neatly and putting it down in the laundry hamper. It took a while, but you did not mind as it gave you time to savor the surrounding for a while longer.

Ready at last, you picked up the basket and began to walk toward the front door. As you looked up to the Sakura tree near the doorway, the two pigeons were now mating, the soft rustle of feathers and quiet guttural sounds accompanying the quick and ferocious ravage. You shook your head and smiled again.

The sweet scent of the spring air lingered on the linen now so neatly folded in the laundry basket that you were carrying. You sniffed the bedsheets, enjoying the fresh smell, and walked into the building closing the door behind you using one leg. The place was so quiet and clean, only a few dust particles were hovering in the ray of sunlight coming in through a side window. Other than that, it was spotless. Every time you had the Butterfly Mansion to yourself, you cleaned up and organized everything the way you wanted it to be. You took great pride in your unnoticed work. It did not bother you that you stayed in the shadows servicing the flamboyant, excentric hashiras, and demon slayers. You knew your effort provided them with a safe and cozy environment to recuperate and heal after their dangerous missions.

As you were walking through the long corridor, on your way to the storage room, you could not help but notice an open door at the very end of it. No one was supposed to be here at this time of day and you were told that the Hashira would all be out on missions this week. You slowed your footsteps and made them light and as silent as possible. But as you began nearing the room, quiet, muffled sounds were reaching your ears. At first, you thought that maybe the window was open and it was bird- and animal sounds that were coming in from the outside. And that maybe the opened window was what caused a draft that made an unlocked door fling undone. The closer you got though, the more you realised what these sounds were. You could now make out whispers and an occasional high-pitched giggle, blended with quiet moans and deep, raspy grunts… The sounds of, yes… sex…

Since you were quite unsatiated lately due to your lonely existence, your body began to react in that familiar and dizzying way. You quietened your steps even further and continued your advance toward the source of the lewd noises. It was now entirely obvious what was going on in that room and you began to make out familiar voices. Putting down the basket quietly on the floor, you decided to sneak up to the door and peek in. *Just a little peek* you told yourself. You did not want to be nosy, but at the same time, the urge to see what was going on was too strong, now that you were beginning to get aroused.

As you reached your destination, you could easily hide behind the half-open door and watch unnoticed, and there, on the bed were Mitsuri and Obanai, going at it like two rabbits. She was on her back, flushed cheeks, eyes closed, and moaning in pleasure, with Obanai between her legs humping away and eliciting deep grunts. He was squeezing her large and plump breasts and you could see how he was licking them and sucking on the erect little nipples adorning the two luscious and perfectly round plump mounds.

‘Oh, yes, baby. Suck them…just like that. This feels so good…’

‘You know how much I love these tits, my love. Just touching them makes me hard.’

He then whispered something inaudible in her ear, causing her to blush even more and giggle.

‘Well, make me come and then maybe I will let you put your cock between them. I wouldn’t mind some cum on my face.’

She giggled again and he grunted speeding up his pace.

Your panties were soaked now from this performance and your hand moved almost instinctively to touch yourself. At first, you were rubbing through the fabric, but soon enough, that was not enough and you moved them aside and began rubbing yourself between your folds, making your way to your now very stimulated clit.

Mitsuri was moaning louder now and within minutes, she climaxed, arching her back, causing her magnificent rack to bounce up a little. Obanai was not ready yet and he straddled her torso and positioned himself just beneath her breasts.

‘You promised’

He kissed her pouting mouth and squeezed her breast with his thighs, placing his cock between them, it was as if it got swallowed by them. He then began pumping and groaning loudly.

‘Fuuuuck…they feel good. I will not last long like this. Lick my tip, baby’

She stretched out her delicious little tongue and like a kitten lapping up milk, she was lapping up the precum on the tip of his cock whenever it was emerging from between the large tits.

‘I’m coming…oooh!’ He grunted and thick ropes of cum shot all over her neck and face.

You too were too aroused to hold back and came with a loud moan. And this was when they noticed their spectator.

‘What the fuck, I thought you said we were alone’ Obanai hissed, talking to Mitsuri, but looking annoyed in your direction.

‘No, dear, don’t be mad at her. We are the ones at fault here.’

She giggled and smiled at you.

‘Did you like what you saw?’

She tilted her head sweetly and you could not help, but think what an adorable person she really was.

‘You know, why don’t you join us? I feel like fucking some more.’

She turned to Obanai: ‘What do you say? Would you like some more? And think, fucking two girls instead of one. What a treat, hey?’

He mumbled something, but clearly, the temptation was taking the better of him, as you could see his cock already getting hard again.

‘All right, whatever you wish for, my sunshine.’ They kissed and Mitsuri stretched out a hand to you.

‘Come over, darling. Do not be shy. This will be fun.’ She smiled at you as you began walking over to her.

It was as if you were an insect lured in by the sweetness of honey, everything about Mitsuri oozed femininity and gentleness, it was as if she emanated a rosy aura that made your senses tingle and sing. Your slow, cautious footsteps at last placed you right next to her, touching her small, but surprisingly strong hand, you found yourself placing a kiss on her moist lips. It was as if you were in contact with a freshly bloomed rose, still moist with morning dew.

She began helping you to remove your clothes and very soon you were just as naked as the other two occupants of the room. Your eyes were fixated on her breast and she noticed.

‘Don’t be shy, sweetie. Touch them’

And without any more encouragement, you placed your hand on her roundness and began stroking and squeezing, causing her to moan a little. You continued to kiss, your tongues slowly finding each other and nudging gently between the softness of feminine lips. You could feel her hand slide down your belly, down to your sex, beginning to rub gently, with soft small movements. You did not want to leave her unattended and began to reciprocate the action.

The sweetness of it all was indescribable. A pleasure only comparable to biting into a plump, freshly made Sakura mochi or taking a cool bath after a hot day. There was heat too, a passion of a different kind, a wish for more, and a will to give. The lack of masculine aggression in the softness of both your actions and the pure and unadulterated lust for her touch was making your body almost limp. Your juices were streaming down your legs and you were both drowning in each other and in your arousal. You were getting very close to crossing over the line leading to the peaks of pleasure when you were interrupted by Obanai clearing his throat. He was obviously watching, engulfed in his own neediness, as you turned around, you could see him seated at the end of the futon, stroking his painfully hard cock.

Mitsuri looked at him with a smile, her hands still on your nipple and between your legs:

‘Oh, sorry Obi, we are neglecting you. How about you lie down and let us both take care of you.’

He did not wait and lay down flat lazily, while Mitsuri gave you another lewd kiss and directed you to where his head was.

‘How about we ride him... I take the cock and you take his face.’

You nodded and both of you took your respective positions facing each other. He groaned deeply as Mitsuri sank herself down on his hardness, her sweet high-pitched moaning making you want to touch her even more. She began riding him at a slow and gentle pace, her breasts bouncing only slightly. You were not fully seated on Obanai’s face yet, but that changed quickly when a pair of rough, strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his lips and stretched out tongue, that in an experienced manner found its way straight into your sopping wet pussy. You moaned now too as he was licking and swirling his tongue in and out of your opening.

‘Move a bit for me. You will have some more friction like that.’

You could hear him speak through the wet licking noises, his voice muffled by your cunt pressing on his mouth.

You began grinding your hips back and forth on his mouth, and sure enough, you started to feel so much more. As you worked out a good rhythm your attention went back to Mitsuri, who leaned into you, pressing her breasts against yours, the impossibly luscious softness against your own multiplied the pleasurable sensations and you began to caress her breasts and play with her nipples.

She reciprocated and soon you added the softest of kisses to the already so lustful actions. You felt on the edge of consciousness. Your core began to clench achingly and a few more bucks of your hips and you were squirting all over Obanai’s face while squealing noisily. As you kept riding out your high by continued grinding your hips on his mouth, you intensified your nipple action on Mitsuri’s breast. She could barely hold back and a moment later climaxed with a loud moan. The two of you were panting heavily, chests heaving and flushed cheeks covered with sweat. In the meantime, Obanai kept pumping into Mitsuri and as she kept kissing you, he threw a strong sloppy thrust into her and came with a quiet growl.

The three of you were now lying down, spent from your activities.

‘Well, that was quaint.’ Mitsuri giggled.

‘We should so do this more often, don’t you think?’

You could not help but agree. You nodded and closed your eyes, listening to the sweet sounds of spring coming through the window.

Banners by @cafekitsune and @adornedwithlight

[rubra-wav]

Hello! I saw asks were open and I wanted to drop a request! What if Husk, Angeldust, and Alastor (separate) had a s/o who revealed that they could break deals on their (the collared's) end given some time?

Husk, Angel Dust and Alastor with a Dealbreaker S/O

[Part 2]

A/N: Alastor's is written as purely platonic tho per my personal boundaries

My Hazbin OC actually is a powerful Dealbreaker, so I'm going off of the lore I've thought up on this topic for him haha

I will maybe write a part 2 where reader actually manages to break the contracts rather than just saying they could.

CW: Sfw, angsty asf in places, reference to addiction, mention/reference to violence, Angel's touches a bit more on abuse response/trauma response type stuff, body/ horror imagery in Alastor's (Alastor being the creature he is basically)

Husk

- Husk would not believe you at all at first.

- He would be tending the bar and then stop mid-drying a glass as a heartbreaking hint of hope (the first hope he'd felt in centuries) passes over his face for a second before crumpling and turning to extreme bitterness.

- "That's not funny." He'd growl through grit teeth at you, thinking it was some kind of cruel joke.

- When reassured that you are absolutely serious, he gives you more of a look of almost pity, sighing as if deeply tired.

- He tells you that multiple people have told him the same thing over the years, and that they have all failed just the same.

- All skilled people who were known to be able to break even soul ownership deals wide open.

- The leash Alastor had on him was air-tight.

- He basically tells you it would be a giant waste of time and that you should give up and focus your time on something better then a poor old sinner like himself.

- When you don't back down from the discouragement, he sighs again, but feels warmth burning in his chest at the fact you wanted to help him so badly.

- He's not hopeful, but he wants to have faith in you even if he's trying to discourage you and scare you straight as much as possible.

- He wants so badly to be free so he can be with you without any limits of his commitment to you and only you. To not have to think about whether he's going to be summoned to some bullshit getup again whenever Alastor gets bored of the Hazbin Hotel.

- Deep down he's absolutely desperate for you to succeed in your mission.

- He wants the catalyst for his alcohol problem to go away so he can live and finally actually be happy without the heaviness of his deal weighing on him at all times, making him desperately need the escape.

- He absolutely will tell you very very seriously to not to let this slip that you're doing this to anybody though - or talk about this in a place you aren't absolutely confident doesn't have any certain member of the hotel listening in.

- Husk doesn't think that Alastor would harm you physically over this, that asshole would probably just find it amusing. However.

- Husk's worst fear would be you trying to get him his soul back by signing away yours, something very possible Alastor would offer as a trick.

- He'd be skeptical, fearful of you succumbing to a deal with Alastor, and not very hopeful at all as he's tried time and time again to break the contract on his soul. You are so... optimistic that you'll find a way, but again, his collar is air-tight. You'll have your work cut out for you breaking the deal of someone who's notoriously a dealmaker.

Angel Dust

- When you tell him that, he tenses up with a sharp inhale of breath, a complete 180 from how he just was seconds before, winding down from his night in his hotel room with you.

- Angel's deal would be logically way more easier to break. However, what Valentino's deal doesn't directly hold of Angel, the moth's manipulation keeps him stuck imprisoned under him.

- Angel absolutely would have thought of contacting a dealbreaker, however never actually would due to how terrified he is. If it turned out one of those people were a mole for Val trying to catch him out, Angel would be in so much pain from the punishment that that would entail. You cannot trust someone claiming to be a dealbreaker in hell isn't lying to you through their teeth.

- When he realises you are absolutely serious though, and obviously confident in your abilities, a myriad of harsh emotions pass across Angel's face. Fear (for both his and your safety), and hope made themselves the most apparent.

- Fear of what Val would do to him if he ever found out about this conversation. What he'd do to you.

- Valentino was certainly not above hurting people to get his way. Angel knew that better then anybody. But if Val ever caught wind that Angel's secret lover behind the scenes was trying to steal away Val's biggest money maker and favourite toy, he'd kill you. Straight up.

- That fear was there and was deeply terrifying to him. But so was the hope. A flurry of hope that fills him with relief and brings tears pricking at his eyes at the idea that he could actually be free of his captor and go do whatever you two decide and be fully happy without fear of Val.

- Live with you not as Angel Dust, but as Anthony. Completely his real, authentic self.

- "How." He whispers breathlessly.

- You tell him that you need to see the contract itself, analyse all the ins and outs and come up with a counter-contract.

- There would be a few ways you could actually break the deal from there, and although they would be time consuming and possibly (very much probably) dangerous, you were confident you could break him out.

- Angel would be extremely fearful, but also hopeful. You seem confident in your ability as his contract is messy and poorly crafted. He's reassured as you say that what's mostly chaining him down is the psychological control Val has over him.

Alastor

- When you tell Alastor this, I feel he could respond two ways depending on how you've learnt that information.

If he hasn't told you himself:

- If he hasn't told you this or doesn't know how you've found out, he's going to be absolutely pissed. At you and probably Husk (assuming Husk told you)

- He'd turn towards you with jerky, unnatural movements, bones and joints cracking loudly in a cringe worthy way. Overhead, the lights would be flickering as static begins to fill your head.

- Towering over you, he'd be still bent in that weird position as he grips sharpened claws into your shoulders. Your friendship is the only thing keeping him from making you nothing more then a stain on the wall.

- "Who told you about that."

- When you tell how you've found out, he likely let's out a chuckle dripping with anger that makes you want to cover your ears as the sound scrapes into them. "And what makes you think you could do what even I cannot?"

- He has analysed every single last clause, letter, meaning of the words used, every possible loophole in his contract to the point it's driven him to have multiple psychological breakdowns. To him there is no doubt in his mind at all that he's completely fucked by the contract he was tricked into and there's no chance in hell that you would ever be able to even assist.

- When you push and say that you want to do this for him, he's not even a little flattered at all, in fact, it bruises his ego massively that you'd have the audacity to confidently imply you could do what he's worked so hard to for 7 years.

- In instance one, he's incredibly pissed off at you for claiming you could ever undo his contract after learning about it from someone other then him, so angry he almost kills you. Leaves you alone shaking and afraid in the hall telling you not to say anything to anybody else about his deal, and to never so flagrantly exaggerate your own worth so massively again. Your prior confidence stamped down to embers.

If you are close enough of a person to him that he's confided in you about his collar however:

- He'd just chuckle, calling it cute that you thought you could do that while walking away.

- You miss the way his eye twitches.

- He'd still be incredibly angry about it, but due to not being surprised you knew of his biggest secret, he'd hide it much better.

- Continues to laugh when you insist you can do it, and would passive aggressively respond about how you should not overestimate your abilities and mind your own business essentially.

- Again, he's pissed off and his ego is bruised about it. But this time, he's hiding it behind his smile and is passive aggressive as fuck about it rather then outwardly aggressive. He won't let you know how much you've actually gotten to him even though he would have let his walls down to some extent to ever tell you that.

A/N I was actually already planning a fully written x reader fic that's not just the dot points with Angel at some point where reader saves him from his contract, so like... Maybe I'll do full fics for dealbreaking Husk and Alastor's contracts as well because I'm kind of interested in exploring a fic w them after writing this now

(I'm probably gonna say this then eat shit via the universe straight after lmfao 💀)

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 1

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 800 | masterlist

Bloody and broken your body slumps to the ground, his hands, the strong grip he had on you, still lingering like a phantom touch.

Ragged breath whoosh in and out of your lungs, the crisp air burning down your throat, your chest aching, like sharp claws are digging right into the flesh. You want to scream, but your mouth is too dry, your throat hurting too much. There is nothing but an endless void inside your heart and mind, and yet a whirlwind of fury starts to boil within.

The creaking of the door hinges is what makes you tip your head back, eyes burning, vision blurry due to the dust in them. But you see him. It’s not too late. You see his face once last time. The face you will remember forever - loathe forever.

"Azriel," you seethe, but your voice is hoarse and breaks before it can reach him. Or that’s what you think.

The young male‘s head whips towards you. He heard you. Or the swirling shadows always dancing around him heard you. They calm down, almost like they are waiting for what you are about to say. 

You brace your bloody fists on the ground, knuckles white from how hard you curl your fingers towards your palms. Your gaze drops for a split second, landing on his scarred hands, gripping the bloody hunting knife tightly. That damn knife that caused you the flesh deep wound on your belly, now dripping with blood and soon puss.

"Yes," you breathe, trying to summon every little ounce of energy you have left. You force ypur eyes to meet his. "That’s right, Azriel." Your eyes lock with his. "And I’ll remember your damn name forever…" You push up, getting on your knees. "Until I do my last breathe. I will personally carve it into your grave stone. And you will remember my name. Forever."

Your teeth are bared, blood and drool running down your chin. "You will remember my name when I rip open your throat with my claws. You will remember my name when—"

"Let’s go, Az. Our job here is done. The High Lord expects us to be back by now."

Azriel is not alone. Someone is with him. Cassian, one of the best Illyrian warriors there are. Right now…his usual confidence is gone. He looks haunted, scared, impatient. He wants Azriel to come with him. Right in this moment.

But Azriel’s lingers. The male doesn’t move. Not even when Cassian clasps his shoulder - tightly. 

Azriel's gaze is trained on you, eyes wide open.

"Az," Cassian warns, curling his gloved fingers around Azriel's biceps. "We need to leave."

Azriel snaps out of his trance and finally averts his gaze, without a look back, they leave, wind blowing through the prison, thrashing against the walls, howling. 

You are alone. Cold. Bloody. Broken. 

A cry parts your lips - full of fury and pain. You thrash your fists against the cool ground, moist with mould and grimy water. 

You are trapped in a cell that seems to be suffocating you, its walls seeming to press inwards, the space getting narrower and narrower by the second. 

You are locked in. Forever. Until the last day of your immortal life. Or until you go insane and forget even your own name. 

Another scream leaves you. Your body is shaking, trembling with cold and hurt. Eventually, you lift your gaze to look around. There is just a small cot draped in a thin blanket and a weathered stool and nothing else. The walls are made of dark stone. Moss and lichen crawl up on them, making decay even more apparent in this place. They bear scars—scratches of beings who have been in this cell before you. 

The air is heavy, thick with desperation. And it is cold. So damn cold, making you see your own breath.

You know this a place where spirits are broken, where the very essence of a person is eroded when you go insane. But your spirit won't be broken. You will get out. 

Shadows dance across the walls and make you remember him. 

Azriel. The shadowsinger. You will remember him forever. Until the day you die. Until the day you personally carve out his heart. 

He left you in pieces and the shards for you to pick up with your already wounded hands.

He is going to pay for this. They all are. 

Nothing is visible through the narrow, slit-like window that seems more like a mockery than a source of light. But you can hear a storm raging outside, branches and the wind hitting the walls of the Prison and it matches the storm brewing inside of you. You won't die here. You will get out of here. And you will get your payback. This is a promise. 

A promise to Azriel. A promise to your mate.

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

tags wotf: @goldenmagnolias @chessebookgirl @blackgirlmagicforever @mollygetssherlockcoffee @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @janebirkln @cleverzonkwombatsludge @namelesssav @sidthedollface2 @brujitafantomatico @ruler-of-hades @favsrachz @katherinejess @jesus-is-me @ashbatz @onyx-obsession @mischiefmanagers @thesnugglingduck @wandas-dream @emryb

[hazbinshusk]

day twenty-one of salem's unofficial attempt at kinktober: voyuerism/dry humping (huskerdust x reader)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

The club music pounds loudly enough for you to feel it in your bones, in your blood, and the scent of booze and sex and artificial smoke teases at your senses. Husk wraps an arm around your waist, your back cradled against the curve of his wing. His fur is warm and soft against your bare skin, and you shiver as he buries his face in the curve of your neck with a low, even chuckle.

“You gotta work on your poker face, sweetness.” he rumbles in your ear, and you feel the sharp points of his teeth graze the curve of your collarbone. “People are gonna think you’ve got a crush.”

“He’s just so pretty,” you reply with a grin, eyes still fixed on the stage. Angel is in his element, a burlesque dream of feathers and beads, the blissed-out smile on his face for once purely due to the chance to perform like this. Husk had taken no convincing at all to tag along tonight, and a bottle of whiskey deep he was loose and relaxed in a way he rarely is outside of one of your rooms at the hotel. “Look at him.”

“I am,” Husk assures you, bumping his nose against the edge of your jaw. Your shoulder rises automatically as it tickles, your hand finding and squeezing his thigh under the table. Husk tosses back the last of his drink, and on your nod, finishes yours as well. He scowls at the too-sweet taste, tongue sticking out distastefully, and you giggle.

He lets his hand slip lower over the curve of your hip as Angel makes a wide, arching swing around the pole at centre stage, and you feel his lips brush against your jaw, your cheek. You stare in wonder at Angel a moment longer before you turn your face towards Husk, humming happily as he catches your lips with his.

Husk kisses you warmly, his tongue teasing against your bottom lip before sliding into your mouth. Your hand tightens its grip on his thigh and you feel his wing tuck tighter around you, urging you closer to his side. You lean into him, your hand leaving his thigh to skim over his stomach and up to card your fingers through the soft fluff of his chest. He groans into your kiss, barely audible over the music and Angel’s fans, and Husk lets his lips travel over your cheek and back to your jaw, the tiny barbs of his tongue making you shudder as it lingers just below your ear.

His attention there urges you to turn your head and brings your eyes back to Angel on stage, and despite your position at one of the more secluded booths, the spider’s lips turn in a knowing smirk, and he throws you a wink before he moves into the next steps, two hands coming up artfully behind him to unfasten the strings of beads draped over his torso.

“C’mere,” Husk mutters into your neck, kissing you again before urging you to sit on his lap. Your back is cradled against his chest, and you shiver as his claws come up to brush hair away from your ear so he can kiss the column of your throat. “Watch him.”

You train your eyes on Angel Dust obediently, breath catching in your throat as Husk takes hold of your hips and nips lightly at your collarbone just as Angel drops to his knees, whips his hair out of his eyes and bends down, sliding his chest slowly across the stage with his ass high in the air. The move is so sensual, one so reminiscent of the way you’ve seen him grind back against Husk… and Angel meets your eye again.

Husk groans, low and rough, as he thrusts into Angel in a slow, deep rhythm, bottoming out and lingering with each push forward of his hips before withdrawing again. Angel’s back is arched in a way that’s almost poetic, his chest pressed into the sheets. His upper hands reach up to grip at your calves as you sit and watch them, your back against the headboard. Husk is watching you hungrily, eyes drinking in every shift in your expression. There’s a vibrator tucked in your panties, the remote tucked into one of Angel’s fists. The spider meets your eye for a moment before his eyes roll back, a bead of drool staining the fur of his chin as is jaw hangs slack.

You feel yourself flush.

The bartender notices even in the pulsing lights of the club, snickering against your skin as his tongue tickles at the nape of your neck. His paws tighten on your hips and press forward, pull back, guiding you into a slow grind over his lap. He presses his thigh up between your legs, continuing the gentle assault of the side of your throat with his lips and tongue.

“Don’t he look good, baby?” Husk purrs, smoothing his hands down to your thighs. He kneads his grip into the plush muscle, still guiding you to roll your hips over his lap. You can feel hardening beneath you, and you angle your hips to grind your cunt along the length of him. Husk groans, claws tightening on your thighs reflexively. “That’s it, doll…”

You aren’t the only sinners in the room charged up by Angel’s performance, and the low hint of moans and heavy breathing around you adds to the eroticism of the moment. Husk’s wings curve around your shoulders, hiding you from private eyes possessively, in turn making the two of you a private show just for the star on stage. Angel’s eyes keep flickering back to the two of you, and he does nothing to hide the lust burning in his eyes. The smile that plays over his features is one you’ve seen so many times before – at the bar, or during group activities. One that promises so much fun once he gets the two of you alone.

Angel rocks his hips roughly over Husk’s, grinding his ass down over the bartender’s erection. His cock fills him with each push of his hips, and the spider moans in a broken pitch at the feeling of it. Husk groans up into your cunt, his arms wrapped possessively around your thighs to keep in you place over his face. His tongue curls against your clit before dipping into your dripping pussy, and your moan sounds in tandem with Angel’s.

The spider touches your cheek, brushing hair behind your ear and fisting his hand in it. He drags you into a kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth so you can feel the way he moans when Husk thrusts up into him.

“Can’t wait to get the two o’ you home,” Husk groans, claws skimming up under your skirt as you continue to ride his lap. He lets his forehead fall against your shoulder, bumps his nose against your shoulder blade. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

“Why… why wait?” you ask, turning your head to press a kiss between his ears. Husk tilts his head back, catches your lips with his. “D’you think Angel has a private dressing room back there?”

“Fuck, doll…”

[msgexymunson]

Forbidden Fruit Part 4

Description: Your relationship with Eddie is all consuming. How will you deal with the aftermath? 

A/N: I love this series, this Eddie, and you lot. You're beautiful and I love you. My God, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood, please comment, please reblog. I’m not always responding due to my mental health but I see you and I love you I promise. 

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, this isn’t for you babies, p in v unprotected sex (surely you know this by now) Age gap, Eddie is 43, reader is 21. Violence, I’m not saying more I don’t want to ruin it ;) 

4k words 

Masterlist   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3 Part 5

Light dapples through the hotel curtains, uncovering swirling dust motes in the air, dancing in front of your vision. Yawning, you feel warmth and safety; Eddie's side flush with yours, your legs entwined in a sleepy embrace.

His breathing is slow and deep. As your hand rests lightly on his chest, you can feel it. In, and out. It's comforting, a comfort that reaches into your bones and warms them from the inside out; your entire being at peace. The skin on his chest is soft, a slight spackling of chest hair lays under your hand. Unconsciously, you're already running your hand through it, fingers stroking his inked chest. 

Hair splayed on the pillow underneath him in an angel's halo, his lines are finer, relaxed. He looks so peaceful and content that it makes your heart swell. A smile plays at your lips, one that touches every part of you. A perfect moment. 

The steady breathing changes, and he moves beneath you, a rough hand reaching up to stroke your shoulder.

"Mornin' sweetheart." 

His voice is gruffer than usual, enriched with sleep, the deeper cadence unknown to you before this moment. God, you would do anything to hear it every morning. 

"Morning baby." Returning his greeting with a croaky one of your own, he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost possessively. 

"This is nice." 

You purr your approval, tightening your own grip around him. 

"So, breakfast?" You ask.

"Five more minutes." He replies, pulling you on top of him to deepen the hug. 

********************

The day was spent together, being the couple you never got to be in the real world. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious, you held hands until it got in the way of eating. Then a drive, where he took you shopping and bought you a dress just for you to wear tonight. You told him you'd pay for it but he insisted. Lunch at a quaint cafe in town was just perfect. Then a walk, arm in arm as you explored the place. 

Back at the hotel, you were taking advantage of the suite he'd booked, soaking in an enormous bubble bath you're pretty sure you could do a few laps in. You had invited Eddie to join you, but in his words, 'if that happens we're never gonna eat dinner sweetheart.'

Drying off, you get ready for your date tonight. The other bra and panty set you bought just for Eddie resides under the beautiful purple satin dress he had bought you, along with your own hold ups and heels. Piling your hair high on your head in the fanciest updo you can manage without a team of hairdressers, you frown at your reflection. Not perfect, but good enough. 

Mascara, a soft eyeshadow, and a lipstick to compliment your skin tone completes the look. Transfer proof, of course. You were going to dinner with Eddie after all. 

As you're spritzing perfume, you hear Eddie's deep muffled voice from the other room. 

"You ready princess?" 

"Yup, coming." 

Breathe, it's Eddie, why the hell are you nervous? 

But this is the first date you've been on with him really. Butterflies flutter in your stomach in expectancy. Exiting the bathroom, you lock eyes with your date. 

Eddie looks good. Ridiculously good. He's handsome, that's a given, but seeing him in a suit? Fucking hell. 

The black suit jacket he's slung over his shoulders looks expensive, clearly tailored to him, with matching dress pants. A black shirt with a slight sheen to it clings to the muscles on his torso, it might be satin, or silk. He's even wearing smart shoes; they gleam in the light. No tie, you notice. Not that it surprises you, he doesn't look the type to even consider a tie, even for the most formal occasions. Not that you miss it; the top buttons of the shirt are undone, showing off his chest tattoo and a thick silver chain. 

"Eddie, you clean up good." You smile. Real good. 

"Sweetheart, fuck me…" He's frozen, staring at you. 

"Eddie, you've seen the dress!" You laugh, walking towards him. 

He stumbles back, holding his hands to his heart as if you shot him. 

"But I didn't know you'd kill me when you put it on!" He exclaims, dramatically falling to one knee. 

"Eddie…" you laugh, walking toward him.

"I don't know… if I can… go on." He breaks down on the floor, hand outstretched in a silent dramatic plea. 

"Eddie you idiot!" You giggle, grabbing his hand and pulling him upright. 

You're impossibly close now, bodies an inch from touching. All joking forgotten, he grabs you by the waist, pulling you close. Hot breath fans across your face as his lips nearly touch yours. 

"We better go to dinner. You look so, so, sexy, that if we don't…" a kiss is forced onto your waiting mouth, full of longing. 

"I'll hike this dress up and fuck you against," stopping to look around, he points, "that wall." 

Your fingers wrap around his, bringing them to your mouth. 

"Maybe later." 

"Hmm, promise?" 

"Promise." 

Tugging him toward the door, he huffs dramatically, flinging his head back like a toddler. 

Making your way to the door, you turn around suddenly. 

"Wait. We need to play the part, right?" 

Eddie looks at you, amused.

"Yes? What you thinking sweetheart?" 

A plan comes to mind, making you shiver with anxiety. Hoping against hope that Eddie doesn't run a mile, you take his hands in your own, sizing up a likely candidate. That ring looks perfect, the backing is a straight band. Taking it off his finger, you place it on the ring finger on his left hand, backwards. You do the same with one of yours. 

Holding your makeshift wedding bands next to each other, you look up at him. 

"See? Playing the part." 

He surveys them for a moment, a moment that has your heart beating in your throat.

"Perfect." Bringing your fingers up to his lips, he kisses the makeshift band. 

"Dinner?" 

Shoving your feelings down as far as they'll go, you swallow the lump in your throat and grab his outstretched hand so he can lead you downstairs. 

Arm in arm, you enter the dining room together. 

"Mr and Mrs Munson, here for dinner?" 

Your heart skips a beat at his words. 

It's just a part we are playing, that's all. Don't let it go to your head.

"Of course, please follow me." 

After being ushered to a table, you order food and drinks. Then you talk, and talk, and talk. He's really opening up to you finally. All about high school, his love for music, his life. The conversation continues as you eat, about him becoming a mechanic, finally opening his own shop and building it from the ground up. He's charming, and funny; each piece of information gives you just that little extra insight into the man you've come to care for so much. 

You start to tell him about your own life, some things you've never told anyone before. You speak about school too, your qualification in English Literature that you are working towards which you'd mentioned before, and looking to train as a teacher after that, which you hadn't. Or, you thought you hadn't. 

"I know sweetheart, you told me that." 

"Did I?" Racking your brains over the last couple of months just leaves you coming up empty. 

"Yeah, about six months ago. We were in the kitchen, I was helping out, fitting the stove. You were wearing that blue skirt with the flowers on." 

Oh.

"You remember that?" Wide eyed, you pause from taking a sip of your wine and stare at him. 

"Yeah. Sorry, that came out really creepy." He smiles but doesn't meet your gaze, as if he's ashamed. 

"Eddie, how long have you had a crush on me?" 

"Honestly? Nearly a year. I remember seeing you all dolled up for your 21st and thinking I was being a fuckin' pervert." 

"Well, that makes me feel a little better. I kinda had a thing for you around the same time. Dressed up a bit when you were around." Admitting it is embarrassing, but also freeing. A weight you didn't know you were carrying is lifted, flying free to the heavens. 

"Ah, so that wasn't my imagination. Why'd you think I helped out around yours all the time? I gotta admit, that bikini you got, the red one. Fuck, that was when I knew I was down bad" he smirks, reaching over to hold your hand. 

"I got it for you." You whisper, touching his outstretched hand. 

"Naughty girl." 

Your thighs clench under the table. A rush of blood to your cheeks aided by the wine you've drunk makes them burn hotly at his words. 

"Sorry to interrupt." You both turn to see your waiter looking very awkward. 

"Would you like any more to drink? Or the dessert menu?" 

Eddie looks at you for confirmation. 

"No, no we're fine. Can we take the rest of the wine upstairs?" Eddie's eyebrows raise at you, fingers stroking the hand he's still holding. 

"Of course, have a pleasant evening Mrs Munson." 

As the waiter departs, you stand up immediately. 

"Oh it's like that, is it?" Eddie's grinning, the devil dancing in his eyes. He palms the bottle and pulls you from your seat so fast you may have whiplash, guiding you to the elevator. 

Once the doors close you are on each other like a rash sharing an urgent, messy kiss. One of his hands is in your hair, pulling you toward him greedily as your tongues fight for dominance. You pull at his shirt, silky material bunching under your desperate hand. 

The elevator doors ping open and he throws you over his shoulder like a caveman, landing an awkward smack on your ass since he's still holding the bottle of wine. You shriek as he practically runs down the hallway, placing you down gently to fumble with the room key. 

Throwing your arms around his neck as he does so, you press needy open mouthed kisses to him, hitting any skin you can reach. Eddie's breathing is laboured, from his impromptu sprint as well as your attention on his neck. 

"Sweetheart, I can't get the damn key card in the thing when you do that!" 

Laughing, you suck a bruise in his neck making him groan as he puts the card in the slot. It flashes red once, twice, then finally green, the door swinging open taking you by surprise, so much so you nearly fall. 

Vision sliding sideways as Eddie drags you in the room; he kicks the door shut with his foot and reaches for you once again, slamming your back against the wall. 

"Was it this wall?" He asks, voice a throaty growl as he undoes his belt with one hand and whips it through the loops at lightning speed. 

"Huh?" Thoughts are impossible right now, unable to see through the alcohol and lust that clouds your judgement. 

Eddie's hand reaches and grabs you by the neck. All you can focus on is his rough grip, squeezing at the sides of your throat, and the heartbeat hammering in your cunt. 

"The wall I was gonna fuck you against. This one, yeah?" 

Nodding emphatically, you reach your eager fingers to his pants, palming his rock hard length. 

"Fuck." Letting go of your throat he pulls your dress up and over the curve of your ass, exposing the tiny thong you were wearing. 

"These new too?" 

"Yeah." 

As you answer he rips them off, the flimsy lace falling apart. 

"I'll buy you a new pair." 

His mouth is on your neck before you can protest, teeth biting harder than usual as he unbuttons his pants to push them hastily down. 

Calloused fingers seek your pussy, rubbing through your folds. 

"God, you're already soaked sweetheart." 

You whine, back arching against the wall. 

"Just fuck me Eddie, please, I need you." 

The tip of his hardened cock runs through your seeping wetness as he lifts you up. Legs clamping around him instinctually, your fingers grasp the lapels of his jacket, tearing it down his arms. It's flung off and away, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

He plunges his throbbing length into you then, large hands grabbing you by your ass, helping him to fuck up into you at an unforgiving pace. 

The sounds of your conjunction are slapping through the room, your slick making dirty squelching noises that would make you cringe if you had any thoughts in your head. All that's echoing in your brain is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. A heartbeat.

He's pounding into you so hard your head starts hitting the wall, the thunk echoing. 

"Fuck, sorry, just hang on," he says, gripping you harshly and carrying you over to the bed. He throws you down, making the air force out of your lungs with an 'ooft' noise. 

Then he's pulling your knees up, giving you no time to breathe as he pushes into you hard, hitting that spot inside that makes you quiver and beg.  

"Eddie, Oh God!" 

His grip, his thrusting movements, his harsh demeanour has your head spinning. You're on the brink of unravelling. 

"Eddie, please, can you- fuck, can you hold my throat again?" You plead, voice hot and raw from moaning. 

"Sweetheart, anything for you." Gravel in his voice. His lips curve into a smile, but there's no mirth in it. His face is hard, and something about it is setting your insides on fire. One hand glides its way up and over your curves, coming to rest on your neck. Rough finger pads squeeze onto your throat at the sides, not too hard, though enough to make your head reel and your pussy clench. 

The string holding you to this reality snaps then as you gasp for air, fibres flying free. You unravel, entirely and completely, dissolving into a mess of tangled threads. 

Eddie merely grunts his appreciation, fully lost in the depths of your cunt, beast mode well and truly activated. Short fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, ass, thighs, hard enough that you're sure he's drawing blood. 

He releases into you with a bloodthirsty groan, nearly collapsing onto your fucked out form. 

After a few breaths, he manages words. 

"Sorry princess. I get a bit… rough when I've had a drink." 

"Don't apologise. That was… Just, need more of that." 

"Now??" His eyes widened impossibly at your words. 

You giggle at the incredulity in his voice. 

"Maybe in like, ten minutes?" You pout.

"Twenty." 

"Done." 

********************

The time had come. You had both had to rid yourselves of the fairytale, the fantasy, and drive back separately to your real lives. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, a lemon rind of reality soaking onto your tongue, sour and unwelcome.

Saying goodbye was a sickening experience that you'd rather forget. A brief hug and kiss in the hotel car park, making you feel cheaper than you ever did. Like some sort of prostitute. It hurt, more than all of this put together. 

Driving away with tear stained cheeks, you sought solace in the roads of tarmac ahead of you. That, and the last words he spoke to you which echoed your head, 'soon, sweetheart, soon.' 

You pulled up to your family home and noticed your mom's car in the driveway. Walking in and dumping your bag at the foot of the stairs you shout out in a feigned cheery voice. 

"Hey, I'm back from Stacey's house!" The lie you had told them. One of many.

"Hey honey, we were just heading out! Tell us about it later, we'll see you soon!" 

Your mom rushes by you in a cloud of perfume and smiles, your dad in her wake. A kiss is laid on each of your cheeks as she waltzes out. 

The house is silent and still. You move to the kitchen to fix yourself a drink. 

A knock startles you for a moment, making water slosh out of the glass in your hand. Looking up, you see the vision of your desire silhouetted in the patio windows. T-shirt tight across his frame, hair dishevelled, and his usual bright face frowning with discomfort. 

You open the door and he stands there, looking you up and down, like he hadn't seen you for a week, even though it had only been a couple of hours. He makes no move to join you however. 

"Your parents, they gone?" .

"They just left. Why?" Your eyebrows tighten in confusion but widen in surprise when he strides inside, grabbing you by the ass and lifting you up. 

He drops you unceremoniously onto the counter top, your nearly bare ass on the hard granite. His lips are on your neck, but instead of hot kisses, warm breath is breathing life into you.  

"This weekend, it was supposed to be it." 

"What do you mean?" You ask as your stomach drops. 

"This." He gestured to the air between you both, "was it. I was going to say goodbye." 

"But, Eddie-" 

He interrupts your heart burning to ash, stopping the flames with a simple wave of his hands. 

"I said this was supposed to be it. But I-I can't." He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs desperately. 

"I care about you too much. We need to come clean, fuck the consequences." 

His mouth is on your jaw, nipping at you harshly, hands groping at your flesh as if this were the first time, or the last time. 

You moan, throwing your head back as your fingers grip at his shoulders, feet digging into his back to force him between your legs, closer to your expectant heat. 

"Honey I forgot my purse-"

The world freezes. Your mother, still as a stone, stuck in between shutter speed frames. Her keys have fallen to the floor, splayed on the floor in her shock.

"What the fuck!" 

Your dad stands behind her, face twisted as you've never seen it; volatile, angry and red. A vein is popping deep in his temple, cheeks nearly purple in their rage. 

Eddie steps away, body shielding you with his hands held upward in supplication. 

"Mick, look, we can explain-"

"Explain? Explain why you've got your hands all over my daughter??" 

"Listen, I-" 

"You fucking listen, get out of my house!"

Eddie steps away from you, hands still outstretched to the heavens as your mouth falls open. You're in shock, limbs refusing to respond to the impulses you're sending via your brain to move, damn it, move. 

Eddie exits the front door, your mother and father behind him. 

Finally, your legs find it in their muscles to listen. You shakily follow, finding your lover standing on the grass on the lawn, your father in front of him, clenched fists at his sides. 

It's not long before your fathers fist strikes out, landing on the side of Eddie's face with a glancing blow. Eddie staggers and stands firm, eyes flashing defiance, but hands making no move to defend himself. 

"Eddie, what the fuck do you think you're doing? She's half your age!" 

"Mick, just listen, I know what this looks like, I'm sorry, but-" 

"No, there's no sorry, she's my fucking daughter!" 

The other fist lands, hitting Eddie square in the eye. This time he falls backwards onto the well manicured lawn, hands still reaching to your father, begging. Neighbours are beginning to edge their way outdoors, drawn by the carnage.

"But I love her!" 

The words you never thought you'd get to hear were spilling from his soft lips, not a doubted syllable between them. The words you begged for silently, in the dead of night. Time stands still, at least for you. Your mom is frozen in time with you, hand hovering over her mouth. Your father, however, breaks the spell. 

'Get the fuck off of my property." 

As Eddie stands, you remember your voice. 

"No! No, Dad, I love him too. I love you Eddie!" Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks at the slightest blink. 

"You, inside. You don't even know what love is!" His angry fist is outstretched toward you, giving you a frightening glimpse of your father that you've never known.

"Mick, calm down, we should listen-" 

Your mother is silenced with a violent glance. 

"Inside, both of you. We'll talk in the morning." 

There's nothing you can do but witness Eddie getting up and walking to his house without a backwards glance. 

********************

Three days. It's been three days since that fateful encounter; three days since you knew your feelings towards Eddie were reciprocated. Your mother and father have practically kept you under house arrest during that time, holding some unknown shift pattern in order to keep you there. 

As far as you're aware, your father has lost it. It was never in him to discipline you as a child, but it seems he reached his limit that day, threatening to incarcerate you until the end of your time on earth was spent. 

Your mother is softer about this, but no amount of talking seemed to sway him. You'd even tried to sneak out of the house to find him at the foot of your window. 

It was early. Sunlight was seeping through the folds of your curtains as you lay there, cheek fastened to your pillow as it has been for a while. Bed sores were a real threat; not that you cared. Nothing mattered anymore, apart from the fact that Eddie loved you, and you loved him, and you were never going to see him again.

A distant noise reverberated outside, one you barely cared about. Footfalls then, on the landing. Familiar footfalls. 

As your door flings open, you look up with bleary eyes.

"Did you mean it sweetheart?" 

It's Eddie, your Eddie. Flinging your body off the bed, you envelop him in an urgent embrace. 

'Oh Eddie, I'm sorry, I didn't know that-' 

'Shh sweetheart, it's OK. Just… did you mean it? Do you love me?" 

"Eddie, I love you more than anything." 

His lips press against yours, hard, firm and brief. 

'Good. Pack a bag. We need to be quick."

"Why, where are we going?"

"Vegas."

Masterlist

Tag list (if you want to stay please reblog my sweethearts!) 

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden

[ghettogirly]

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𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

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-> synopsis: Being held captive by a cartel leader is a law enforcement worker’s worst nightmare, especially when you’ve been sold out by people from your side. Your fate lies in the hands of a ruthless cartel leader, what would be the consequences?

-> format: imagine

-> theme: angst.

-> warnings: mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violent scenes, mentions of childhood trauma, mature language, armando has a lot of trauma to him.

-> authors note: sorry for the lack of updates! i’ve been sooo busy. hope you all enjoy! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! 💗

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Dust coated the desolate, concrete floor below as a cast of cold air swept through the room. It being an open space due to the lack of rooms, walls were knocked down as you saw the rubble not too far from you. Your eyes were heavy as a pain then boomed through, clearly the consequence of it being bruised.

The question being how and why?

Looking down, the lack of movement was prominent as your feet and hands were bound to each other. Purple and pink blotches were plotted on your hands as a tension line formed due to the rigid surface of the rope, branded your skin. The uncomfortable feeling of the wooden chair not making the situation any better as grunts escape your mouth as you try wiggle you way out of the ties, to no avail. Huffing in frustration, you give up.

Graffiti was plastered on the walls, a multitude of colours and signatures decorated them as it made it clear that this place was abandoned. A free zone where people come in and practice their artwork. Moving over to the left, two chairs were aligned next to you. One chair had a man sitting in it, bound just like you but with his head now lying back. His eye was swole and coloured with blue and purple marks due to the fluid built up behind it, the result of a pretty clear beat down. His head had blood leaking from it, cascading down his face into the floor as red marks also plastered his body.

He was practically half dead.

The other chair next to him was empty, the rope loose at the bottom of the chair as blood trailed from it. Understanding the gravity of the situation, you then start to panic, wrestling the ropes. Clearly these people were not here to play. “No tiene sentido tratar de escapar de Mami, no lo vas a lograr.”

The voice erupting from somewhere in the building made you stop dead in your tracks as you quickly look around to see where that echo came from. Your brown eyes moved frantically as you desperately search for answers. Suddenly, 3 men walk in front of you, dressed in full black from head to toe.

More footsteps could be heard which causes the men to stand to the side, revealing the man.

A shadow casted over you due to the height of the apparent, hispanic man. His knuckles were rough, slight roots of hair covered his arms yet his skin was relatively smooth. A glint of a neutral tan covered the man’s body, demonstrating his mexican heritage.

Slowly glancing up to his face, a medial size scar was apparent on the right side of his face and a scar in his eyebrow.

He was fairly groomed. His facial hair freshly trimmed as well as his hair being freshly done. Yet, his dark, pink lips formed into a scowl, looking down upon you.

“Armando Aretas..” you thought.

“what do you want with me?” Croaking out, your throat running dry and raspy due to the dusty conditions.

"No puedes hacer las preguntas, nena. You came here on my territory, snooping around my business. I want to know what you’re doing here so far away from your homeland.” Armando calmly suggests, walking circles around your chair as the two other men stared down at you, evoking some psychological strategy.

“How did you-“

“How did I know? ¿Es esa la pregunta principal que te estás haciendo en este momento?” He scoffed, clapping his hands in disbelief.

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“Boss, there’s something you need to look at.”

Peering over at the picture that was slid on his marble desk, Armando lifted up the sheet, slighting creasing the corner due to his carelessness. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at worker with hesitation in his eyes. “¿Es cierto?”

The former nodded causing the man to sigh. Casting his eyes over the tablet the man just gave him , a picture was presented to Armando causing the former to squint. Eyebrows furrowed and lips curled, he sat back and looked at his worker in silence.

His tongue slid over his bottom lip as the male sat there, contemplating.

“Armando-“

“¿Me ibas a decir que teníamos a un estadounidense en nuestro equipo?”

The double doors opened revealing a caucasian male who slowly strolled in. The sheer arrogance exuding off of him due to his wealth and status. Dressed in designer branded clothes and accessories from head to toe, the blonde male raised his eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

A quick head nod was exchanged and the tablet was exchanged.

“Fuck. I know her.”

“No shit. Don’t fuck around with me Louis.”

A sigh came from the male standing in front of Armando.

“Listen, all I know is that she’s in the legal profession. I don’t know anything else. She’s a rat though.”

A loud sound of glass shattering was heard as pieces of debris flew throughout the office, causing the other two men to duck in attempts of protecting themselves.

“Fuck!!!”

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A scoff reverberated off of the walls. “Querías saberlo. Ahora ya lo sabes.”

“Why are you doing this.. We’ve hardly spoken. Just kill me.”

“I’ve saw you. I’ve saw you talking to the other women in the kitchen. Helping out the little ones in the community. We had a good conversation, remember?”

“It was one conversation-“

"Uno. Significaba todo para mí. La única persona que me escuchó fuiste tú".

“Armando, i do care about you. ¿Esa conversación sobre tu madre? Lo recuerdo.” A slight whisper falls out of your mouth, you clasp onto the wooden bars of the chair in desperation.

“But you was going to do the exact same thing she did to me. Lie.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“¡Pero tú lo estabas!" Armando shouts, kicking the chair next to you.

“Armando-“

“No. It’s fucking over. No hay ratas en el negocio de los cárteles.”

A baby was heard throughout the room as the woman’s head slumped down due to the trajectory and power of the shot. Blood splattered on the hispanic’s shirt and the concrete floor below.

Heading towards the door, Armando looked at the workers, the sight of a tear daring to show itself by leaving the corner of his eye.

“Get this cleaned up.”

Footsteps faintly turned away.

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[🌱] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“No tiene sentido tratar de escapar de Mami, no lo vas a lograr.” - there’s no point in trying to escape mami, you not going to make it.

“No puedes hacer las preguntas, nena.” - "You can't ask the questions, baby"

“¿Es esa la pregunta principal que te estás haciendo en este momento?” - is that the main question you’re asking right now?

“¿Me ibas a decir que teníamos a un estadounidense en nuestro equipo?” - Were you going to tell me we had an American in our team?

“Querías saberlo. Ahora ya lo sabes.” - You wanted to know, now you know.

"Uno. Significaba todo para mí. La única persona que me escuchó fuiste tú". - One. It meant everything to me. The only person who listened to me, was you.

“¿Esa conversación sobre tu madre? Lo recuerdo". - That conversation about your mother? I remember it.

“¡Pero tú lo estabas!" - But you was!

“No hay ratas en el negocio de los cárteles” - there’s no rats in cartel business.

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[🎀] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @5tarlan7 @yeahnohoneybye @dyttomori @dyttomori02 @milliumizoomi @shurisgf @tyneshaaa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @thedarkworldofhananerea @sarcasticbitchsblog @armandosbabymama @believeinthefireflies95 @twinklestarslight

[rosewaterandivy]

ii. bisclavret

Summary: and here he thought he’d hit the bricks when it came to library visits.

Pairing: s.h. x werewolf!reader

W.C.: 5.8k

Warnings: supernatural elements, super sleuth steve, exhausted eddie, poor mother-daughter relationship, general werewolf nonsense, graduation shenanigans

A/N: well, three months later TO THE DAY and here we are. everyone go thank ash (@big-ope-vibes) for gently nudging me to continue this. apologies for the delay & I hope you enjoy! 💜

m.list | playlist

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There’s a howl from outside his window. Low pitched and haunting as it soars over the other din of nocturnal noises in Loch Nora’s suburban sprawl.

Unmistakable.

Desperate and mournful with just a whisper of familiarity in it.

And his feet hit the floor before he’s rightly awake, drawn to the moonlight as it cascades through the trees just outside his house. His knee knocks against something hard, but he feels no pain.

But in its place, he does feel something. Anxiety, panic? At any rate, some sort of emotional discomfort. The overwhelming sensation that something isn’t quite right.

The howl trails off plaintitively, and there’s something ineffable about it because—

Steve could swear he hears a voice in it.

_

Sometimes, you felt the only time you could truly be yourself was on a run. And though you despised organized sports, cross-country had some distinct advantages. Namely, that it was almost a solitary activity.

So when you weren’t dropping by Hellfire meetings or loping around due to a paradoxical relationship with the moon, most afternoons saw you toeing on some sneakers and running for a few hours.

And while trail-running wasn’t exactly a medaling event, it was your forte and Coach Reynolds didn’t seem to mind. Other than asking you once to bring Munson aboard because he’d seen Eddie outrun the SRO in a wild sprint at the Homecoming game, the coach generally left you to your own devices.

Breezing by the picnic table that Eddie affectionately calls his office, you stride through the woods back behind the school at an easy pace. Your mind empties and allows you to focus on the breath in your lungs, the myriad of scents carried on the air. The forest smells as it always does, that damp earthy quality of decaying underbrush cut through with fresh saplings taking root.

Further into the woods and at the mid-way point in your run, you’re about to turn back when you hear a dry snapping sound from somewhere ahead of you. Lightning quick, you narrow your gaze only to find a shirtless and sweaty Steve Harrington.

His chest is heaving like he’s been running for some time and he’s wearing a ridiculous bandana as a headband to keep his hair from falling in his face. There’s a healthy rosy hue dusting his cheeks and nose, and you know if you don’t leave now then you might do something worth regretting.

“Hey,” He exhales, stopping a few feet from you and setting his hands on his hips.

Steve leans over to catch his breath as you, meanwhile, stare at him dumbfounded.

And it isn’t like you haven’t seen shirtless men before; Eddie, in fact, is vehemently opposed to wearing any clothing that isn’t strictly necessary, particularly in the summer when the a/c tends to crap out in the trailer.

But to compare the two is a moot point. Because Steve is bronzed with hair on his chest, not the pallor of some sickly Victorian child. He’s sturdy, feet planted firmly in the ground even as his sucks in breaths as if his life depends on it.

He just smells so damn good.

It is precisely at this moment, that you know you’re fucked.

Because several things happen in quick succession.

Kicking it all off, a breeze passes through and you’re, of course, downwind of Steve so you get smacked with a sensorial wall of Harrington’s sweat, musk, and what can only be described as how you believe a raging inferno would smell— sweet and smoky. Enough to make your mouth water.

Then, he takes a step toward you with a concerned look on his face.

“You alright?”

Unfortunately, no, you are very much not alright.

“I, uh,” You say, recognizing all too well the rough rasp your voice has taken on. “I gotta go.”

It’s all you say as you jog past him, shoulders colliding as you run away, a familiar pull in your belly like the coaxing of an ember into a flame.

Fucking coward.

It wallops Steve in face one lazy Saturday, nearly out of the blue.

The kids have descended to watch movies and eat him out of house and home.

They’d made it through Teen Wolf and they’re maybe half-way through An American Werewolf in London when Steve visibly pales.

“Too gory for ya?” Max asks with a laugh, tossing popcorn in her mouth only to miss.

He shakes his head, eyes trained on the screen.

Robin pokes him with a socked foot eliciting no reaction.

Steve thinks back to the bonfire, his moonlit romp through the woods and the ineffeble feeling of being watched, how fucking weird you were the other day on your run.

And then he lets out a low whistle, scrubbing his hand through his hair.

“Shit.”

How he convinces Robin to waste the remnants of her weekend at the library, he’ll never know. When he first pitched it, she looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head.

“Do you even know where the library is, dingus?”

“Hey,” He says, only slightly perturbed. “I dated Nance, I sure as shit know where the library is.”

Robin cracks a smile, “Sure, big guy.”

And now, they’re rifling through the folklore section of the the Hawkins library after a fruitless search in nonfiction.

“Remind me of what we’re looking for?”

“Uh, like legends about wolves, I guess.”

“Why the sudden interest in our oft misunderstood four-legged friends?”

He stops, puzzled, “What the hell kinda sentence is that, Rob?”

She shrugs and continues perusing. “I dunno, I just think people don’t understand the wolf. They’ve been hunted and poached to near extinction in the U.S. y’know.”

The hairs prickle up on the back of Steve’s neck. He hadn’t considered that, and frankly, it’s a terrifying thought. Because if on the off-chance he’s right—

“I blame recreational hunters, personally.” Robin continues to prattle on, “Because wolves actually provide a natural cull to the ecosystem. I mean, why else do we have such a rampant deer population?”

Steve let’s her continue in this same vein for a while, knowing she’ll run out of steam eventually. He tosses a few books on the table they’ve claimed, mostly Germanic fairytales. And when he’s pulled all he could from the shelves, he hauls them over to the circulation desk.

The elderly librarian, Gladys, gives him a warm smile and opens the cover of each book to stamp the due date.

“Research project?” She asks with a friendly smile. “We’ve had a lot of kids come through for that recently.”

“Uh, kind of.” Steve allows, and thankfully he doesn’t have to painstakingly continue this conversation because Robin slaps a book down on the counter at that precise moment.

“This one too.”

Her eyes glint like she’s found something good, and Steve glances at the cover briefly.

Les Lais de Marie de Fance.

“Really, French?”

“Hey man,” Robin says, jockeying an elbow to his side, “I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, okay?”

Gladys passes back the stack of books to them and Robin opens the tome to pointedly tap her finger underneath one word: Bisclavret.

_

The next few days pass by peaceably enough.

You lie low, go to school and cross-country practice, hang out with Eddie, and studiously avoid Harrington’s haunts.

Eddie is the one to return the video tapes, as a precaution.

He swings into Family Video that day with the intent to come away with a copy of Evil Dead and an even distribution of sweet and sour candy.

What he does not expect is to find Harrington at the counter with a stack of books and furiously scribbling in a battered notebook. It’s such a shock to see, that Eddie stops short in the doorway.

There’s a grunt and the sound of glass hitting metal that causes Steve to glance up.

Just Munson lurking in the doorway.

He rolls his eyes and says, “In or out?”

Eddie shuffles into the store and drops the tapes into the return slot. He eyes the stack of books warily, and can’t recall the last time he’d seen Harrington carry a book, much less crack one. Recognizing a few titles, his blood runs cold.

Goddamnit.

He beelines for the horror aisle, swipes some candy from the shelf by the counter, and tries to get outta there as fast as he can.

But, of course, Harrington takes his time rigning up the sale.

Eddie taps his fingers against the counter, leg bouncing as he stands there trying not to sweat bullets. Because it’s one thing to warn Harrington off of moonlight strolls, that’s just being like, neighborly? He wouldn’t really know.

The point is this: Steve seems very close to figuring something out.

Something that he should have no business doing in the first place. And not because you’d nearly bitten Eddie’s head off at his less than helpful suggestions.

“Over my dead body,” is what you had said.

And it was a very near thing, at the time, because you had stumbled into Hop’s old hunting cabin without a stitch of clothing on, limping, with your hands and jaw covered in dried blood.

There was also the matter of the bullet that grazed your leg, but that’s what the first aid kit was for.

“Y’know,” He had pointed out, cleaning the wound as you hissed and thrashed on the floor. His t-shirt barley long enough to be considered modest on your frame. “This could all be avoided it you’d just—”

“What,” You bit out, “Tell him about this clusterfuck of a situation?”

Eddie takes that opportunity to put pressure on the wound and pack it with gauze. You nearly kick him in the face, and maybe he deserves it.

Later, after a few hours as he was changing your bandages, he broached the subject again. A different tactic, but the same intent. He kept his voice soft, barely audible under the laughtrack from the TV.

“It’s only going to get worse.”

A grunt.

“He could help, is all I’m sayin’.” Eddie turned to you on the sofa, mindful of your leg as it rested on his lap. The wound healing up quite nicely already. “The shifts wouldn’t be as bad, you’d have some—”

A snort.

“Something to live for?”

“Well, someone, technically. But yeah.”

You wave him over with a lazy smile, only to cuff him on the back of the head.

“You idiot,” You say around a laugh, “I’ve got you to live for. Why drag another sorry sucker into this mess, huh?”

Eddie shakes himself loose, comes back to find Harrington staring at him over the counter. He pays and scoops up his purchases in both arms.

He’s almost out of there, scot-free, but when he’s turning toward the door, a knowing voice says:

“Gladys said to return those overdue books you’ve got, Munson.”

And in that brief moment, Eddie and Steve understood each other perfectly.

He high tails it outta there accompanied by a litany of: fuckfuckfuckFUCK.

_

Robin is regaling Steve with her painstaking translation of that French story she found.

“So like, the earl of whogivesafuck marries this chick and she notices that for a few nights every month, her new husband isn’t in bed.”

Steve continues typing in the receipts for the day.

“She confronts him about it, and he says that once a month he turns into a wolf and loafs around the forest. He trusts her, obviously, and says that he can only turn back if he finds his clothes, so he usually stashes them in the woods somewhere.”

He hums, trying his best to show the bare minimum of interest.

“But the thing is,” Robin says, chomping down on a piece of licorice. “His wife has this lover, a knight, and she’d much rather be with him than some earl who’s a part-time wolf. So, she waits until his next turn and then steals his clothes from the forest.”

“So, he’s a wolf forever?”

“I mean, for a while, yeah.” Robin chews audibly. “But the earl was close with the king, and in his wolf form endears himself to the court. Some time goes by, and he’s living large as a glorified pet, but then his wife comes to court with her new husband.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Well, if getting your nose bit off is bad, then yeah.” She barks a laugh and tosses the candy wrapper into the trash. “And the king is floored because this wolf has never said so much as ‘boo’ to anyone all the time he’s been at court. So suspicion falls on the now noseless wife.”

She wraps up the tale; the king gives the wolf clothes on the advice of the wife. Lo and behold, what was once a wolf is now his long lost earl. All’s well that ends well.

“Huh,” Steve says. “Weird.”

“Not that you should just randomly hand out clothing to every wolf you come across,” Robin teases with a gleam in her eye. “Just thought it would be helpful for your lil’ project.”

“Sure, sure.” Steve nods and shoves the receipts in the night deposit bag. “And this earl, did he have a name?”

“Bisclavret.” Robin supplies, “It’s like, old ass French, but I think it translates to something like…” She pauses and seems to dissect the word in real time. “Bleiz is , uh, Breton for wolf and claffet means rabid? Ill, maybe? So, my best bet is wolf-sick.”

Curious and curiouser.

Steve files it away to think about later.

Besides, he has a spare bit of clothing lying around somewhere. It would be nothing to just toss them in bag and throw it in his car. Just in case, of course.

_

Steve thinks there’s sort of a innate brilliance to it all.

It’s subtle, it has to be if you’re to avoid detection, and probable— it really works a charm.

His notebook is full of scribbled lines lifted from library books, loopy curls of a more feminine hand when Robin included her summaries of the French story, haphazard drawings of the moon, teeth, and glowing eyes.

The eyes he’s comes back to more often than he’d like. Shards of moonstone that catch the light, milky white with a flashy vein of blue.

He didn’t know that’s what it was until ambling around Robin’s room one day. She was half-assedly studying for finals, plopped on her bed and surrounded by books and sheets of notebook paper.

Steve, for lack of anything to do, investigates the collection of bric-a-brac on her dresser.

A small square of milky white cut through with specks of gray, blue, and green catches his notice. “What’s this?” He asks, feeling its dull edges in his hand. Turning it slightly, it flashes an icy blue vein.

Robin looks up from where she’s sprawled on her bed, nose in a book. “Oh, that’s moonstone.”

He hums in response, turning the rock this way and that. Phosperescent eyes coming to the fore of his mind, there in an instant and gone in the next. The golden light of the streetlamp cutting across your cheekbone, incisors gleaming and white.

Carefully, he sets the moonstone down amongst Robin’s other treasures, and files it away for later.

Things are becoming clearer as the moon creeps closer to waxing full in the sky.

Steve is a patient guy, he can wait a little longer.

The aconite no longer works.

Eddie has gone through more chains and tow rope than any twenty year-old has a right to. He’s trying to keep it together, but it’s getting pretty fucking dire.

He can see how each day, each new failure, is wearing you down.

To a casual observer, you hide it pretty well. Oh, just cramming for finals, you know how it is! Something to explain away the rings under your eyes, the ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look instead of the more accurate ‘I woke up in the woods again and these were the first clothes I could find.’

You had never, to Eddie’s recollection, willingly worn a Hawkins Tigers anything. Much less a shirt to school, of all places. It’s a slow motion disaster as you pour yourself out of the van and get your bearings on the pavement, because that’s when he sees it.

‘HARRINGTON’ emblazoned on the back of the gray tee, there for the entirety of Hawkins high to gawk at.

And yeah, you might be slow on the uptake today, but Eddie’s tongue is so tied he can’t possibly work his way out of it in a subtle fashion.

Instead, he throws an arm over your shoulders and does his best to cover the name as you walk into the building.

But the damage is done by the end of homeroom that morning. A class you share with Robin Buckley and elected to sleep through that day. Head on the desk, hair fanned around you, Harrington’s name is clear for everyone to see against your shoulderblades.

The whispers start then and Robin makes it a point to hang back as the bell rings.

She watches as you jolt awake, blinking a few times before grabbing your stuff and making toward the door.

Robin catches up to you easily, the students giving you a wide bearth in the halls. Too happy to fall into their cliques, peer at you, and whisper amongst themselves.

You’re so out of it that you don’t even realize she’s tailing you until she pulls you into the girls bathroom at the end of the corridor.

Her scent gives her away— light and airy like fresh laundry hanging on the line, but there’s a sharp sour note of fear, nervousness maybe. And she smells a bit like wood smoke— Steve.

“Woah, um, hi?” You say as the door swings shut behind you.

The few students in the bathroom rush out, leaving the two of you alone.

Robin looks at you incredulous, because she’s maybe figured something out that her best fucking friend in the world was keeping from her.

And she can’t begin to guess why he would do such a thing.

“You’re wearing his shirt.”

“What? Who’s?” You turn to look before realizing that’s a moot point and situate yourself in front of the bathroom mirror instead.

You can feel the blood draining from your face as you read the letters on your back.

Fuck.

This cannot be happening. Not today, not now, not ever.

“I, uh,” You stammer, failing to explain this away.

Robin studies your reflection in the mirror. The near bruises under your eyes, how sloppily you’re put together today, that you’re sleeping every spare moment you can get.

She clears her throat, “Did something happen between you two?”

Narrowing your gaze at her, you turn from the mirror, posture drastically changed.

Where once she believed to have the upper hand, Robin now realizes her grave miscalculation. Shoulders back and standing tall you cooly assess her as you take calming breaths.

There is a razor-fine edge that you are on the precipice of, one false move and it all falls apart.

“Wouldn’t he tell you if it did?”

If you can keep her talking, you can diffuse the situation.

Robin isn’t a threat, she’s Steve’s best friend. She carries his scent on the periphery of her own, it calms you somewhat.

“Then how did you—”

Before she can finish the thought, the door slams open and Eddie waltzes through.

You let your shoulders fall, relieved at his arrival; safe and familiar.

“Ladies,” He greets casually, as if he struts into the girls bathroom on a regular basis. “Guess my invite was lost in the mail, huh?”

Eddie tosses his bag near the door alongside yours and throws the lock.

Robin’s eyes flit between the pair of you, curious and wary.

The bell trills out and the din in the hall dissipates.

You can’t afford to linger here much longer, finals to take and all.

“Something’s up.” Buckley says shouldering past Eddie to unlock the door, “And you’re gonna tell me what it is.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Eddie’s voice is low and warning, his eyes cut to you fleetingly before settling on the growing problem that is Robin Buckley.

Her hand grips the metal handle, knuckles nearly blanching white, and barely turns her head to softly say,

“Then he will.”

The door opens and she’s gone.

“Well,” Eddie sighs as he grabs your bags. “If this isn’t a goddamn bitch of an unstatisfactory situation.”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Got it in one, Ed.”

-

Steve doesn’t see Robin that much over the week. Busy with finals and graduation, she cut down her shifts at Family Video leaving Steve with Kieth more often than not.

It wasn’t the worst but it certainly wasn’t the best; his manager elected to play the Star Wars movies on a loop for two days straight and Steve was fine with that, if not a little distracted.

He’d requested off for Robin’s graduation and was closing on his own for once. He played Fast Times just because he could and gnoshed on the half-open box of Milk Duds Robin had been working her way through.

But he couldn’t escape the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

It itched at the back of his mind all through his shift lingering as he killed the lights and locked the front door.

His skin feels too tight again and he’s exhausted despite not doing much to warrant it.

Steve grabs his keys and leaves through the back door walking toward his car.

There’s a sound like someone stepping on gravel behind him.

He pauses midstride.

And then, there’s that voice again, the one he hasn’t heard since the bonfire.

A low rumble that feels like a caress:

Go.

Steve does as he’s told, mindful of the controlled steps behind him.

He slides into the car and locks the doors.

As the engine turns over, he glances at the rearview mirror only to find the bluest eyes he’s ever seen staring back at him from the shadows.

Blueblue, definitely not moonstone.

The BMW peels out of the lot and onto the main drag, leaving whatever was lurking there to the dark.

A cloying scent of gardenia assaults your senses as you walk through the door.

Your mother is perched on the arm of the sofa, beer already in hand.

“Hi hon,” She greets with a smile that has far too much teeth. “Happy graduation!”

The best thing about your mother, if you were pressed to find one, was the simple fact that she was never around.

“Uh, thanks.”

Your bag drops near the door as you cross your arms and lean against it.

She goes on to say how proud she is of you, that she couldn’t possibly miss her only child’s graduation, that it would—

She pauses mid-sentence, her grip on the can crushing it slightly. She scents the air, her once too-perfect smile falling into a snarl.

“What is that smell?”

Throwing the can aside, she marches up to you and lifts your hair from your shoulders, turns you this way and that, eyes searching for something that isn’t there.

But now that she’s uncomfortably close, the scent is heightened.

The scent that isn’t entirely yours and is subtly laced with wood smoke.

“No,” She says, eyes catching the name on the back of your shirt, “Absolutely not.”

Your back is nearly to the wall as she clenches your arms in an attempt to force you into submission.

“Mom,” You try, voice calm, “Nothing has happened, nothing will happen—”

“After all I’ve done for you,” She sneers, eyes bright and furious, “After all the work I’ve done to raise you, ensure your safety, this is how you repay me?”

She’s always been a stong woman, your mother, forced to by circumstance and the harsh reality that honed her. Her shirt shifts as she manuevers you to the wall, revealing the faded scar of a bite to her jugular.

A souvenir from your father, that she never failed to remind you of. One of two, including you.

You swallow thickly, hating every point of contact you share with her.

The precipice is coming closer and you’re falling headfirst into it.

With a shuddery breath you close your eyes, and try to think of better things.

Summer, freedom, warm nights, cool water, that glint Eddie gets in his eyes when he laughs, running with no destination in mind, bonfires under a starry sky, the sweet scent of smoke—

Threat.

A low growl crawls its way up your throat.

A demand.

“Let go.”

Hands come up and grasp her wrists, shoving her away from you. She stumbles back, balance precarious as you purposefully step forward. Her eyes dim as she glances up at you, feaful and almost cowering.

Because while your mother was a strong woman, you were stronger. Something she always knew and lived in fear of. Let the entire pack fall to ruin under the guise of protecting you from their judgment. Refused to have you be used like a weapon.

But in doing so, she also denied your rightful place there.

Your birthright.

And sure, you mother always claimed it was because people wouldn’t respect a woman in charge. Said you were better off as she packed her bags once again, leaving you with Wayne or Hopper.

“A woman’s place isn’t at the head of the table,” She’d say as a parting blow.

Gravel would spray out from under her tires as she drove out of Forest Hills, and Wayne’s hand would fall to your shoulder in a comforting squeeze as tears leaked down your cheeks.

“Don’t pay her any mind darlin’,” He’d say ushering you inside. “She wouldn’t know the first thing about about leading a pack if it bit her in the ass.”

She looks scared now, terrified to see what you’ve become in her absence.

Strong, loved, and unafraid.

In the chaos of memories, you hadn’t felt your fangs descend. You tongue one briefly before opening your mouth to say:

“Leave and don’t ever come back.”

It is not a request.

She balks at the order, tries to fight it.

Another step closer has her lowly whining and ducking her head.

Your voice is foreign to you, a lower register and stronger somehow, self-assured. It rips through you like wildfire this new feeling, runs like magma through your veins.

Power.

She grabs her meager things and turns to leave, pausing at the door she says, “Don’t bring that boy into this.”

A parting warning as the door swings shut.

This charade goes on for weeks.

But without the excuse of school— Robin, Eddie, and you have graduated— Steve has difficulty keeping a handle on his curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat…

How does the end of that saying go?

Right, so. Being cool, calm, and somewhat collected, Steve only tails you on certain days of the week. Generally on those evening runs you’re partial to, it’s easy enough to brush aside as a coincidence; you’re a runner, he’s a former jock besides, he doesn’t do much other than observe.

He studies where you go, the places you frequent and with whom. And more often than not, you’re alone, secluded in the woods somewhere. Steve wonders if he’s getting himself into a can’t see the forest for the trees situation, it feels like he’s getting nowhere.

Or less than nowhere, going backwards maybe.

He’s curious why Eddie isn’t glued to your side.

He has to remind himself that he’s looking for a change in behavior. On his calendar, Steve tracks the lunar phases, noting that you grow more impulsive the more it waxes, eyes beckoning like the most precious of stones. Your stride shifts to something corded with tension, you run faster as if you could outrun the skin you’re in. Your hair grows wild and unkempt, snapping hair ties in its ferocity.

Steve watches and makes note of this for reasons he cannot possibly explain. All the while, he tries to convince himself that he’s not being obsessive and weird. Though Robin would cite his notebook as evidence to the contrary.

He’s careful to remain undetected. Quick to duck behind a tree as you loop back on the running trail, and he’s convinced you’re about to glance in his direction.

But there’s something you didn’t account for, on this particular run. It’s the late afternoon the day before the full moon— the Strawberry moon— lying in wait, hot and pregnant in the sky. Steve’s tailing you at what he’s sure is a reasonable distance on your run that day, he’s got you in his sights and goes to wipe away the sweat gathered at his brow.

In that instant, you are gone.

He blinks to clear his vision, glances left and right. And, deeming that you are nowhere to be found, he drops a spare pair of shorts and an old tee shirt at the trunk of an ancient oak tree.

A twig snaps somewhere to his right.

“Harrington,” You greet with a tense smile, voice frustrated and gruff. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replies around the lump in his throat, voice strained. “Great minds and all that.”

You take a measured step toward him, filling the space between you. He notes the slight flare of your nostrils.

“That’s interesting, I could’ve sworn you were a morning run kinda guy.”

“Oh, um,” Steve stammers in response, suddenly overwhelmed by your proximity and the musky tang radiating from your sweat drenched skin. “Well, it gets hot so early now—”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” You warn with a low growl, and shift your stance so he’s forced back against the trunk of the tree. “You know exactly what I’m getting at.”

“Honestly, I don’t—”

You take a deep breath in, brows furrowing as if in great pain.

“I can smell you.”

And that shuts Steve right up.

It seems rather obvious to him now, of fucking course you can smell him. He feels like an idiot for not considering it earlier. God, how embarrassing.

You stare each other down in the subdued quiet of the forest, your eyes boring into his with a harsh intensity. Steve is kind of thrilled and terrified to be able to study them up close, despite the precarious situation at present.

Your irises are blown, from what he can see, like ink splattered across a page and crowding out their natural color. There’s the faintest hint of milky white rimming the edges, fluctuating slightly as if battling for dominance. Your pupils are enormous, so big and…

My, my, what big eyes you have.

All the better to see you with, my dear.

Steve shudders and books it out of there, faster than a knife fight in a phone booth and twice as choatic. And he doesn’t stop until his lungs are fit to burst at the intersection of Pine Bow. He doubles over, hands on knees, gulping in snatches of air.

He shakes his head, unable to get your flickering eyes from his mind. The viciousness in your gaze should serve as a warning.

Well, Steve had never been one to take heed of those.

He wakes in a cold sweat tangled in his sheets.

Struggles to piece together the images from his dream.

Damp earth. Wet leaves. Something wild and free.

He falls back against the pillow and drags a hand across his face. The illuminated numbers of the clock state that it is seven in the morning.

Robin is still dozing in one of the guest rooms, she’d stayed over after graduation and they’d torn into the liquor cabinet while dancing along to Top 40 on the radio.

He’s thirsty but nowhere near hungover as he swings his legs to meet the plush carpet underfoot. Robin will doze off and on until late morning if he lets her, so there’s enough time for a quick morning run.

Steve throws on a shirt that’s seen better days and the blade of Rob’s scissors, the hem barley grazing past his pecs, some shorts, and laces his sneakers. He swings the door open and is about to step outside only to stop short at the sight of a fairly large gray dog at his door.

It cocks its head curiously, mouth falling open in a soft pant as they assess one another.

Now, Steve had always wanted a dog; had begged every birthday and Christmas until it was clear that the Harringtons would not tolerate dog hair and dander polluting their home. Undeterred, Steve wrote to Santa dutifully each year until he was eleven. Then, it was all too obvious that Santa thought Steve was far too old for such things— Christmas presents turned into cash and checks left on the counter, wire transfers from the Cayman Islands.

So it’s really not his fault that he tiredly assumed what was actually a wolf was just a very large and well-behaved dog. And he maintains that fact to this very day, he’ll have you know.

“Oh, uh, hi there.”

The dog, or so Steve assumed, sat politely on his porch, its large paws barley grazing the edge of the welcome mat.

He saw no collar nor leash, and ruminated on what to do as the animal studied him in return with a keen intelligence in its eyes.

Eyes that were oddly familiar to Steve.

But before he could decide on what to do, Eddie Munson’s van careened into his driveway and screeched to a halt.

“Harrington!” Eddie yelled in the bright summer morning, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He fell out of the vehicle and tripped several times in quick succession striding across Steve’s well-manicured lawn.

The animal cocks its head to the side in interest, light eyes trained on Steve but ears cognizant of Eddie’s approach.

And before Eddie can intervene, Steve grabs something from behind the door and tosses it at the dog’s feet. A wet nose scents the air, dips to investigate the cotton, and deems it satisfactory.

It takes the shirt between its teeth— which strike him as unnaturally sharp— and trots inside the house. The act shocks Steve into silence.

“Well fuck, Harrington,” Eddie curses, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “You’ve really done it now.” He shoulder checks Steve as he enters, grumbling to himself all the while.

So, curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

He shuts the door and hears his mother’s voice ringing in his ears—

“No, you know better, Steve,” she sputtered at the puppy on their patio, worrying a dish towel between her manicured fingers. “Don’t feed it, it’ll just come back!”

He shakes the thought loose and follows Eddie down the hall to the living room.

And, well, he’d always wanted a dog, a companion of some kind. Steve figures it’s better in than howling outside his door.

[d3sserts0ul]

about your fyodor aftercare thing…

let’s get a little more writing on that shall we? also lets include sigma and Nikolai aftercare too because I think they deserve better💔

𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙙!

( also New layout????? 🤍 )

“ 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. ”

𝘋𝘰𝘈 [ 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴．] 𝘟 𝘎𝘕！𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙, 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴．

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙠𝙬 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙁𝙮𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧 is his 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜...

— 𝙎𝙞𝙜𝙢𝙖

Sigma’s lips lock with yours as he pulls out of you, trying to match your breath with his to calm down. Despite this slight awkwardness at the end of the heated moment, a sense of a warm and calming aura start to replace the tension in the air. He slowly pulls away, opening his eyes to look at yours. He looked almost dazed and a bit tiredly, though that isn’t surprising.

“ Are you okay? ” He asks, caressing your cheek. Sigma didn’t move until he heard that you were alright, it didn’t matter if he felt sticky from the sweat, or from something else, your needs were always put first.

“ Yeah, I’m okay. ” You finally respond back, a sigh of relief emitted from Sigma’s mouth.

“ You were a bit too rough though, did something happen today? ” You sighed.

He knew he could be rough on some days due stress or irritation from the casino or from Nikolai and Fyodor, and this was one of those days. It’s when he pushes you to the wall and aggressively kiss you deeply right then and there, or when he grabs you by your ankles and pull you closer to him. It can be concerning but your trust in him lowers that feeling to where you find it hot or something.

“ Work was just… harsh today, some drunk customers came in and wrecked havoc in the casino. ” He mumbled as his eyes meet with yours again. “ Could you forgive me for that? ” You couldn’t say no to such a look coming from his face, it made you want to suck him dry all over again.

“ Fine. ” You respond.

After another quick peck on the nose, Sigma finally gets off of you and grabs a nearby hand towel to wipe you and him off. He gently rubs off any fluids on your body, and your face just to be sure with the cloth, looking very concentrated on such a simple act. Once again, not surprising.

Even though Sigma looks so calm, he’s actually about to lose it. What does he say to you? Would it be weird if he just asks if you enjoyed yourself? Is he doing this right?

“ You look pretty with a ponytail, I think you should keep it like that more often. ”

Your voice broke into his head and he returned back to earth. Sigma smiles, a bit of pink dusting his cheeks. “ Really? If you like it so much, I’ll wear it for you more. ” He leans back down to plant more kisses on you as if he hasn’t already.

Sigma puts away the towel, getting a water bottle from the mini fridge near the bed. “ I’ll run us a bath, drink this for now. ” Sigma glanced over to you as he puts on his robe, ready to get up, but once you pull him back down. “ Stay. I want you, please? ” You whined.

Sigma couldn’t deny such a request like that, he can’t help but feel a little more wanted someone, someone he loved back. “ Alright, whatever you want. ” He said, laying back down to cuddle you.

“ You can have me, I’m all yours. ”

－ 𝙁𝙮𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧

You shift a bit out of discomfort, the water rippling your every movement.

“ Ah ah, stay still. Or would you prefer another round. ” Fyodor’s voice echo in the bathroom, and the abrupt words sent shivers down your spine. “ Sorry. ” You apologize. He didn’t answer back but you knew he accepted your apology either way.

The steam coming from the water smelled of vanilla and lavender, and the water had a bit of a foggy color due to some small oils Fyodor added to it. Your back was to his chest and you had no choice but to bask in the comfortable silence.

This was getting too silent for you, even if you liked it. After picking up some left confidence and courage that he didn’t pound out of you, you sit up and turn to face your body to him. Fyodor’s eyes open and he sneaks his hands to your thighs, to keep you from getting up any further.

“ Can I please play with your hair? ” You ask, attempting to give some sort of convincing face in order for him to give in to your desire.

He didn’t budge, there goes your courage and confidence once again, instead replacing it with embarrassment and guilt. “ You’re rather needy, aren’t you? ” He smirked. Seeing you slowly losing yourself to his words amused him greatly, and since he was in a good mood today, a reward like that seems acceptable for someone like you. ( as if having sex with him isn’t already enough. )

“ Very well, be gentle. ” He gives in finally. Your fingers desperately run through his damp hair, braiding a few strands together, taking them out, then braiding them back together again.

[nenelonomh]

oral hygiene

perhaps since i am a bit younger than most of the people on this app, or since my nana had owned a kindergarten, i am so aware of the importance of hygiene and health practices. i feel that everyone has put simple things like this on the back burner, since covid, since the internet's takeover.

i remember, when i was younger (2015/16ish) (note: i clearly wasn't in kindergarden at the time, but this is when the memories are from), the halls of my nanas kindergarten were lined with posters that encouraged parents to look after their child's health. current kindergartens, and parents--perhaps due to technology and widespread knowledge-- prioritize other things. it's about time we took responsibility of our own health again.

oral hygiene is the practice of keeping your mouth clean and disease-free. it involves brushing and flossing your teeth as well as visiting your dentist regularly for dental x-rays, exams and cleanings.

brushing your teeth: ✩ use fluoride toothpaste to protect your teeth from decay (cavities). fluoride strengthens the tooth's hard outer surface (enamel). ✩ angle the bristles toward the gumline to clean between the gums and teeth. ✩ brush gently using small, circular motions. avoid scrubbing back and forth too hard. ✩ brush all sides of each tooth, including your tongue. ✩ replace your toothbrush when the bristles become worn.

HOT TIP: if you get bored with, or struggle to remember brushing your teeth, consider swapping to a minter (or other pleasantly flavoured) toothpaste. this will encourage you to continue the habit, since it is more enjoyable.

flossing your teeth: ✩ plaque can build up between teeth, leading to gum irritation and gingivitis. ✩ floss daily to remove plaque from these areas. ✩ if plaque hardens into tartar, only a dentist or dental hygienist can remove it.

replacing your toothbrush: ✩ as you use your toothbrush, the bristles gradually wear down. bent or frayed bristles lose their stiffness and effectiveness in cleaning your teeth. ✩ over time, your toothbrush accumulates bacteria from your mouth. bacterial growth on an old toothbrush can contribute to oral infections and bad breath. ✩ you should replace your toothbrush when you notice that the bristles have become worn, or every 3-4 months to prevent the buildup of harmful bacteria.

storing your toothbrush: ✩ before and after brushing, thoroughly rinse the bristles of your toothbrush under hot tap water. this helps remove toothpaste residue, debris, and any airborne bacteria or dust particles. ✩ after rinsing, tap the handle of your toothbrush against the edge of the sink to shake off excess water. this promotes faster air drying and prevents bacterial growth. ✩ store your toothbrush in a cup or holder. keep the bristles up and the handle down. this allows excess water to drain away from the bristles, preventing bacteria buildup. ✩ place the cup or holder in a well-ventilated area, such as a counter or shelf. avoid storing it in a dark, enclosed space like a drawer or cabinet. allowing your toothbrush to air dry completely helps prevent bacterial growth. ✩ avoid cross-contamination by keeping your toothbrush separate from your housemates, or family members.

electric toothbrushes: ✩ some may choose to use electric toothbrushes, where you only replace the head of the toothbrush. electric toothbrushes use oscillating, rotating, or sonic movements to clean teeth and gums more thoroughly. many models have built-in timers to ensure you brush for the recommended 2 minutes. most electric toothbrushes are rechargeable, reducing waste from disposable batteries. ✩ personally, i prefer to use a regular toothbrush, since i feel it does a better job cleaning my mouth. often electric toothbrushes require you to take longer to brush your teeth.

eating choices: eating choices play a significant role in maintaining good oral health. first and foremost, consuming sugary foods and drinks can lead to increased acid production in the mouth. this acid can erode tooth enamel, making your teeth more susceptible to decay. it's essential to limit your intake of sugary snacks and beverages to protect your oral health.

frequent snacking, especially on sugary and acidic drinks throughout the day can harm your teeth. aim for regular meals rather than constant snacking to give your teeth time to recover between eating episodes.

staying hydration is crucial for overall health, including oral health. dry mouth (which is called xerostomia) can increase the risk of cavities and gum disease. salvia helps neutralize acids and wash away food particles, so drink plenty of water to keep your mouth moist.

remember to maintain a balanced diet, rich in vitamins and minerals. it is essential for healthy teeth and gums. nutrients like calcium, vitamin D, vitamin C, and phosphorus contribute to strong teeth and support gum health. include dairy products, leafy greens, fruits, and lean proteins in your diet.

to conclude: remember that good oral health allows you to enjoy life by speaking clearly, tasting, chewing, and showing your feelings through facial expressions like smiling!

further reading: ✩ What’s the Most Sanitary Way to Store Your Toothbrush? • Brilliant Oral Care✩The Best Way to Store Your Toothbrush & the Mistakes You May be Making | Gentle Dental (interdent.com)✩Whatever You Do, Don't Store Your Toothbrush Here - CNET✩Why Should You Replace Your Toothbrush? And When? – Mouth Watchers✩How Often Should You Change Your Toothbrush? Healthy Etiquette (healthline.com)✩When To Change Your Toothbrush | Colgate®✩Oral Hygiene | National Institute of Dental and Craniofacial Research (nih.gov)✩Oral Hygiene: Best Practices & Instructions for Good Routine (clevelandclinic.org)

i hope this post was helpful!

❤️ nene

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Hi, Kat! I love how obsessed you are with Levi…because same. Anyhow, I have a question👉🏻👈🏻

If Levi were to travel forward into our time, what are some things you think would send him into a coma?

Much love❤️ Violet~

hi violet!! i think my identity is just being obsessed with levi at this point tbh ksdjfkslfkj

i think most things he'd acknowledge as cool and neat and prob would be helpful in canonverse, but there are def a few things that would throw him off

levi with modern!au gadgets

➼ i can see him being fascinated by feather dusters. idk about you, but for me, cleaning up lint with a cloth is a pain in the ASS, so levi having a feather duster would finally provide him with what he needs to be able to get the room/house/apartment/etc as spotless as he usually requires in canonverse. no more ordering the cadets to clean for him, it's now the responsibility of the feather duster. he'll probably be quite displeased once he finds out that he has to regularly replace it due to how quickly lint gathers onto it.

➼ i think he'd DEFINITELY be weirded out by keurigs at first. is it a water boiler? why would you make it through that annoyingly loud device instead of brewing it yourself (especially if its tea)? he'll get his head around it pretty quickly though, but you bet that he'd get into brewing contests with it to see who makes it better (it's him obvs)

➼ he'd probably have the same attitude that he did towards the feather dusters when it comes to a roomba. he'd be intrigued and even fascinated at first, but would likely pick up on little detailed spots that the roomba would fail to sweep up. his disdain for the little device gets even worse once he realizes how absolutely FILTHY the sweeping rod gets if you don't regularly clean it.

➼ lets be real, you'd have a full dishwasher installed in your house and levi would have no idea that it existed until you came up to him one day and asked why he was doing all the dishes by hand, and that you could technically save water if you just ran the dishwasher. even after that, he'd be skeptical on if it could actually get all the grime off or not, even after the dishes come out squeaky clean

➼ i think this one would actually piss him off. of course he'd be impressed by the washer and dryer unit that you have. not having to handwash clothes was convenient and made everything easier. however, as soon as he had to clean the lint tray from the drying machine, his nose would scrunch up as a complete look of disgust took over his features. no matter how careful you were, small lint particles would get knocked into the air. he'd try to navigate it quickly and carefully at first to avoid the dust build-up, but it didn't take long before he just gave up entirely and began going on cleaning sprees in the laundry room whenever you have to run the dryer to pick up after the dust that settled after each cycle.

[ashensgrotto]

Poor Unfortunate Souls (Part 1)

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

Word Count: 7,398

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3a (You are Here) Part 3b

Per request from @twistedcece and @mermaidfan76 , I finished the third part to my Yandere Soulmate AU - yes, I have officially given it a name now. I think I might do a piece per each of the books in Twst - but I haven’t made any solid decisions yet.

Also - due to this being the third part, hence Octavinelle’s chapter in the game, this next part is going to be divided into two parts. The main reason is because there is a bit that happens and I want to make sure that I take my time with writing everything out for it, never mind that I am covering two overblots - Leona’s and Azul’s - in this section. I am also planning on revisiting part 2 and fixing that up a bit more - and I’ll post an update when that happens.

Now, fair warning, although this is likely not going to be graphic, it does show more of the possessive/obsessive behaviors that yandere characters are known for as well as the underlying threatening behaviors they can exhibit as well. I do not agree with these behaviors that are as follows, but I’m covering my basics.

Every single day

And every word you say

Every game you play

Every night you stay

I’ll be watching you

***

Eyes of pale blue watched from the shadows of the infirmary as their owner kept their gaze fixed on the form of (Y/N). Normally, your delectable skin was smooth and soft - without a flaw in sight; now, bruises and cuts covered every inch of your form - though the blood had been cleaned away and your body had been covered by bandages and medication. You were still healing from the attack by the three Savanaclaw students, but several more injuries had been imprinted upon you.

Another overblot, another battle… another loss.

Leona’s power-hungry drive to prove that Malleus Draconia wasn’t invincible during the spelldrive tournament had back-fired horribly. The students of Heartslabyul as well as the vice-warden of Diasomia and a freshman of Savanaclaw had snuffed out the headwarden's plot before it could take root - halting it before any serious damage could be done. With the plan foiled and the dorm now turning on him, Leona's anger and jealousy had begun to overtake him. 

Azul and several other dorm leaders and their students had looked on as the air became dry, making it difficult to breathe. A creature that took on the monstrous form of a lion had come after all of them - all done with Leona’s powerful magic. It was lucky that Deuce, Ace, Trey, and Cater had been there - as well as Riddle. The five had experienced an overblot before and were the ones that would try to hold Leona back - to snap him out of it. The fool girl that you were, the one that Azul was head over heels in love with, raced from the safe confines of the colosseum, the octomer shouting after you, telling you to stay by his side - it was too dangerous.

You ignored Azul’s cries as you raced to the front lines, your (h/c) blowing in the wind as your eyes squinted against the onslaught of sand that had taken to the skies. As you had done with Riddle, while Leona was distracted, you slapped the headwarden of Savanaclaw across the face. Leona had turned his attention to you as you shouted at him - claiming that you understood what it was like to be "second best," how no matter how hard you tried there was always going to be someone better than you. All watched as the magicless guest of Octavinelle stared hard into the overbloted student's eyes, the eyes of a corrupted prince.

"I feel your pain, I feel your sorrow," you simply said, "and you have forgotten yourself, Leona - you have to remember who your friends are and what it is you fight for. You are more than what you have become. Please - remember who you were, who you will be… who you are."

Azul's eyes widened as the sound of shattering glass echoed across the playing field, Leona slumping forward as the dark creature behind him faded into dust. You, as difficult as it was due to your previous injuries, knelt on the ground beside Leona as the members of Savanaclaw came forward to help the headwarden to his feet - all traces of his blot completely gone. 

Everything had been a haze for Azul following that. He couldn't believe you - his soulmate, keeper of his heart - had deliberately disobeyed him. He told you that the world of Twisted Wonderland was far too dangerous for someone like you, and yet you continuously put yourself in harm's way. What would happen if you got yourself killed? Injuries could heal and scars would remain, but if an overblot happened again and wouldn't reason with you like Riddle and Leona had done? Azul wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you - he would go mad without you.

Something had to be done.

Azul shifted in his chair before he felt the presence of two others. He looked to see a twin set of heterochromia eyes glowing in the dark.

"Jade. Floyd."

The twins appeared beside Azul, Jade on his right, Floyd on his left.

"I assume you've brought what I requested."

"Indeed, several poor unfortunate souls are in dire need of assistance with this year's exams coming up," the older of the two smiled.

"And you might like specifically who signed up for a meeting with you," the other snickered, his sharp teeth baring in the darkness.

Azul took the paperwork from Floyd and shifted through it, one brow arching as he read off the names in his head… only stopping on three names in particular.

"Hehe… it would seem that (Y/N)'s closest friends have their own dirty little secrets," Azul smiled, handing the paperwork back to Floyd, "Excellent work, you two. With this knowledge, I might be able to actually give her a reason to despise them - they won't tell her about our little arrangement anyways, thinking they'll be able to beat my game. How many students have signed up so far?"

"A little over two hundred - all houses and ranges of classes," Jade answered.

"Perfect, continue bringing them in," Azul answered, "I want the headmage to get the message that it's us who run the school, not him - the poor fool. And I have the perfect idea in mind on how to persuade him."

The twins grinned in agreement, Jade asking, "And what of your little mermaid princess?"

"I'll handle her - poor dear will be distraught, but it will work in my favor," Azul smiled wickedly, "Oh, and make sure to keep her in the dark if she asks about this - the other members of the dorm know not to get involved in our affairs; especially after how I took care of the last headwarden."

The tweels needed no further explanation as they nodded, bowed, and disappeared into the darkness again to fulfill Azul’s orders.

Azul stood and walked to your bedside, resting a gloved hand on top of yours, reaching down to kiss your forehead, "Please forgive me - but what I am going to do is only for your own good."

***

You tucked a tray under your arm as you finished gathering the last of the dishes before heading out to the lounge area.

Today seemed awfully quiet with only a few students of the dorm working today - however, there were talks about new staff members joining that had been floating around, peaking your interest. You also noticed how in the next few weeks, your schedule to work in the lounge had decreased even further - making you wonder how you were ever going to pay for the rent in the dorm, which was not cheap. You had some pay still saved up, but you still needed to eat and launder your borrowed clothing, which was also expensive. You looked up, and saw Azul standing with Jade and Floyd on the steps that lead to the entrance of the Mostro Lounge - perhaps you could discuss the issue with them.

You head over as Azul’s gaze shifts from the twins to you, his signature smile greeting you, “(Y/N). How is everything going? You look much better than a few weeks ago.”

“Thanks to your help and consistent assistance,” you smile with a nod of thanks.

“Of course, my dear,” Azul smiled as he approached, resting a hand on your shoulder, “The headmage entrusted me with your safety, after all… until I can find a way home for you of course.”

“Speaking of which,” you say, “have you found a way? It’s been about a month and a half, almost two, since I came here.”

“I’m afraid you have to give me time, angelfish,” Azul answered, “You can’t get something for nothing, you know.”

You nod in understanding, “And, I wanted to ask - my hours at the lounge have been greatly reduced and I was wondering why.”

The twins grinned wickedly, making you shiver a bit at their smiles as Azul came around you, his arm holding you close to his side as the long overcoat of his dorm uniform draped around the two of you, “Why, angelfish - it’s primarily because we’re adding a few new faces to the family, of course! A few boys owe me for using a specialty study guide I created for them that guaranteed a passing grade for the exams that took place earlier this week.”

“It’s that… cheating?” you asked.

“It’s a fine gray area,” Azul answered, “The questions on the exams have been the same for decades - a few minor changes here and there, but nothing worth losing a night of sleep over. I get the answers in a legitimate way and create the guides for students to use at their discretion. In order to get those guides, however, they have to be willing to pay the price if they fail to meet my expectations.”

“Which is what?”

Azul smiled, raising his cane with the pale lavender colored magestone within, “Well, those that fail to make it into the top fifty, of course! But, let me give you an idea of how many and who exactly would take the bait and wriggle like worms on hooks.”

The magestone began to glow and soon you heard shouting and scraping noises out in the hall before bodies of students were pulled into the entryway of the lounge before yourself, Azul, and the twins. There were roughly two hundred, if not more; over half of them were freshmen in the dorms of Savanaclaw, Scarabia, and Ignihyde while several others bore the crests of Pompfiore, Heartslabyul, and Diasomia, several others you recognized as sophomores like Azul, Jade, and Floyd, and there was only a handful of juniors among the crowd. On each student’s head was a sea anemone - teal at the base and purple on the top that waved and wiggled as if being controlled, and very likely was by Azul’s magestone. Several of the students began shouting and arguing, only stopping with a snap of Azul’s fingers, which caused the sea anemones to knock everyone’s heads together.

“Well, well, what have we here? A band of misfortune souls who failed to break into the top fifty?” Azul smirked, “Welcome to Mostro Lounge. I’m sure you’re all WELL aware of who I am, but let’s go over it anyway. My name is Azul Ashengrotto - I am the housewarden of Octavinelle dorm, the manager of the Mostro Lounge cafe, and, as of today… you have to listen to everything I say.”

“You each made a bet with me and lost,” Azul continued, “As per the terms of our contract, you are to devote yourselves to my service until such a time you graduate.”

“Hold it! This is all a huge scam!” a familiar voice called out.

“Ace?!” you asked, eyes widening, “What are you doing here?!”

 “Ace Trappola,” Azul narrowed his eyes on the red head, "a freshman, if memory serves correctly, and a friend of (Y/N). Your accusations are insulting, quite frankly. I upheld my end of the bargain and provided you with a flawless study guide for your exams. If you had used them properly, you should have scored at least a ninety."

"Yeah, I did," Ace growled, "I got a ninety-two. But you never told me you'd given the same study guides to this many people!"

"Ace is right!" Deuce’s voice called out from the crowd as voices murmured amongst each other, "No study guide could help us break into the top fifty with the deck this stacked!"

"When everyone scorin' over ninety, even with my eighty-five, my spot in the rankings is no different than when I was failin'!" Grim groaned.

"Have you boys never heard of client confidentiality?" Azul asked, crossing his arms over his chest, "All of you fools - I mean, gentlemen - all had your own reasons for seeking out my help. Details who made a contract with me, what kind of contract it was, and why it was made… Well, that's privileged data. Who am I to divulge someone's personal information to a third party? I am a man of integrity, thank you very much."

"Azul, please reconsider," you whispered softly, "These are student's lives you're playing with. They had to pay you for the contract, why do they have to suffer the consequences for failing to meet your end of the deal when they had no idea how difficult it actually would be?"

"My dear sweet child," Azul looked down at you, speaking in a condescending tone that you did not recognize at all, "All of these poor unfortunate souls had their chance to make it into the top fifty for their classes. They failed and failed miserably. Some were close, I have to give credit where credit is due after all, but they missed the mark by a mile."

"Azul, please," you say again, "Please let them go."

Azul's eyes sparkled then as a smile spread across his face, his teeth becoming bare as well as his gums - looking more like a predator by the minute.

"Well, I always was a man with an eye for a bargain," Azul answered, "After all, you would do anything for your three friends here, if I am correct?"

You shift your gaze from Azul to Ace, Deuce, and Grim as the crowd looks on, each of the students holding their breath in anticipation. You looked back at your employer and nodded.

Azul shook his head, clicking his tongue before turning toward Jade and Floyd, "Get our newest recruits working - we have a full night ahead of us. In the meantime," he wrapped his arm around you, "I have some business to discuss."

***

You perched on the sofa in Azul’s office as the headwarden pulled one of his golden contracts out of the vault, holding it up for you to inspect. 

"(Y/N), this is the initial contract that you signed with me when you began," Azul spoke, handing the contract for you to inspect, "Per the terms your agreement, I will allow you to work and live within Octavinelle until such a time comes that I find a way for you to return home. Your payment to me, as you have nothing to give, would be any pay you earned within the lounge - I have allowed you to keep any tips left behind and some of the paychecks due to your want for independence. Now, that display you showed for those fools in the lounge has made me… want to reconsider my actions."

You look up from the contract, still begging, "I said I would do anything if you would release them."

"And I will accept that, however," Azul's face turned dark as a wicked smile spread across his face, "would you be willing to accept the price and the deal I have in mind?"

He pulled out another contract, this one blank, and as he spoke, his words spread on the page as if he were writing them himself.

"The deal I have for you is simple: in exchange for the freedom of all of those who signed my contracts for the study guides this term - including the names of Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, and Grim - you, (Y/N) (L/N), will belong solely to me. Your body, your mind… your everything. You will remain by my side until the end of your natural born life."

You look up at him, your eyes widening in realization, "Azul - this is a marriage contract."

"I would prefer 'engagement', but marriage also works," Azul answered.

"Azul! That's not fair!"

"You're right, it isn't," Azul set the contract down on the table and knelt before you, grasping your hands in his, holding them tightly, "It's not fair for me to give up two hundred souls who signed away knowing what the repercussions would be if they failed my bet. However, I'm willing to do it for you, (Y/N). I would do anything for you. And do you know why?"

When you shake your head in a negative, Azul smiles at you fondly, "It's because I love you, (Y/N). I have searched my whole life for you - looking in every corner of Twisted Wonderland to find you. And when you appeared in the mirror chamber, lost and distressed, I wanted nothing more than to hold you close and I vowed then and there I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. You are… my soulmate. My match."

"Azul, we're… that's crazy!"

"You might think so now, but in time you'll understand, I promise," Azul kept his grip tight on your hands as he stroked your hair away from your face, "Now, about that contract -"

"Forget it. I won't do it."

"But your friends, (Y/N)? You said you would do anything for them. Was that a lie?"

"N-No, but…"

"Well, then, since we seem to be in agreement…" Azul placed the contract before you, spinning his cane around before it transformed into his fishbone pen and offered it to you, "Take a gulp, take a breath, go ahead and sign the scroll."

You hesitantly took the pen and closed your eyes as your name was spread across the dotted line.

As soon as your name was completed, Azul snatched the contract up and smiled, "It's a Deal!"

A glow came from the contract before the light enveloped you yourself, a bubble appearing around you and sealing you off from the world. You slammed your fists against it, shouting at Azul to release you.

"Payment for the deal is needed, angelfish," Azul smiled, "Like I said before - you can't get something for nothing. So, I'm going to take something so trivial you will never even miss it… your legs."

You stop for a moment, fear running through you like a cold shower as you whisper, "My legs?"

"You got it, sweet cheeks," Azul smiled, turning his attention toward you, "I need to keep you nearby at all times - and the thing that separates us is, well, human features. I am by no means human - some have called me a monster because of what I truly am. I was born in the sea, live in the sea… and you will too."

***

Three days had passed by since you had signed on the dotted line… three days since Azul made the announcement that the new recruits were free to leave - all thanks to a selfless individual who would not be named… three days since he took your freedom from you. You hadn’t shown your face to the school nor in the lounge during that time - not that you could - but everyone seemed to get a sense there was something else that now lurked in the large aquariums of the Octavinelle dorm. 

Not that you could blame the guests for being suspicious.

As soon as Azul had told you you would live under the sea, your legs had been swapped out for an ornate fishtail - pale sea green in color with scales of emerald speckled here and there. He kept you confined in the large aquarium that had spread throughout the dorm like a maze, the most open area in the Mostro Lounge. Azul requested that you stay out of sight from the other students, only coming when he called for you - which was often in the evening after everyone had left. When Azul wasn’t around, you were free to do as you wish - which often was raging at him or curled into yourself to try and comfort your poor broken soul. 

You had placed your trust into someone that should never have been trusted in the first place - and you had no one to blame but yourself.

“Well, I guess your herbivores weren’t kidding when they said they suspected something happened to our guest.”

You whipped your head around to see Leona and Riddle looking at you from behind the glass of the large aquarium.

“T-this… THIS IS INHUMANE!!” Riddle looked like he was about to blow a gasket again.

“Riddle? Leona?” you asked, coming forward and resting your hands against the glass, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” Riddle shouted, “What in the sevens’ names are you doing in there?!”

“Keep your voice lowered!” you hush, “If he finds out you saw me…”

 “Who?” Leona asked.

You look down, biting your lip.

Leona crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, “I see.”

“What? What is it? Who did this to her?” Riddle asked, “I’ll have their head!”

“Riddle, you’re too quick to jump to conclusions,” Leona turned his attention back to you, “I am assuming this has something to do when several of my dorm members were pulled into Octavinelle a few days ago - as well as some of members from the other dorms, mainly those three idiots you hang around with.”

“What? Deuce and Ace were pulled in here? What for?” Riddle asked.

Leona looked between Riddle and you before explaining, “Deuce, Ace, and the little demon came to me, asking for my help - said that they made an issue and that our magicless guest was in trouble. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but now that I’m seeing it…”

“It’s true,” you answered.

Riddle was still a bit lost, “Who did this to her, Leona?”

“Azul.”

“What? Why?” Riddle asked.

“You humans wouldn’t understand what most of us beastmen, fae, and merfolk often experience as children,” Leona answered, “However, I believe I know the reason why. Azul believes that our magicless guest here is his soulmate.”

You and Riddle blinked a bit, “Soulmate?”

Leona nodded, “There are often rumors that spread around about the concept of soulmates - how there is one special soul that is unique to one individual. Everyone has a soulmate - whether they are family, friend, or romantic - but they are far and few in between, a rarity. Those of us who are lucky to even encounter our soulmate will often hold onto that person as if our life depends on it - and in this case, Azul is rather possessive of it.”

Your hands slide down the glass, “That’s why… that’s why he…”

Leona nodded, “And I also had a part in it, too, (Y/N). However, we don’t have time to discuss it. We need to figure out a way to fix this.”

“How?” Riddle asked, “It’s not like we can just… confront Azul about it - he’ll deny it, knowing the sneaky student that he is. Rule breaker…”

“I’m assuming he used his unique spell on this one.”

“Yes, ‘It’s a Deal,’” you answered.

Leona thought for a minute before nodding, “I have an idea - usually I’d ask for some sort of payment, but it seems I owe you twice for everything that has happened to you. Consider this a free of charge gift of mine.”

You blink, “What are you going to do?”

Leona smiled, his teeth bared, “I’m going to teach that cephalo-punk a lesson he’ll never forget.”

[xinamie]

🕯 — cozy caves.

pairing: kuai liang / scorpion x gn! reader

summary: odd first meeting with the second eldest son of the lin kuei. ♡

tags: mentions of being chased by unknown creature, flirting, fluff?

This trail was a danger to anyone passing by, but you really had no choice. There was no way you were going to let the granny next door deliver these goods on her own and the safe path was currently blocked off due to a new project going on. It was this or go back home with the guilt of failing an errand— if only your wagon's wheel would cooperate...

Poking a few pebbles out of the gears allowed you to push the cart down the rocky road. It was slower than you wanted, yet better than nothing. Your journey continued on as the sun shined down on your neck, beckoning sweat to rise as seconds passed. All was quiet, nature's song filling the air until a snap sounds off.

Peeking over your shoulder, there was no sign of whatever made that noise. Thinking it was just nothing, you pressed on and put your strength into pushing the goods forward.

That was the case, until a low growl reached your ears.

Nerves filled your very soul, wondering what could that be. Half of your brain wanted you to look back again and scope out the potential threat, but the other half was too distracted by your palms suddenly feeling slippery. You tightened your grip on the handles and the second you heard another snap— you bolted like the wind itself.

Behind you was a rather large, snarling animal that you couldn't quite confirm the species of as you were too busy running for your very life. It followed you like it had been starved for weeks, hunting you as its next meal.

The creaking cart was beginning to fumble once more, croaking and groaning at the exertion. Then, it crashed moments after you turned to check on the creature, taking you along with it as darkness surrounds you.

‐

Sitting up to cough up dust that left an unsavory taste in your mouth, you tried to look around to see where you were to no avail. A shift to your left causes you to tense up, yet it stops as soon as it starts.

"Relax. You are not in danger." A low, masculine voice drawled out. More shuffling could be heard until crackling embers filled the silence, a piece of wrapped fabric being lit aflame. There, you could see the face of the man who spoke to you.

A bronze— or was it gold?— mask covers most of his face, but you could see the reflection of the makeshift torch's wisps in his watchful eyes.

"We are caved in due to your disturbance." He continued on, ignoring the scoff that escaped you. You were being chased, so it wasn't your fault at all! Before you could retort, his words cut you off.

"How is your head?"

One quick pat to your temples was enough to understand the implications of the soft cloth resting there. He had checked you for any injuries while you were blacked out and unconscious. Letting your hand fall back down to your side, you decide to comply and answer his question.

"It's fine..."

There was no reply, only the waving of light as he checked on the damage at what seems to be both the entrance and exit of wherever you stumbled in. Tons of rocks covered the area, ranging from ones as large as your head and as small as those pesky pebbles that bothered your now forgotten cart.

"Are we stuck here?"

Your question was met with a dry laugh, no humor to it and sorely lacking comfort. Again, there was no reply. The man simply kept to himself, examining the rocky wall before him. A draft made its way through, causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin. That was a good sign, right? That could mean there was an out after all.

As minutes drone on, the only sound being something tapping against the stones, the area around you started to drop in temperature. Hugging your arms could only do so much, knees coming to your chest to keep the little warmth you had to yourself.

The clinking noises paused.

"Cold?"

You didn't answer, choosing to stay quiet as he wasn't much for conversation earlier either. He noticed it, though, eyes sharp even with the dim lighting from the torch that was dying down.

Nothing could have prepared you for when he sat down by your side, shoulders barely scratching against one another. No words were exchanged before you felt it.

A heat radiates beside you, almost taunting as if it would consume you whole. There was no need to rub at your arms or hands to keep them at ease anymore. It didn't take a genius to figure out what, or who, the source was.

His mask was gone, tucked within his uniform for safe keeping. A haughty expression grew on his face as you subconsciously leaned into his side for that warmth you so desperately wanted. No one said anything for a while, not even when he pressed his shoulder into yours.

He was hiding something, that you knew. You didn't ask, content on fighting the occasional wind flowing through the cracks by snuggling into the man. Your eyes drifted to the arm closest to you, noting the tattoo on his bulging bicep. Thoughts of just who this man was began to consume your mind, wondering if you should ask for his name at least.

A ruckus shakes you out of your wandering mind as rocks start to stumble and dust kicks up in the air. He stood up first, adjusting his mask back on as he covered you from the light flooding into the cave.

Once nature settles down, another figure could be seen on the other side. Tall, bulky, and clad in mostly gray. The voice that came out seemed pleased, happy with their findings.

"Brother, there you are!"

The man before you only hummed, moving forward to join his supposed sibling. The other continues to speak animatedly as you watch on, seemingly forgotten on your spot on the floor.

"Now, what were you doing? Some sort of new training? Ah, I bet you were testing the limits of that new blast technique!"

That shiny mask turned to look back into the cave, eyes meeting yours for a swift second. Then, it hit you.

He could have blasted the rocky wall? If so, then why did he...

"Smoke, escort the villager out. See to it that their injuries are tended to."

The taller man, Smoke, raises a brow and sets his eyes upon you. He doesn't protest, only nodding his head as he beckons you to come over. You oblige, of course, but you can't seem to put your mind off of the shared coziness from earlier...

Maybe one day you'll see him again.

☆

a/n: ok this one might suck bcs tumblr has been glitching out on me,, a sign i gotta write off mobile LMAO anyway hiii

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 3 - Found

Rated M for violence, past abuse (content warning), and language.

The rogue fails a perception check.

On AO3.

Astarion has, in nearly two centuries of undeath, gotten used to a certain factor of rapid healing. Vampire lords are hard to kill, in part, due to their rapid correction of what should be catastrophic wounds knitting back together, bones snapping and cracking into place, skin stitching itself whole.

Even lowly spawn, on the verge of starvation, utilize a robust sense of urgency when healing. A broken arm lashes itself back together after a day or two. Fingernails grow all the way back in by next evening. Even torn throats or caved skulls typically don’t take more than a few days—the punishment for failing to deliver to the master is an excellent motive in that regard. One can always cover wounds with a scarf or a hat or makeup.

But none of those take into account the accursed illithid parasite currently contenting itself nibbling on his gray matter. Astarion is slower than usual, his limbs far heavier. It’s apparently altered his eyes enough that this measly cavern refuses to present itself to both his elfish and vampiric sight.

And his godsdamned shins are bruised to all the hells.

That is the fault of the boulder field that ridiculous trap dropped him into. He’s on his feet again, trying to use his soft-soled boots to gauge a path. But even his natural grace—hamstrung as it is by the tadpole—cannot save him when a rock beneath his probing foot shifts and he, once again, crashes to his knees onto more rocks.

He suspects his lower legs are more bruise than flesh at this point. It would have been smarter to crawl, he thinks now that his knees are too damaged to attempt it.

Part of him would very much like to curl up on his side and lay there. Close his useless eyes and wait for one of the others to find him. Their illustrious leader is somewhere out there—he can feel her, closer than she was. They’re allies now. And she’s the generous sort (when she’s not being ruthless).

Yet. He’s heard many a tale of the Underdark himself. Even the ghosts of whispers drifting forward from his lost boyhood. Monsters and madness, the dark and its denizens.

It would be extremely unfortunate for him if something other than their leader found him here.

He’s no stranger to pain. He despises it, but he knows a necessity. One cannot leave their own innards lying about on the stone floor of the kennels and expect them to just rearrange themselves. They have to be put back into place so that wound can be sewed mostly shut and perfumed and covered in threadbare finery.

So Astarion grimaces and forces himself back to his feet and his aching hands touch cool, dry stone instead of wet, cool intestines. Dust washes off much more easily, anyway.

The silence presses heavily on him. He keeps working his throat, as if trying to get his ears to pop. It’s oppressive. An actual weight perched like some demented hell creature upon his shoulders, broken only by the occasional drip of water in the distance.

Were he above ground, this wouldn’t overly concern him. The forest is usually quiet when he stalks about beneath the trees. The living know the unliving when they see it, and most animals, it turns out, know when a predator comes nosing.

Down here, it’s different. He can’t see. There are no trees to scale, no alleys to duck into. He can’t even properly disappear into the shadows, because everything is shadows and the creatures of the Underdark know how to see and navigate within it. He could be two feet from something made of teeth and he wouldn’t even know it—

“Eleanor?” he whispers. Even that echoes.

His knuckles pop, fingers wrapped so tight around the hilts of his knives he has to make a conscious decision to ease them before one bursts out of the socket.

No reply. Nothing moves. Water drips and the air is still and perfectly, completely black.

“Fuck,” he allows himself.

But that seems to do something. Carry just enough that something scrapes off ahead of him. Dust and stone crunch. Cloth whispers.

“Hello?” So does their leader when she finally speaks.

Astarion is so very glad of the dark in this instance, as there’s no way the human woman can see his knees almost give out (and it has nothing to do with the damned rocks).

He makes good time towards that voice. Bashes his shins, rolls both his ankles—the left one twice-over—and batters his hands.

“I’m here,” he whispers after a moment, and oh. Oh. Thank his vampiric hearing; once he’s close enough to catch the faintest tha-thud of a mortal heartbeat, he has to take a moment, hands braced against a particularly wide boulder, to gather himself. Wouldn’t do to come scrabbling out of the darkness like some beggar.

“Astarion?” She’s trying to be quiet, poor thing, but she still doesn’t account for how much better his ears are than hers. She might as well be speaking at full volume.

“Right here, darling,” he says. His feet finally hit what feels like smooth floor and he takes a few, delicate steps, tapping with his toes before placing his weight. Just his luck, he landed in the middle of some jumble, while she got plonked down as fine as can be on a gentle, little slope.

“Astarion,” she starts to say. He’s locked in on her voice and starts towards it, walking normally for the first time in what must be hours—

“Whoa, hey, stop!”

Good thing his instincts are as sharp as ever. He catches the snap of her tone before the words even start to translate, and every muscle locks. His front foot isn’t even touching the ground.

“There’s a drop off,” she says.

He takes one step back. Kneels down to run his fingers before him, and she is indeed correct. Half of his foot would have landed on open air and he literally would have plummeted down to join her face-first. How embarrassing. Good thing she was paying attention to his footfalls.

“I landed down here,” she says. “I can reach the top, but I…uh.”

He waits. Is she injured? Caught on something?

She mumbles. Even his hearing can’t decipher it.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you’re going to have to repeat that,” he says.

A moment. Then she sighs, and it’s such an irritated sound he can’t help the slight tug of a grin. She can keep her face as blank to the world as a mirror is to a vampire. But her voice and the movement of her hands tell him exactly what she’s feeling half the time. (The other half is like speaking to a brick wall, which he won’t admit; it detracts from his air of mystery).

“I do not have the arm strength to pull myself out,” she says. She articulates every word very precisely, in her foreign drawl. Which is something else she does when she’s annoyed or embarrassed. It’s almost adorable.

“Well, I suppose as your ally, it falls to me to offer you a hand up?” he says.

Oh, this is so much easier with another person to play off of.

“’Ppreciate it.”

He finds the ledge. Finds her hands swaying about in the dark. He won’t need to dig through his pack to find rope, at least.

He braces himself in a squat. Grabs her forearms as she sort of grasps at his.

“Darling, you’d better grip like you mean it if you want this to work.”

She wouldn’t touch that automaton with her hands, either.

“Right,” she says.

She doesn’t sound happy. But she does grab him back. And on the count of four—she actually starts at three like a wild person, until he explains that one counts to four before doing anything—she gives a hop. Her weight snaps through him, and he digs in his heels even as her boots scrabble as she tries to climb.

Up, up—damned tadpole; this should be easy for him—and she’s nearly free. When his damaged knee decides it can take no more abuse and gives a truly wretched pop, buckles, and gives out on him.

Another burst of pain spikes up through his spine. But that’s obliterated almost as quickly by that awful grate of his left knee.

Scraping and scuffing, and then her voice, “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

His knee is torn. Hasn’t felt that in a long while, but he recognizes it. Which, again, wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t starving and tadpoled.

“Do you have a torch in that bag of yours?” he says. A simple tear shouldn’t take too long to mend. A major one, however…

“I…” she says. And pauses for some reason. “I mean, yeah. Hold on.”

Leather rustles and then things clink around in that muffled way as she sticks her whole arm into her bag of holding. A few moments later, she hums.

“Don’t suppose you got any matches?” she says.

He taps her, finds the torch, and she lets him take it. He feels along until he finds the flammable end, holds it well out to the side, and then reaches within himself to call forth, “Ignis.”

He doesn’t have much cause to use that old cantrip, most days. Has a vague sense he’d learned it to impress some soft-eyed boy when he was barely dressed in adult clothes. He funnels the magic until it takes hold, warmth lighting in his palm.

But…but the darkness doesn’t change. He turns to face where he knows his hand is, yet there’s nothing but that black curtain over everything.

The flame starts to wither with his inattention. He brings his hand to the torch, hears the whump as it ignites, yet the blasted shadows don’t lift. At all.

Magic. This must be some sort of trap. Or part of a section of the Underdark with…with some preternatural darkness. There are spells for that. They must simply be caught in one.

“Well,” he says. “So much for that.”

His illustrious leader, beside him, says nothing. In retrospect, that was the fourth clue or so. But he’s distracted, his knee is an agony on top of an agony, so he sets down the torch and goes about gingerly tracking along the edges of the wound.

It’s bad. Misshapen. It’s not only torn, but the kneecap seems to have popped out and twisted itself at a strange angle.

He sighs and falls back to brace himself up on his hands.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any healing potions, do you?” Astarion says.

In response, the sound of a cork unstopping. She must have had it ready. It’s the second-most wonderful thing he’s heard in the last hour.

He finds his leader’s hand. Fumbles it—he can keep his own hands steady through many injuries, but after a time when those injuries don’t stop, his coordination starts to fall apart. Luckily, it’s too dark for his companion to see that. She still guides him to it and lets him take it.

It tastes like ash, as most mortal things do. He knocks it back, feels it seep through his body like those first rays of sunlight on that beach. Soft and warm and the hint of burning and danger. Healing potions don’t work on his kind. Lead to rather messy purges, actually. But he downs this one and his knee crunches and flesh and sinews all twist and pull his errant bone cap back into place. He grits his teeth as the ridiculous joint mends itself. Then it’s over and he tests it. Extends his leg and brings it back up. Still tender. Easy to damage again; he’ll have to be careful for a couple of days. But it will hold for now.

“Better,” he says, because she tends to ask things like “how are you” and “does it hurt” and “how does one kill a goddess.” He probes the joint, then traces down to his tender shins. Still battered, and that ankle seems a bit weak around the edges. “I hope you’ve got some idea to get us out of here without going the way I came in, darling. That path was rather rough for me, and if I can’t see, you don’t stand a chance.”

Again, that pause. He’s got the sense she’s doing that “gazing somberly” thing she does now and then. Mostly when she tells him not to drink the blood of a dead gur.

Then, “You can’t see?”

And perhaps he was picking up on those clues. The way she warned him about the step. The way she helped him find that bottle. The way even in perfect darkness, he should see something. What are vampires, if not creatures of the night. He’s never had trouble with that before. Not even…even then.

Because those words leave her and punch through him, his instincts shrieking. Those same instincts level his voice, twist up his tone to his usual, light mockery. “We’re in a cave, darling, and there appears to be a darkness spell, in case you hadn’t noticed?”

He picks up the useless torch and waves it about. The black air doesn’t even shift.

His leader sits quietly. Only the increase in her pulse gives her away when she says, “Astarion, that torch is lit.”

“Yes, I know,” he says. Probably more sharply than he intended to, but there’s something rising up, pulling his vocal chords tight and that horrible, fetid iron taste coats the back of his throat again. “I just lit it.”

“But you can’t see it.”

“Repeating yourself won’t change my answer, dear.”

Cloth rustles. He feels that strange intensity in the air she carries close to her skin, and the scent of her blood—still tucked safely away in her veins—wafts over his face.

“Nothing?” she says.

She’s waving at him. Treating him like some…some doddering old…hag.

“What are you getting at?” That’s a snap. He knows it. Doesn’t care.

And she stays infuriatingly calm when she says, “This cavern is filled with some kinda bio-luminescent moss. On the ceiling, anyway.”

Which only halfway makes any sense at all.

“And you got that torch lit.”

He’s still waiting for a point to this vapid conversation of one.

“You really can’t see nothing?”

A dozen different ways to cut at her with his words. But she’s his ally. His only ally. She supposed to be useful (she has been). Keep the others on his side, be a shield should that bastard come looking. And to keep an alliance, he can’t go calling her a stupid, ignorant peasant to her face.

He settles for a clipped, “No.”

She pauses. And it’s the last time. His mouth opens, because if she’s going to draw this out any longer, all bets are off and he’s going to bite something, quite literally—

“Because I can,” she says. “I saw you the second you stumbled in here. Astarion, I can see that torch.”

There’s the fear. Cold iron rushes up from his gullet as the dread seems to spear down through him and drop his guts to the floor.

Previous - Index - Next

[the-fiction-witch]

Bunny & Bear P1

Media - The Artful Dodger Character - Doctor Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Y/n (Nurse) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1078

Warnings - Mentions of illness /sickness/ death

As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, its bright hot orange light started baking the dry, dusty clay below. The air was still and quiet, and most of the residents of Port Victory were still sound asleep in their cosy beds. Even the earliest risers, like the sailors and bakers, wouldn't be up for another hour or two.

Despite the early hour, something seemed off in Port Victory. The small town appeared empty, almost eerie in its stillness. The dusty streets, usually bustling with activity, were quiet and strangely vacant. It was as if the town had been abandoned overnight.

As you looked down the desolate streets, you could easily picture a tumbleweed making its way across the road. The houses and shops were all closed up tight, with no sign of life inside. The only sound was the occasional creak of a shutter in the light breeze and the whine of lantern lights being slowly swayed in the wind.

Despite the strange emptiness, there was a good reason for it. Something had happened in Port Victory,

About a month ago, a ship made its way to Port Victory. The men on board had a difficult journey as they were caught in a tropical storm while sailing through the West Indies. As a result, they arrived at the port suffering from severe dehydration, sickness, and other related health issues. At the time it seemed too simple, so normal.

But this was anything But. 

As the men arrived on the shores of Port Victory, they carried not just a few goods, but also an unknown virus that quickly spread through the town. It started with a few isolated cases, but soon the entire population was at risk. The virus was unlike anything Port Victory had ever seen before. The Blue Fever, as early symptoms, included a blueish tinge to the skin. The illness is characterized by a high fever, as well as a persistent cough, wheezing, and vomiting. As the illness progresses, the infected individual may experience shortness of breath, chest pain, hallucinations and delirium and a bluish discolouration of the face and hands due to a lack of oxygen in the body. Once the illness has reached a critical stage for many who contract this illness, death is an all too common outcome.

And it was spreading, faster than could be controlled across the colony. One-third of the colony was now being buried, one-third laid stuffed in the hospital corridors and wards, and the final third locked in their homes hiding from the devilish plague. 

The hospital was filled to bursting, people lay in every room possible even store rooms and stock rooms, the theatre turned into an extra ward, most nurses worked ragged and many dropped like flies. 

Of course, the doctors also were beyond overworked, leading to the stranger rather tranquil scene. 

Jack's small hospital room, situated on the second floor, the soft light filtering through the window cast an array of shadows across the floor. The room was cluttered with books, trinkets, and tools that were scattered on every surface, and dust particles floated in the air. Jack's clothes were strewn about the floor and chair, adding to the disarray.

Lying in his bed, Jack appeared to be in a deep sleep, with his body twisted and knotted under the white sheets. His blonde hair was messy and matted, and his foot dangled off the bed. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and his lips were slightly parted, displaying a small amount of drool on his pillow. Despite his seemingly peaceful state, one could sense that something was amiss. In the quiet of the night, I could hear the soft sound of his muttering snores and his breathy gasps. The rhythm of his breathing was steady and calm, almost like a lullaby that gently rocked me to sleep. Despite the dark and stillness that surrounded, there was a sense of comfort in the sound of his peaceful slumber.

However, this was not to last, as the door to his room flew open and Y/n marched inside in her nurse dress and apron, drying her hands on a fresh cloth, her hair braided and pinned up around her head. She beelined for his bed and shoved his chest, 

"Wake up." She demanded, 

"Uughhh..." He groaned,

"Up. Now." She demanded kicking his bed, 

"...Some nurses say please." He pouts not bothering to open his eyes, 

"Well I'm not some nurse," she glared, 

"Just a little longer Y/n I worked a double shift," 

She glared down at him, "Ohh did you? Ohh boo hoo. I just worked the last forty-eight hours with only coffee and pure adrenaline to keep me from falling into a cupboard and sleeping for the next five weeks. We have four nurses down, six more infected, and ten more bodies, sneed has locked himself in his room with one of the nurses calming he needs to be the new Adam and Eve for this post-apocalypse, proff is nine bottles of whiskey deep into a coma and I have just spent the last three hours cleaning up a pile of sick and shit in your ward." She explained her rage boiling just below the surface of her calm voice, "So get your god damn grumpy grizzly bear butt out of this bed and work," 

"...somebodies a touchy little bunny," he glared opening one eye to see her, 

"Get up. and get to work. or so help me I will cut open your stomach and hang you from the weather vein by your intestines." 

"Alright... alright..." He groans slowly sitting up, "Why has Sneed locked himself away?"

"He thinks this is the end of the world so he's taken a nurse and locked himself away to rebuild once we all die,"

"Great, don't know how far he's gonna get with one nurse but I like that he's thinking ahead." he rubbed his eyes, "Is that the plan going forward then? lock ourselves away until the illness dies out and then repopulate?"

"No Jack." 

"You sure? You can be the nurse I pick to repopulate with?"

"Get out of bed or-"

"Yeah. yeah. or you'll hurt me in some horrific way I'm getting there. Can you at least make me a coffee?" 

"Yes," She rolled her eyes going and making him a strong coffee and handing it over, "Here,"

"Thanks, little bunny," 

"You're welcome you stupid bear. Now come on pants. and get to work." she demanded before she headed out to get back to work.