#And I didn’t have cedar oil on me

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

So on the way to that little spiritualist shop which was only 25 minutes away by bike, Siri made me go through wilderness trails because I had chosen the “less busy roads” route… and I hadn’t anticipated how difficult these trails would be.

First she made me go through ankle-deep swamp water from the rainfall (should’ve anticipated it from the night before but I’m a little dumb like that), then these really tightly-enclosed, tightly-winding, rough, steep, downhill passages which I couldn’t even ride my bike through without breaking my fucking neck. I had to tensely jog/scuttle my bike down these stupidly-dangerous hills on foot, in the middle of a hatch with at least five mosquitos in my face at any given moment. And THEN the path narrowed to two feet wide and went UPHILL at a 60-degree angle. I tried to go up it, but I realized I couldn’t go up any more without falling and sliding down the mini-cliff because of the mud and the fact that I was hauling my bike on foot. But I also couldn’t go down either because the path was two feet wide, muddy, and I couldn’t turn my bike or myself around very easily… so I was kind of stuck there for a bit thinking about how the hell to get down without bathing myself in mud and breaking my neck. And in the meantime the mosquitoes are using my face like it’s a tavern. AND THEN THIS KID AND HIS DAD WALKED BY AND WERE LIKE “HI HOW ARE YA?” ????? I’M FIGHTING FOR MY FUCKING LIFE UP HERE THANKS FOR ASKING.

But of course I said “Good” because I am no delicate little flower; I am a hard ROCK and man/woman enough to handle myself. Toxic masculinity for the win!

So I waited for them to pass so no one would see me eat shit on my bike because I would rather eat shit on my bike than have mosquitoes eat me. Also, it looked like they exited the woods, which is precisely what I wanted to do in that moment. So I very VERY carefully turned myself around and mountain-goat scuttled myself and my bike downhill with the bike backwards, without eating shit.

Anyway once I got the chance to look in a bathroom mirror when I went to the mall after going to the spiritual shop, I realized that I’ve been walking around this whole time looking like I’ve been punched in the eye because of the stupid mosquitoes. And I have work in the morning. Lord have mercy

[azrielsrealmate]

never just a best friend

azriel x reader

summary: your best friends offers a massage after a stressing day, only that his hands end up slipping to dangerous places.

warnings: smut

word count: 2k

Your feet ached, your head throbbed, and your skin itched in places you couldn’t reach to scratch. And your back—God, your back hurt.

You just needed a break. A break longer than the eight hours of sleep you rarely had time to get.

Azriel’s gaze from where he sat at the edge of your bed made the back of your neck burn. So you hurried to pull your shirt over your head, and the feeling disappeared, knowing he’d look anywhere but at you while you changed. You almost sighed in relief, almost rubbed the space between your brows. But instead, you unclasped your bra and slipped into a shirt several sizes larger than what you usually wore.

You hadn’t deliberately chosen Azriel’s shirt to breathe in the comforting scent of cedar and mist instead of the tobacco and beer your idiot ex had left lingering everywhere. You really hadn’t. But it was a relief you hadn’t known you needed.

“What happened?”

A simple question, but spoken in that voice, deep yet so soft, like silk brushing against clean skin, it almost made you sob.

What happened wasn’t the question; the question was why you felt so easily overwhelmed. You turned to look at him, and the caramel color of his eyes softened as he read how overstimulated you felt. He stood up, and even from the distance between you, you could clearly see how tall he was.

He crossed the space in mere seconds, and his scarred palm found your cheek, cradling it tenderly. Your eyes closed involuntarily. The warmth of his hand melted your mind, sending the hot liquid of it out of your body in the form of a sigh.

“What happened?” he repeated again.

You sighed.

“Adrik.” You said the name of your ex, not needing to open your eyes to know that Azriel’s features had hardened.

You spent so much time watching him that you’d almost memorized his micro-expressions.

“I ran into him at the café next door, and…” your best friend’s thumb stroked your cheek, encouraging you to continue. “Well, obviously, it didn’t end well.”

“What did he do?” Azriel asked, his voice rough. So different from how he’d asked what happened earlier. You could hear the sharp undertone clearly.

You’d been through this before.

You shook your head and moved his hand away from your cheek, your thumb tracing a small caress on his skin before letting go. You took off your pants, because you slept with little clothes, and you sighed heavily, walking toward your side of the bed.

“He just stuck to me like the worm he is.” You didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to the poor drunk Adrik if you let go of the weakening reins on Azriel. The muscles under your skin tingled pleasantly just thinking about it. Adrik had treated you so poorly, and it would be so easy to let Azriel handle him…

But, no. No. You weren’t doing this.

You sat on the bed, feeling your body tense slightly under his gaze. He studied you as if he wanted to squeeze out that feeling he knew existed in you, the one you worked so hard to push down, to extract and stretch it so he could examine it.

“What do you mean by…” his brows furrowed, finally processing your words.

You didn’t let him finish.

“Damn it, Azriel, he left after two minutes. Please, just lie down, I’ve had the worst day ever,” you pleaded, feeling a cramp run down your back. “And to top it all off, my back hurts,” you complained.

You heard Azriel exhale. It took him a fraction of a second to speak.

“I can see the tension in your muscles from here,” he said.

You rolled your shoulders, as if that would bring relief.

“It’s not that bad.”

He didn’t pay you the slightest attention.

“Where did you leave the oil from last time?” The last time he’d worked a wonderful massage on your back, you could swear it could have made you finish faster than Adrik ever had.

The silence in the room grew thicker as Azriel waited for your response. You knew he wouldn’t move until you told him. Not because he was pressuring you, but because he wanted to take care of you. As he always did.

“It’s in the nightstand, top drawer,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though you knew exactly what it meant once he put his hands on you.

Azriel walked over to the nightstand, pulled out the small bottle of oil, and held it in his hand for a moment, assessing your state. His eyes met yours, and something in his gaze made your breath quicken slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a massage, but this time, there was a tension between you that you couldn’t ignore, not when it made anticipation itch in your skin.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructed, his voice soft but firm. Your heart skipped a beat, and you hesitated for a moment, but seeing the calm in his eyes, you made up your mind. Slowly, you removed your shirt, revealing your body covered only by a tiny black thong.

Azriel swallowed, his eyes darkening slightly as they roamed over your figure. You felt a warmth spread across your skin under his intense gaze, but you remained still, waiting for his next move.

He approached, leaned in, and his large, warm hands grabbed your hips, quickly dragging you until you were sitting where he could rest his hands on your shoulders first, beginning with a light pressure. His touch was firm but gentle, and he began working on your tense muscles, gliding down your back with expertise. The oil, warm against your skin, made it easier for his hands to move as he focused on relaxing you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt a knot dissolve under his fingers. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear.

“Let go of all that tension,” he murmured, his voice rough with concentration as his hands traveled down your back to the curve of your waist, his thumbs pressing gently at the base of your spine.

A low moan escaped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the pleasure of the massage to envelop you completely. Azriel continued, his hands moving confidently, exploring every inch of your lower back, dangerously close to the edge of your thong. His touch was addictive, and though you tried to stay calm, you felt your body reacting to every caress, every calculated pressure.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” Azriel whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin as his hands paused for a moment, just above the line of your thong. The heat in his voice made you shiver.

Opening your eyes, you turned your head slightly to look at him, finding his face close to yours, his eyes locked on yours. The tension in the room became almost palpable, and in that instant, you knew you had crossed a line.

Azriel lowered his hands, sliding them down your hips to the edge of your thong, slowly—too slowly.

He stopped in the curve of your hips, squeezed the flesh, in his hands, feeling and appreciating them. And slowly, he guided one hand toward your abdomen, the other toward your ribs.

You whimpered slightly, needily, your breath heavy.

“Be patient,” he murmured against your ear, your eyes fluttering closed. You felt the warmth of his hand move up to cup one of your breasts, relishing its size. Your brows arched. “Az…” you sighed.

His other hand slid down to slip under the fabric of your black thong, finding there a wetness that made him hum in satisfaction.

“So wet, all this for me?” You moaned again, struggling to keep your eyes open.

His scarred fingers explored your wetness, tracing a line from your entrance to your clitoris, spreading all your arousal. He drew a circle on your clit, torturously slow, tentative, you might have said if your brain weren’t mush.

Your back arched again. “Azriel,” you moaned his name, and he, in turn, growled in your ear.

“Do you like that?” he asked, and you realized he wanted an answer when he stopped his fingers.

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, almost desperately.

Azriel let out a low sound, almost a growl, upon hearing your response, satisfied with the power he had over you in that moment. His hand remained still, his fingers barely brushing your clit, enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the relief you so desperately craved. The tension in the room was palpable, each passing second seemed to stretch time, amplifying the desire that wrapped around you.

“If you enjoy it so much,” he murmured against your neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine, “then you’re going to wait a little longer.”

The sweet agony of anticipation spread through your body as Azriel maintained that light, frustrating touch that made every fiber of your being burn with desire. You tried to move, seeking more of him, more of that contact that promised so much, but his hands became firm, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he ordered gently, and there was an authority in his voice that made you obey without hesitation. There was something about the way Azriel controlled you, how he handled your body with such precision, that made you feel vulnerable and at the same time completely safe. You felt the heat of his body against your back, his hardness pressed against you as his scarred fingers moved again, this time applying more pressure on your clit. The pleasure that blossomed from that simple touch was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan, arching your back to get closer to him.

"Good girl," Azriel whispered, his tone laden with satisfaction as he increased the rhythm of his caresses. You felt his other hand slide up your abdomen, moving up to caress your breasts, squeezing them with a possessiveness that made your breath catch in your throat. His lips pressed against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through your body as his fingers continued to play with your wetness.

“I want you to come for me,” he growled against your ear, his voice a comman. And with that, his movements became more intense, more urgent. The sweet torture he’d imposed on you faded into a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that it left you trembling, your moans turning into cries of pleasure as you approached the edge. His fingertips skilfully working on your clit.

Azriel’s fingers worked with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm, until you finally exploded in a wave of pure pleasure, your body trembling as you were suddenly blind and deaf from pleasure. You let out a long, satisfied moan as Azriel’s name escaped your lips in a sigh, your whole being consumed by the heat of that moment.

And even as the pleasure began to fade, Azriel didn’t stop. His hands continued to explore your body, his lips still pressed against your neck, leaving wet kisses that sent delicious shivers through your spine. The sensation of his touch, so skilled and confident, combined with the residual pleasure of your orgasm, left you breathless, utterly spent in his arms.

When you finally came down from that blissful high, you turned to look at him, finding a possessive gleam in his eyes, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Well, you had never considered him just your best friend.

"I hope your back doesn’t hurt anymore.”

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Thirty-One — Jackson Rippner + ghostface!reader

Pairing -> jackson rippner x ghostface!reader

Summary -> In this college au, Halloween is nearing its corner, only for the festive mood to be cut short when your classmate is brutally killed. As the series of murders continues, Jackson Rippner finds himself the next target, oblivious to the fact that his hunter is you, his girlfriend, the ghostface.

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Warnings: mention of death, jackson being a simp

Disclaimer: Red Eye characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

This is just an excerpt for the full-length fic that's coming out, bc I felt like this prompt deserved something much longer than just a drabble.

A/N: not me reading over this thing after it's published and seeing all the mistakes 😭

Jackson Rippner was trying to become more romantic for you, an endeavor that started about a week ago after he noticed you liked passionate men. It was a simple conversation about fictional crushes — you know, the ones you have as a kid when he realized all the men you had pointed out were terribly lovey-dovey and all sentimental-like. A few origami roses here and there, some thoughtful gifts, maybe some poetic letters, and he was sure that he could outcompete all of them. He was the only man you needed, the only man you could ever want.

He knew how it sounded—pathetic. Since when was he the type to change himself for a girl? He was no Romeo or Jack Dawson, and he certainly didn’t want to be. He wasn’t a simpering fool, chasing after a pretty girl like it was his life’s mission, but as it turned out, he was for you. And if you liked your men romantic, then Jackson would be romantic

Starting off with whatever this was: a package of your favorite stuff. For one, two books you mentioned wanting to get but couldn’t spare the money for, which Jackson painstakingly searched through the town for. He finally found them in some niche bookstore on the outskirts of Craven, overpriced for the value—or some other equally stupid bullshit—even though he knew damn well that he could get it for half the price if he drove further into the main city. He would have, but he knew his father would get pissed if he wasted that much gas money, and fearing to face his fist, he settled for the high cost. It’s for her, so it’s worth it.

For second, and last—at least for now, some bath bombs. He made them from scratch, swiping the ingredients from around the house. He used a cedar wood scent for the essential oil, as it was the closet smell he could get to his cologne, and made three bombs, wrapped them in plastic, and put them alongside the books in the bag.

It was perfect. You were going to love it. You had to love it. How could you not?

He closed the bag and placed it on his desk, ready to go to sleep, when the landline downstairs rang. It was probably telemarketers, but it could also be his parents, who were out on date night. 

He headed downstairs and picked up the phone, but the voice on the other end caught him off guard. “Hey,” a woman said, but it didn’t sound natural. It sounded like there was a voice modulator, the ones that criminals used in those crime shows you forced him to watch.

“Hey?” Jackson responded, confused, and a little irritated.

“I know who you are.”

Jackson tried to focus on the sound of the voice. Maybe he could pick out who it was if he listened close enough, but it was a fruitless effort. It was female, but too common to tell.

“You’re the one calling me,” he said, tone laced with amusement, “I should assume so.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“A creep? A weirdo?” Jackson laughed. “A stalker? I dunno. Take your pick.”

It was quiet. For a moment, he thought the woman hung up, but then she spoke again, “A lover. I’m a lover, Jackson.”

“Good for you.” He glanced back at the package he left on his desk. He was tired, and didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Now, how about you either stop acting mysterious and tell me what you want, or I cut the call.”

“Someone’s going to die tonight, Jackson,”  the woman said. Oddly enough, Jackson felt a twinge of excitement at her words. It was oddly thrilling, and adrenaline inducing to hear such a thing. It was at this point he realized with himself that this was a prank, because who would just admit to premeditated murder? but still—it was hot. He wished you would say those things.  

“I hope it’s that girl from my English class. What’s her name? Ah, fuck, I forgot. She’s the bitchy one —all emotion. Screams every time the lights go out. You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.”

So, she’s been on campus, Jackson thought. Following me, maybe. I can’t believe it! 

“It’s not her, though. But who knows, maybe she’ll be next. Would you like that?”

“Doll, I really don’t care. Do me a favor, and don’t call me again.”

He put the phone down and went back upstairs. What a fucking psycho. He was too tired to deal with this shit. After freshening up, he pulled the covers over himself and turned off the lamp, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

@shroombloom-rry

@meetmeatyourworst

@mrkdvidal1989

[sierrawitch]

Intuitive Magick: Rebirth Shower

by autumn sierra

I performed this ritual during a trying period of my career path experience. I’d been fired from a previous job—one that didn’t seem to fit for me from the start, but I pushed on since not every experience in life will be just how you’d like it. I fell into a thought process of self-loathing. How could I have lost my job? I should have done everything in my power to work harder, to make money, to meet expectations even if they were unrealistic.

But the reality was that I was losing my spirit. The job had turned me into a drone, a mindless thing meant to type numbers 8 hours a day, then leave to live its own life for 4, before repeating it all over again.

Realizing I’d been punishing myself for something that may have been what fate had intended for me, I knew I needed to escape my own mental prison. I did so with this intuitive ritual cleansing shower.

*This is a simple intuitive ritual. I preplanned nothing. If you feel moved to substitute any herb or action to better fit your practice, please follow your intuition.

What I used

Cedar wood incense for cleansing

Tuning fork for balancing energies

Ash for symbolic smudging

Oil for anointing and moisturizing

Meditation music

Comb

Bar soap and shampoo & conditioner

Bath towel

Self-love tea (raspberry leaf, rose, thyme, bay leaf)

What I did

First, I carried all of my supplies to the bathroom, trying to remain in the moment and remove focus from my negative thoughts. I returned to the kitchen to brew a (very hot) cup of tea and brought that with me as well.

Inside the bathroom, I closed the door, removed my clothes, put on some low frequency meditation music, and lit the incense. The smoke started filling the air as I rang the tuning fork in every corner of the room and then on either side of my head, and at my third eye. I smoke cleansed my body from foot to crown, reflecting on my emotions and the events that brought me to this point.

Gazing at my reflection in the vanity mirror, I slowly combed my hair, working the tangles. Each tangle reminded me of a difficulty I faced in my experience throughout my career, and the frustration of trying to undo the knots matched my frustration in my work.

I then dipped my fingers into the ash and smudged it over my eyes, wiping it down my face as a physical manifestation of the pain in my mind and in my heart, the disappointment and self loathing I had inside me. I smudged the ash over my chest and arms, allowing myself to feel all of the negative energy. I shed a few tears and stepped into the running water of the shower.

Instantly, I blocked the negativity from my mind and focused on the tones of the music. The warm water pelted over my skin, slowly rinsing the ash from my face. I imagined the darkness and sludge of my own emotions melt away with the water as well. When I felt comfortable, I began wiping the rest of the ash away, feeling my heart that the darkness was leaving me. Then I continued with my regular shower routine of washing my hair and then my body, from the head to the feet with intention and focus in every movement.

When all of the dirt and soap was washed away, I turned the shower off and dried myself from the head to the feet, wiping down and away to ensure that all negativity would be shooed from me. I anointed myself with skin-gentle oil on the face, chest, arms, and legs and massaged it into my skin before drinking the cup of tea I brewed earlier. This tea ended my ritual by cleansing my body internally.

I gazed into the mirror once again and reflected on my emotions and thoughts in the moment. My body felt lighter, my mind felt clear, and my heart felt calm. The music echoed off the walls and I memorized my facial features. I saw myself. Nothing less. In that moment, it felt as if my self from only an hour earlier had died, and this fresh self had taken her place. I was ready for a new beginning again.

Edit: I recently performed a second “rebirth” shower ritual after a difficult experience with a loved one. My emotions seemed out of my control, and I ultimately resorted to this method in order to reset and start from scratch, so to speak. At the time, I had no ash on hand. So I showed the physical manifestation of my emotional pain by lightly scratching the skin of my legs, up over my stomach and back, my chest, arms, neck, and face. This left red marks that I used in place of the ash as a symbol to wash away with the water of the shower. 5-10 minutes after the heat from the shower was gone from my skin, the redness of the scratches faded and disappeared. I’ve found that this is a nice substitute if ash isn’t kept on hand.

[peachdues]

PEACH'S FALL PERFUME RECS

In the spirit of my Hashira perfume HCs (and because y’all know I have a perfume addiction), I thought I would share my personal rotation for fall, since I do change my perfumes with the seasons.

BASE LAYER SCENTS

I always use one of the following three base scents to layer with my perfumes, both to help with staying power and to add a little extra oomph.

(1) Glossier You — tried and true. I’ve been a fan of this for four years, and I will never retire it. I wear it on its own on the weekends/when I want something lowkey

(2) Juliette’s Got a Gun Not a Perfume (Supercharge) — god I love this one. There just aren’t enough words. It smells WARM.

(3) Amber perfume oil — perfume oil is a GREAT way to help perfumes last all day and I’m a huge whore for anything amber

MAIN FALL SCENTS — buckle up, there are a LOT

Replica’s Coffee Break by Maison Margiela

This is the one I wear the most. It’s so cozy and sweet and just perfect. I’m so obsessed.

Notes: Coffee Accord, Lavender, Milk Mousse Accord

Nest’s Indigo

This is my newest addition and HNNN. It’s a tea fragrance, which I didn’t realize how much I’d love them until I tried one — and now I’m scouring for more tea fragrances because GOD this one is a dream.

Notes: Italian lemon, orange bergamot, Moroccan tea, Kashmir wood, and wild figs from the south of France.

Kayali’s Invite Only Amber

I got this as part of a duo with my spring/summer go-to, Deja Vu White Flowers (an all time favorite tbh) and it smells like late fall/early Christmas. Will keep this on through the holidays! Layered with the amber oil and you will smell sensual and cozy all day long. This one makes men feral.

Notes: Amber Resin, Benzoin, and Ceylon Cinnamon

Replica’s By the Fireplace by Maison Margiela

THIS ONE. MY GOD. As I’ve said, I layer this on my leather jackets and it just makes me drool. It should be noted that it’s very much a unisex scent AND it’s very strong. Some people say it smells too much like campfire, but I’ve found that if you layer it with a vanilla lotion, you really get that creamy sweet gourmand scent that I’m obsessed with.

Notes: Clove Oil, Chestnut Accord, Vanilla Accord

Vanilla 28 by Kayali

This is a classic for a reason. It’s warm, it’s spicy, it’s layerable — what more can you ask for? Pro tip: layer it with glossier you; trust me.

Notes: Vanilla Orchids, Tonka Absolute, Amber Woods

Lancôme’s Midnight Rose

I have used this for eleven years. I get compliments every time I wear it. It used to be my exclusive perfume — so much so, I was known for it. I will never retire it. It’s just. Fuck. So good.

Notes: Blackcurrant, Raspberry, Rose Absolute, Jasmine, Vanilla, Cedar, Musk.

[docholligay]

NOW FOR PART 2, WHICH YOU CARE EVEN LESS ABOUT BUT YOU LITERALLY ASKED: The Overwatch gals.

Hana: I had to actually do research (ugh) for this one, because I know she'd be into whatever young people are wearing, because despite her best efforts and calculated marketing and overwhelming responsibility, she actually is a Young People. Young people in the US and Europe overwhelmingly wear vanillas and gourmands, but young people in Korea have much more affection for florals, which are considered more 'mature' in the western markets.* So. I wanted to find something floral but softer and with a bit of the sweet brightness that is identified with a lot of 'young' perfumes. Finally got to smell my frontrunners in Harrods this winter.

La Tulipe by Byredo. Byredo makes some FANTASTIC stuff but by God are they expensive (she wouldn't have to care anyhow) so it took me a long while to get a chance to smell this one. Even buying a decant, how I normally do perfume, was spendy. But it is exactly what I want, almost a top jammy note with this gorgeous subtle floral. It's young, but 'grown up' and composed. (the second frontrunner was Jo Malone's Wild Bluebell, but after smelling both, I think La Tulipe is right)

Fareeha. In much the same way, Fareeha's tastes are influenced by the middle east, though I know enough about that to not need to seek out stuff. She was actually extremely easy. I knew it the second I smelled it, as in, I was walking by and had to walk back because I knew it.

Oud Wood by Tom Ford. It's masculine and commanding. This is a leader's perfume. It's a very well balanced oud fragrance, appropriate for Cairo or London. It really strikes that balance between Western and Arabic perfumery in a way only a handful of perfumes do, and the other ones I can think of have spice or floral notes I don't think Fareeha would like. The wood and amber notes really come through, and lend this air of mystery and purpose to the whole thing. it's a great perfume honestly.

Angela I see as only wearing perfume for special occasions not even in a "not like the other girls' way, but in a 'she struggles to prioritize and take care of herself' way that i see a lot of her 'sloppiness' coming out of. I think if she did have one, she would pick something sweet and warm and very 'comforting'. There are so so many choices in this vein that it was genuinely difficult for me, but I think I like what I ended up with.

Apple Brandy on the Rocks by Killian. Funnily enough, I thought I would like this for me, but i absolutely do not. It's giving boozy apple pie, which fits so well with my concept of Angela at her greatest and highest that I'm annoyed I didn't think of it years ago. It should have been a Fareeha-type situation.

Lena. I have had an idea of what Lena smells like for YEARS, but I could never find it. It's young but masculine leaning, the smell of citrus brightness and an old leather jacket. For years I was layering perfumes to sort of get there but was never happy with it, and then one day I sampled something offhand just in case and there it was.

Sicilian Leather by Memo Paris. Honestly, everything i have smelled in their leather line has been killer even if it's not for me to wear, so I didn't think it would be a waste. (I absolutely recommend trying some of their stuff) But the second i smelled this, it was THANK GOD FINALLY. It's so hard to find something that uses leather that is also bright and cheerful and young, but this is it. Orange oil and Cedar, and laying under that, a gorgeous leather accord. It's perfect.

OKAY SORRY TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME

*I love a floral, and not even a subtle young floral. Give me an old-money, faded debutante floral. Call me Buffy and set the table for six, Alice

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

D- Dirty Secret

A/N- I hope that this is alright 😅 it’s my first time ever writing a full smut scene so i’m not sure how well i did for my first time :p i feel like i should also mention that though i prefer to write Eddie being dominant in smut scenes, i have trauma associated with sex so i apologize if my version of him being dominant is different than yours 🖤 but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless :) for those of you that are new to this, this is a fic for my series based on my NSFW Alphabet

Genre- Fluff, Smut

Warnings- descriptions of piv sex (protected), oral sex (f receiving), slight dom!eddie and sub!reader, a little bit of mechanic!eddie, body worship

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @ladyapplejackdnd @tayhar811 @wistfulwisteriawitch @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @zoeyquinn94 @eddiethesexy (crossed out names wouldn’t let me tag)

Words- 3.1k

Eddie yawned as he pulled into the patch of gravel in front of the trailer.

It had been dark out for about an hour, an occurrence he still wasn’t very used to as the seasons changed, though he wasn’t going to complain. He loved fall and winter as much as the next person, but unfortunately that meant that work for him was going to get more and more difficult as the weeks went on.

People wanting to get their tires changed and their oil checked before it became too cold out and they forget until the springtime, getting their heaters fixed to make sure they didn’t freeze in the cold days of December, and of course the forgetful husbands finally getting the engine checked in their wives cars as a last minute ‘christmas present’ for them.

But still, as much as he hated getting overworked, he loved getting to come home to you.

He groaned as he stretched in his drivers seat, pulling the keys from the ignition and stuffing them into the pocket of his black corduroy jacket and quickly made his way up the steps of the trailer as the cold fall air swept through his hair.

From the moment he stepped inside he was in awe.

It was warm, the smell of cinnamon and cedar in the air as he looked around and saw a few candles lit in the kitchen and on the living room table. He smiled and looked all around the trailer as he took off his jacket and work boots.

The dishes were done and put away, the living room had been picked up and vacuumed, and from the looks of it you had everything prepped for dinner all set out on the counter.

It wasn’t hard to make Eddie happy, but seeing you act like the perfect little housewife was more of a turn on than he wanted to admit.

He took a deep inhale as he walked into the kitchen, the sweet scent of cinnamon made him feel so at ease as he opened the fridge, which you had fully stocked earlier that morning after getting groceries.

He reached for a beer and called out to you, hearing a bit of shuffling coming from down the hall,

“(y/n)?” He twisted the cap off and took a swig, setting the bottle onto the counter as he unzipped the top half of his dirtied jumpsuit and let it hang at his waist, “You there babe?”

“I’m here!” You called back to him from down the hall with a giggle, “I was getting some laundry done!”

He felt his heart flutter the moment he heard your sweet voice, taking another swig from the bottle as he sat at the small kitchen table,

“We having people over? It’s awfully clean in here.” He said with a laugh, doing another once over of the trailer.

“I just felt like you deserved to come back to a nice clean house after getting all dirtied up at work today.” He could hear your voice getting just a bit clearer, knowing you were making your way down the hall to him, but when he saw you he nearly dropped the bottle in his hand.

You slowly crept into the kitchen, resting your hand against the wall as you leaned into it, wearing only a pair of panties and an old shirt that was just a bit too small for you, showing off your curves in all the right ways, your tummy exposed and if you raised your arms over your head your breasts would be entirely uncovered for him,

“Fuck…” He whispered under his breath, making you giggle as you made your way over to him at the table. All Eddie could do was sit there speechless, admiring the way your body swayed as you stepped closer to him.

The grease and grime that covered his hands and face was your favorite part of seeing him after work, knowing he spent all day getting all dirty just to make sure you were well taken care of at home.

You sat yourself down in his lap, your arm draping behind his neck as you took the bottle from his hand and took a drink of it for yourself, setting it back onto the table before wrapping the other arm around his neck. His hands wrapped themselves around your torso and he looked you up and down, taking in every inch of your body.

Your smooth legs, your soft tummy, your perky breasts, all the way up to the pretty face he loved coming home to every day.

“You did all this for me?”

You smiled and nodded, a light blush over your cheeks as his hands slowly moved up and down your figure, making sure to feel every inch of exposed skin.

“God, you’re fucking perfect.” He gripped his hands around your waist and brought you into him, kissing you lovingly as one of your hands went to hold his cheek.

He let out a deep groan as his arms moved, one hooking underneath your legs and the other wrapped around your back to keep you stable as he picked you up. The sudden motion making you giggle and squeak in surprise as your lips parted,

“You had a pretty long day at work, i didn’t think you’d have this much energy.”

“Oh please, you knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out here looking like that…” He kissed over your neck as he carried you into his bedroom, doing his best to wiggle out of the pants of his jumpsuit on the way.

He dropped you onto his bed after kicking the door shut and you could see that there was lust and want clouding his deep eyes, looking almost black compared to the normal sweet chocolate brown that they usually were.

He pulled off his socks and black tank top before reaching down and ripping your shirt at the neck, your nipples hardening as the cool air hit them,

“Eddie, wait, what about dinner?”

He crawled on top of you and took your breasts into his hands, cupping them gently as he kissed over them, teasing your nipples as he licked over them.

You laid your head back onto the pillow as a quiet moan escaped your lips and you could’ve sworn you heard him growl.

“Later.” He said sternly, reaching over to his bedside table and pulling out a condom, quickly stripping himself of his boxers and yanking your panties down your legs, tossing them across the room as he kneeled above you, slowly rolling the condom onto his already hard length, “Need you. Now.”

His voice was deeper than before, and you loved it when he was direct and stern with you, keeping you in your place as his pretty little housewife.

He moved himself down your body, leaving open mouthed kisses along your stomach before hooking your legs around his shoulders, licking a slow, wet stripe along your folds.

Another gentle moan escaped your lips, almost like a whimper, urging him to continue,

“Eddie…” You said with a shaky breath, looking down at his dirty face between your legs as his tongue slowly explored every part of your core, and though you tried your best to be quiet, he knew all the right ways to make you squirm.

As his hands moved downward, one gripping onto your thigh as the other toyed with your clit, his tongue moving torturously slow along your folds. You moved your hand down and your fingers combed back his bangs, giving you the perfect view of his face to watch as his lips wrapped around your clit, giving it a gentle suckle before using the tip of his tongue to circle over it.

A high pitched moan escaped your lips as you whined out his name once more, your other hand moving to hold his as it gripped at your thigh, interlocking your fingers together as your toes curled and your thighs gently squeezed around his neck but this only encouraged him further.

His hands moved behind your knees, keeping your legs spread wide open for him and your waist pushed into the mattress, making sure that you couldn’t move as he had his way with you. Your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you and you could feel the heat rising in your core as his tongue rapidly toyed with your clit, your moans becoming more and more erratic.

Just as you were about to reach your peak he removed his mouth from your folds with one final kiss to your clit, and as you opened your eyes you could see him smiling,

“Why’d you stop?” Your words were more like whimpers, almost begging for him to continue, but all he did was look down at you and smirk, his hands sliding down your thighs and back up your body, positioning his hands on either side of your head as you felt the tip of his cock gently prod at your entrance.

“Because i need to be inside you when you cum babygirl.”

He slowly inserted the tip into you, your arms moving around his neck as he propped himself down onto his elbows just to feel a little closer to you, your legs hooking around his waist as he sank deeper and deeper. He was being so slow and gentle with you that it almost felt painful, whimpers leaving your lips and you could feel him smile against your neck as he started to rock back and forth, slowly pumping in and out of you.

Eddie didn’t want to fuck you, he wanted to make love to you.

He needed you to know and feel how much he cared for you and loved you, wanting to drag out the night for as long as he possibly could if it meant that you were there beneath him, whimpering and begging for him to stay close to you.

As much as you loved it when Eddie had his way with you, taking exactly what he wanted while still making sure you were comfortable with each and every thing he was doing, you loved it even more when he was slow and rhythmic, taking his time with you to take in each part of your body.

His thrusts were slow and deep, one of your hands sinking into his hair as the other stayed wrapped around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly to make sure you were still grounded in reality and didn’t get overcome by the pleasure.

He slowly leaned himself up, gently placing his forehead onto yours and staring so deeply into your eyes it felt like he was peering into your soul,

“I love you…” He whispered to you, his hands gripping the pillow beneath your head, his thrusts picking up, his breaths becoming shaky and you knew how difficult it was for him to hold himself back but he always put your pleasure before his.

He knew everything that made you melt beneath him, turning you into a mess of whines and moans, begging for him to go faster and harder until you just couldn’t take it anymore. But tonight it wasn’t about you, it wasn’t about him, it was about the both of you.

As the pace of Eddie’s thrusts picked up, he placed gentle kisses along your neck, slowly moving his way up to your lips as his hands moved yours from his body to the sides of your head, interlocking your fingers together, a sign that you knew meant he was starting to lose control.

Your legs tightened themselves around his waist and you gave his hands a light squeeze as they held yours down, giving him one last kiss before whispering to him,

“It’s ok… Use me…”

Eddie smiled and gently moved your hands up above your head, holding them together by the wrists with one hand as the other one went to your waist, keeping a tight grip on it as his thrusts became faster and faster. He was hitting all the right places and each time the tip of his cock grazed over your g-spot your legs became tighter and tighter around him, your head tilted back on the pillow as moan after moan escaped your lips, giving him the perfect chance to attack your neck with kisses and hickeys you knew would have to be covered up the morning after.

Each whine and moan he heard only encouraged him further, and he could tell as your moans became cries that he was getting you closer and closer to the edge, smiling down at the state he had you in just waiting to hear your final cry.

He could feel that it wouldn’t be long before he came and he tried his best to hold back, wanting to make sure that you came first just like every other time the two of you had sex. Eddie was rough and got a little out of hand sometimes, but he was a gentleman above all else.

With one final high pitched moan, your back arched and your head tilted back onto the pillow, your legs tightened around his waist and your toes curled as they trembled and shook, a wave of pleasure surrounding your body in warmth.

Eddie looked down between your bodies and smiled as he saw how slick the space between your bodies had gotten, the mixture of sweat and your cum making it easier for him to slide against you and everything was starting to become too much for him.

The sight of your body beneath him, the smell of sex all around his room, the way your bodies felt so close as he thrusted into you, the salty taste of the sweat that he licked off of his lips as it trickled down from his forehead, and the wet sounds of each thrust combined with your moans and pleads made it too much for him to handle.

With a few final grunts as he thrusted deep into you, his head tilted back as he rutted into you, his hips shaking ever so slightly as he came into the condom.

He collapsed in top of you, the grip he had on your wrists finally loosened and your arms went to around his shoulders, holding him gently against you as he caught his breath.

As rough an dominating as Eddie liked to be, you knew he loved to be held afterwards.

His arms rested at the sides of your head, and you placed a gentle kiss to his temple as his head rested in the crook of your neck, giggling just a bit as his deep breaths tickled against your collarbone.

You laid there for a moment with one another, holding and admiring each other as you both came down from your highs, your hands slowly rubbing up and down Eddie’s back. With a few final deep breaths, your breathing went back to a steady pace, placing another kiss onto Eddie’s head,

“Did i wear you out?” You said with a giggle.

Eddie nodded into your shoulder and laughed to himself.

“Yes… You really wore me the fuck out, goddammit,” He groaned as he slowly leaned himself up, pulling himself out of you and removing the full condom, tying it at the end before tossing it away and laying back next to you, “you must’ve been waiting for that all day.”

You giggled as you turned to face him, his hands moving around your waist to pull you close to him, your hands brushing a few loose curls over his shoulder as they went around his neck.

“Of course i was! I spent all day cleaning and shopping and getting dinner all ready, i think i deserved some sex. And you did too,” You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss, “especially after working so hard all day, i wanted to make sure you came home and let off some steam.”

Eddie smiled and his fingers traced little patterns onto your hips,

“I absolutely did. And thank you, by the way, for doing all that today. I know you don’t love being away from me all day, and i know you don’t have to do things like that for me since you’ve got work too, but it was nice to come home and see that everything was already taken care of.” He brought his hand up and placed it gently onto your cheek, bringing you forward and enveloping your lips into a sweet and loving kiss.

“Well i know that you bring in most of the money, and i wanted to do something i thought you’d appreciate, and i’m glad that you do.” You sat up in bed with a smile and Eddie’s eyes followed you as you slowly moved around his room, slipping one of his shirts back on over your head and stepping back into your panties, “And i think you’ll appreciate what i’m making for dinner even more.”

Eddie smiled and sat up, watching as you fixed your hair up and moved it out of your face,

“Yeah? What’s my pretty girl making for me?”

“Steak, mashed potatoes, roasted broccoli, all your favorites!”

Eddie smiled big and leaned back onto the pillows against his headboard, groaning happily,

“Fuck, that sounds heavenly… You need me to help you?”

“Nope.” You said with a smile, slowly walking to his bedroom door and opening it, the bright light irritating your eyes just a bit, “But if you want, you can sit in the kitchen with me and look pretty. I know how good you are at that.”

He sat back up and slid his boxers on, following you out the door into the kitchen,

“I’m so good at sitting around and looking pretty!”

You giggled as he followed you into the kitchen, giving you one last kiss before taking hit seat back at the table, watching as you went over to the counter to finish preparing dinner.

He smiled as he watched you him to yourself at the counter, reaching for his unfinished beer bottle from earlier and taking a swig, sighing as he set it back down onto the table.

This was bliss. Coming home to his favorite person, seeing that all the chores and shopping had been done, dinner was being made, and all of it had been finished up by the time he got home from work.

He loved it when you were playing his pretty little housewife. And he couldn’t wait until that’s how it was every single day. All he wanted was to come home to you and love you like he never had before, and you knew how badly he wanted it.

Though you knew it would be a while until you were able to get to that point, little days like these were what made all the hard work worth it.

As long as you had each other, life was perfect.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Under Clouds Of Mint & Eucalyptus

Summary: Icy likes being pampered, Brandon gives good massages.

She doesn’t like candles, they are too hot for her tastes. But she does like scented baths with black rose petals floating on the surface of the water amid hills of soap bubbles and ice cubes. She likes incense sticks, especially the ones that smell like cedar wood. 

She likes silky bed sheets and and elegant nightgowns that drape around her skin, light and weightless. She likes perfumes that smell expensive and woodsy or minty and heavy jewelry that sparkles like snow. Diamonds are her favorite, of course, but sapphire and other blue stones work perfectly fine as well. 

Icy likes flashy things. Likes making a statement. 

She likes trips to the nail salon and midnight blue polish with silver snowflake embellishments. She likes having her makeup done and her hair styled lavishly with crystal hair combs and strands of jewels. 

Icy is a picky woman.

High maintenance, is the term that people like to use.

Apparently that is Brandon’s type. 

Icy likes to be pampered and spoiled. 

Brandon’s love languages are acts of service and gift giving. 

Oh and he treats her well, very well indeed. 

She lays on her stomach, cheek pressed against her arm. Brandon moves her hair out of the way and exposes her back. He has left the window open for her and a few chilly gusts glide over her naked skin. 

It is hard for her to relax on most days. Especially these days, now that she and her sisters have agreed to take a chance on ‘starting fresh’ as the headmistresses had called it. Especially these days, now that her magic has been diluted. Now that she feels so weak and vulnerable. Brandon doesn’t need to know that. Nobody needs to know that. 

She exhales and Brandon reminds her again to, “try to relax, you’re getting a massage and a bubble bath, not at death sentence.” 

She laughs, “I didn’t realize that you had a sick sense of humor.” Of course her own humor is a whole lot darker than that, but it is a start. 

Brandon shrugs. “I noticed that making jokes about human mortality tends to make you smile.” He pauses. “Now lose some of that tension!” 

It is so much easier said than done. Icy has come to realize over the course of all of these messages, that she is a naturally tense person. Mostly in her neck and shoulders but really she tends to be tense all over. 

Brandon takes her right arm first and so she rests her head on her left arm. He starts at her fingers, which she hadn’t realized were even worth the trouble of massaging, but apparently no massage can be complete without doing so. Careful fingers work knots out of her both of her arms. The man, she admits, is quite good at what he does. She had been rather skeptical when he’d first offered to give her a massage some three months ago. She had insisted that he just pay for a spa day and let the professionals attend her. 

He had very proudly informed her that he had, just to give himself something to do, taken a class on massaging, waxing, and an introduction to facial skin-care. She has yet to take him up on his offer to let him give skin-care a go. She is very particular about her hair and nails and more so about her skin. Her skin is very delicate and susceptible to burns and rashes if she uses the wrong products or the wrong amount of the right products.

In spite of this, Icy likes firmer pressure. After working with Stella for so long, Brandon had gotten used to light pressure only. It had taken him the better part of a month to get used to Icy’s demands. A better part of a month and a whole lot of reminders:  "I'm not fragile, you know?" And "you aren't applying enough pressure."  And even a, "you won't hurt me, even if you do. I'd probably enjoy it." This had his cheeks colored a bright red.

These days he requires no prompting. Tonight he rubs the massage oil into his hands a second time. An aroma of mint and eucalyptus fills the room. Icy inhales and rests her arms at her sides. She feels Brandon's hands on her shoulders. His thumbs work at a particularly large knot at the base of her neck, just a bit to the right. She reaches for her cup of iced tea.

"Wait until I'm done." Brandon chuckles. "You really need to learn to do things one thing at a time."

"I'm a multitasker."

"You’re also chronically stressed and struggle to appreciate things fully and live in the moment." He replies. "Focus on the massage and then drink your tea, you'll enjoy both better that way."

"That won't work."

"Have you given it a try?"

Icy frowns. "Just finish the massage."

"You can just say no. That's a whole lot easier! 'Just finish the message'  is three whole words longer."

Icy burrows her face into the massage bed, letting its mattress muffle her grumbled, "my darkness, you are annoying."

But he sure does have the right touch. He pushes the heels of his hands between her shoulder blades and she gives a soft hum of satisfaction.

"Do you want me to put on that weird music that you find soothing.

Icy nods. "It is called gregorian chant." And she enjoys it very much when it is sung in minor keys and ominous tones. It adds a nice ambiance, she thinks to the scene. She already feels decently cozy under clouds of incense and strings and strands of blue and white LED lights. But the chanting gives the scene a sense of completion. All in all she finds herself blanketed in a kaleidoscope of touch, sight, sound, and smell. It is almost overwhelming how completely immersed she is in so many senses at once and after having just been lectured on focusing on one thing at a time. But she supposes that all of these senses compliment each other nicely; the smell of mint and eucalyptus weave around soundwaves and she begins to hear mint and smell verses, each sweep of Brandon’s hands seems to time itself in accordance to the slow, rhythmic blinking of the LEDs. And the blinking of the LEDs seems to line up with the pace of the chant. And so it is that each of her senses come together to form one experience. She reaches for her tea again and declares that she can’t just exclude one of her five senses. 

This answer is satisfactory enough for Brandon. The drink itself pairs nicely with the aromas that wash over her. It is mostly honeydew in flavor but it has a sharp hint of mint and a bunch of clicking ice cubes that add their own crackly voices to the chant. She sets the glass back down and closes her eyes. She will probably be asleep soon enough. Massages tend to make her sleepy. 

And sleepiness makes her more affectionate. She doesn’t believe him but Brandon insists that she is ‘more cuddly’ or whatever when she is sleepy. 

She thinks that that is exactly why Brandon enjoys giving her massages so much. His hands sweep down her back in a fanning motion and by the time he reaches her lower back she has indeed begun to nod off.

She hadn’t imagined that she would be so receptive to physical touch at all, let alone enough to drift off. Enough to actually look forward to their spa nights. 

Brandon finishes the massage by applying a scrub to her hands. They had learned the hard way that salt scrubs tend to be too harsh on her skin. Tonight he has picked out a green tea scrub. “I also got a charcoal one for facials, just in case you ever decided to trust me enough for that.”

Icy hums. “We’ll see.” She holds up her right hand and lets him apply the green tea scrub. 

“It’s supposed to be good for irritated skin and scars.” He says of the tea scrub. 

Her hands are full of scars. Mostly from her time with the dragon fire. She hadn’t anticipated that it would reject her. That it would burn her as she used it. Shielded by her own ambition and determination it hadn’t mattered at the time. 

It matters now. 

Now that she has to look at it. At those ugly scars that remind her what what she had failed to achieve. They could have been a symbol of victory. Instead they are a mark of personal shame. 

Brandon finishes rubbing the scrub onto the backs of her hands and into her palms. He finishes by lacing his fingers between hers. His deep brown eyes linger on the back of hands. 

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Do you want something to eat?” 

She thinks for a moment and nods. “Just don’t overcook it, alright.” She sits up, retrieves her bathrobe, wraps it around herself, and comes to join him by the stove. She doesn’t cook but she will sometimes linger around and keep Brandon company while he does. Usually she stands behind him, looking over his shoulders with her arms wrapped around his middle. It works better this way being as she is at least a foot or two taller than he. 

Tonight she is sleepy from the massage and he ends up carrying her to bed before the meal is done cooking. He finishes it before joining her in bed. By now she is mostly asleep. She makes herself comfortable, laying against him. He still shivers when her cold skin first touches his. 

His hands find hers again. 

She still shudders when he does this.

His thumbs trace over the rough scar tissue. It has faded some. But not nearly enough for her to leave them ungloved in public. He brings her hands to his lips and kisses the backs of them. Sometimes she forgets that she has an image and reputation to retain. Sometimes she forgets to care. Or maybe she has begun to deliberately choose not to remember. She is rather content to forget for a moment if it gets her a night of pampering. She just hopes that nobody else forgets. It isn’t as though she isn’t perfectly capable of causing chaos on a whim. Tonight she is too tired for mayhem. She is asleep only a few minutes later with Brandon stroking the long curtains of hair that drapes over her shoulders and arms. She holds her scarred hands to his chest. At some   point in the night he will take them into his own.

[justsomeclintasha]

(Early Shield Days)

She stumbles, clutching at the arrow in her shoulder. The wound isn’t deep. Gritting her teeth, she yanks it out and tosses it on the rooftop. A split second too late, she realizes her mistake. Tiny barbs rip at her skin, and she hisses in pain. Blood gushes over the front of her suit.

“Not a good idea, Red,” he chides.

“Fuck off,” she spits back. It’s nothing she can’t handle. Fire burns in her eyes as she spins to face the archer, reaching for a knife strapped to her thigh. The handle is slippery in her fingers. She lunges at him, and the ground suddenly lurches beneath her feet. He disarms her, pushing her aside. She falls to her knees.

“Take it easy. It’s almost over.”

“What’s almost.. almost.. shit.” She squeezes her eyes shut. Her blood is hot and the sky is spinning. “No.”

“Poison. Even I don’t know what’s in it.” His footsteps grow louder as he walks to her side. She slumps back against the brick, tucking her knees to her chest.

“You want to watch.. to watch me die.”

“No.”

“It hurts.” The words are out before she can stop them. A shiver racks her body, and she curls her hands into fists to stop the shaking. He squats down in front of her.

“I know.” She forces a deep breath. The muscles in her chest burn from the effort. Dying has always been the end game, an inevitable fate she’s pictured a thousand times, but the twist of fear is unexpected, and she’s not ready for it to end. Not like this. Not yet.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted.. you have to tell them.” He watches her quietly. “Is she gunna be there?”

“Who?”

“My mom.” Her voice cracks, and he cocks his head in question. “Is my mom gunna be there?” She looks at him, scared, and tears fall slowly down her cheeks. He doesn’t answer. But something shifts in his eyes, in his gut, and he knows in an instant that he can’t do this because she’s so painfully human. There’s something in there worth fighting for.

“Shit.” He stands, running a hand through his hair, then over his face before digging in his vest for a vial and a syringe. The antidote. “Shit,” he repeats. Bloody fingers close over his wrist, weakly trying to push him back as he injects her, and everything fades to black.

XXXXX

“You’re okay.” Cool air hits her skin, and she shifts, groaning softly in pain. A strand of sweaty hair is pushed from her forehead. “I know. Breathe through it.” She’s trying.

XXXXX

She’s wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, heavy and soft, smelling of cedar and bow oil, and something familiar. The effort to roll over is stopped by a sharp pain in her shoulder. Fresh bandages cover the wound.

The room slowly comes into focus. A pair of steel grey eyes look down at her, and she’s almost too tired to put it together.

“You didn’t kill me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Did you deserve it?”

“You know I did. A thousand times over.” She winces as she sits up, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“I’m not so sure that’s true.” He sighs, passing her a bottle of water. “Listen. I’m going to make you an offer. They’ll kill you if you go back, right?”

“Reprogramming.” She breaks his gaze, twisting the bottle cap between her fingers. “It’s worse, it’s like..” A shaky breath leaves her lips, and she chases away the thought. “It’s worse.”

“I want you to come work for Shield with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to not have a choice. To do bad things. To feel like there’s no other way out.” She’s quiet for a long time, watching the rain patter softly against the window. The bottle cap doesn’t leave her grip.

“I can’t go back. Ever. I can’t,” she emphasizes.

“I know. You’ll never have to.”

“I’ll die first.”

“I know.” It’s clear she’s fighting the choice in her head, and he throws out the one tidbit of information he’s not supposed to share. “We’ve been following General Dreykov. With your help, I think we can take him down. It can be your defection, proof to Shield where your loyalties lie.”

At this she turns to meet his eyes, fingers tightening over the small piece of plastic in her hand. For the first time in a long time, she feels it. Hope.

“Natasha,” she decides, the American version of her name different on her tongue. “Natalia is.. gone.” He nods in understanding, and when he smiles, it’s easy and friendly.

“Nice to meet you, Natasha. I’m Clint.”

[arlo-venn]

Question—

Is there a way to teach a dog to growl as warning prior to opting to bite???

Arlo’s bitten Tyrell for the second time since we’ve been living here (NOT hard enough to break skin I genuinely think he would never do a for real bite unless it was a man/unless I was being attacked), and neither time did he give her any/much warning first.

I don’t know that he didn’t give ANY warning because the first time I wasn’t there, and today I wasn’t paying full attention because I was continuously handing him treats so I may have missed cues while multitasking.

We both forgot that he’s weird about food with anyone who isn’t me or Rory (he tolerates Ottilie but it’s obvious he does so through discomfort- I don’t blame him there bc she used to steal his food from him before he got an elevated bowl last year). We were spraying him down with cedar oil because he still has live fleas on him even though he had nexguard 3 days ago and has been out of the flea-ridden environment (basement). He’s oh so slightly nervous about spray bottles, so I was giving the treats for that reason (we didn’t hve the time for proper deconditioning bc he needs the fleas off him), and he fully chomped her wrist when she got near his ears. He’s only sensitive physically with people other than me around his back end so it was really unexpected for me. Didn’t break skin like I said but did leave a couple teeth indents for a few minutes.

So like it was totally 100% our fault for 1) forgetting he’s iffy with food and 2) because when I noticed he was a little uncomfortable about the cedar oil and I said “do you want me to muzzle him?” Tyrell said no, and I okayed that? I shouldn’t have taken the risk at all knowing he’s was nervous even without the food, but Tyrell is his second Main Human so we genuinely didn’t think he’d bite. Not an excuse though.

ALL THIS is to say— neither time did he growl or make a snarly face to indicate he wanted to bite or for her to back off. I presume bc it was an imminent threat of his food being stolen so he may have felt the need to act fast, but that’s so unsafe. He did do snarly face after to tell her he didn’t want her to keep touching him (which obviously she respected), but is there a way to train him to understand the importance of a warning growl?

I mean obviously we’re going to remember not to use treats with Tyrell near, right, and if he ONLY reacts that way when food is involved then that will solve the issue, but. If there is a way to teach him I would still like to try, he’s very receptive to training obv

@shootingstarbujo

[tabswrites]

7 Snippets 7 People

Tagged by @avrablake here!

Gently tagging: @mysticstarlightduck @winterandwords @athenswrites @pheita

All right, let’s give this a whirl.

From Tomb of Light, Ch. 1

Following the same path she had taken three years before, Mara raced down the dark hallway, making two left turns before reaching a small room. Dozens and dozens of heavily bound books had been crammed into every available space, the pages yellowed. The smell of mildew and lignin filled her nostrils and she took a deep breath knowing this would be the last time she found herself in this room. She wished, as she had the last time, that she could spend hours examining every book, every page. A large piece of parchment caught the corner of her eye and she spun around excitedly. It was unsurprising to her that the very item she had been exiled for reading had been returned to the exact same place, frozen in time like a statue commemorating her transgressions. The Rothe family honestly believed no one would dare repeat her near-fatal mistake; not even Mara herself.

From ToL Ch. 2

Mara glowered at him with shimmering eyes. “Have you not considered that my life’s worth came only from the men who knew me? The poor orphaned girl, cast aside by her own father, graciously raised by Elder Herric.” Oliver could only look on mournfully as the fight washed out of her and she melted into the chair. “I was encouraged to study and prepare to take over his position and in doing so was encouraged to challenge the world. Our elders demand innovation to drive us further from the Old World and ignore the fact that there were once people that walked this earth, who could shape the world with a snap of their fingers. If my curiosity was ever dangerous, it was because they made it so. I sought that knowledge for Rothar.”

From ToL Ch. 3

They entered a circular room he had only seen once, on a tour during his initiation. The council room had been empty then, the oil lanterns lit only for dramatic effect. Today the raised cedar bench was occupied by six people, four men and two women. All the lanterns had been lit, hanging every few feet to illuminate the entire room. Shadows danced across the granite as their bodies moved into the light. The captain gestured for him to stand in the center of the room, then retreated to the corner to watch, hands clasped behind her back. It was the first time Adrin had ever seen her act like a meek guardsman, not the intimidating captain he was used to.

From ToL Ch. 4

Adrin froze in place, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. His head swiveled.

“Did you hear that?”

Mara continued down the hill. “No. Are we almost there?”

“Mara,” Hettie hissed. “Look at him.” The reproach in her voice was in stark contrast to her usual dulcet tone. Mara didn’t often do what others asked of her, but this time she chose to listen. She stopped at the bottom of the hill and turned to see Hettie, paused midway down. Mara’s head cocked to the side as she surveyed the otherwise empty forest.

“Where did he go?”

From ToL Ch. 5

She remembered what he had said when they were walking to the compound.

It’s only my first day. There’s still time to break me.

Her arms were around him in an instant and as she exhaled, she finally let forth the flood that she had been threatening to burst. She felt his shoulders shake and realized he must have done the same. It was too much. The blood, the anger, the hatred–all new to her. Perhaps in her isolation she had only prolonged the inevitability of life’s burdens, and now she was being punished for it.

From ToL Ch. 6

It was then he was forced to acknowledge what he had been avoiding–he was disgraced, just like her, and no amount of posturing would convince people to ignore the shadow that had settled over him once his uniform had been stripped away. He was a fool to think he could outrun it. The plain black trousers, gray tunic and black boots were all he had left–even his beloved sword, a gift from his father, had been taken from him. He had nothing left but a bitter taste in his mouth and the looming shadow of the girl he loved.

From ToL Ch. 7

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? He hasn’t eaten in two days, at least. He’s weak.”

Hettie gasped. “You haven’t eaten in two days?!”

“He hasn’t,” she clarified. “I found some salmonberries by the stream, and I could catch a fish if I needed to–though I’d rather starve.”

“So you just chose not to offer him food, then.” Hettie sighed.

Mara didn’t like how quickly her disappointment buried itself in her gut. She was used to Henri treating her altruistic tendencies like a form of amusement. “He’s two and twenty years old, Hettie. If he can’t remember to feed himself, that’s not my problem.”

[pinguwrites]

Forever Yours | Jackson Rippner (Kinktober 2023 | Day 31 — Jackson Rippner + ghostface!reader)

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jackson rippner x reader

summary | In this college au, Halloween is nearing its corner, only for the festive mood to be cut short when your classmate is brutally killed. As the series of murders continues, Jackson Rippner finds himself the next target, oblivious to the fact that his hunter is you, his girlfriend, the ghostface.

word count | 5k

Warnings: smut, rough sex - SM, jackson's insecure, kinda sub!jackson, reader and jackson are sick and crazy, mention of parental abuse, masturbation, brief mention of animal death/abuse (hinted)

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

"You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings. You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything" — Closer, Nine Inch Nails

Jackson Rippner was trying to become more romantic for you, an endeavor that started about a week ago after he noticed you liked passionate men. It was a simple conversation about fictional crushes — you know, the ones you have as a kid when he realized all the men you had pointed out were terribly lovey-dovey and all sentimental-like. A few origami roses here and there, some thoughtful gifts, maybe some poetic letters, and he was sure that he could outcompete all of them. He was the only man you needed, the only man you could ever want.

He knew how it sounded — pathetic. Since when was he the type to change himself for a girl? He was no Romeo or Jack Dawson, and he certainly didn’t want to be. He wasn’t a simpering fool, chasing after a pretty girl like it was his life’s mission, but as it turned out, he was for you. And if you liked your men romantic, then Jackson would be romantic.

Starting off with whatever this was: a package of your favorite stuff. Two books you mentioned wanting to get but couldn’t spare the money for, which Jackson just knew he had to buy, even though it would piss off his father — he was always stingy with money — but he figured it was fine as long as it came out of his own pocket. Some bath bombs he made from scratch, swiping the ingredients from around the house. He used a cedar wood scent for the essential oil, as it was the closest smell he could get to his cologne, and made three bombs, wrapped them in plastic, and put them alongside the books in the bag.

It was nothing big, but it was perfect. You were going to love it. You had to love it. How could you not?

He closed the bag and placed it on his desk, ready to go to sleep, when the landline downstairs rang. It was probably telemarketers, but it could also be his parents, who were out on date night. He decided to go head down and check anyways. 

He headed downstairs and picked up the phone, but the voice on the other end caught him off guard. “Hey,” a woman said, but it didn’t sound natural. It sounded like there was a voice modulator, the ones that criminals used in those crime shows you forced him to watch.

“Hey?” Jackson responded, confused, and a little irritated.

“I know who you are.”

Jackson tried to focus on the sound of the voice. Maybe he could pick out who it was if he listened close enough, but it was a fruitless effort. It was female, but too common to tell.

“You’re the one calling me,” he said, tone laced with amusement, “I should assume so.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“A creep? A weirdo?” Jackson laughed. “A stalker? I dunno. Take your pick.”

It was quiet. For a moment, he thought the woman hung up, but then she spoke again, “A lover. I’m a lover, Jackson.”

“Good for you.” He was tired, and didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Now, how about you either stop acting mysterious and tell me what you want, or I cut the call.”

“Someone’s going to die tonight, Jackson,”  the woman said. Oddly enough, Jackson felt a twinge of excitement at her words. It was oddly thrilling, and adrenaline inducing to hear such a thing. It was at this point he realized with himself that this woman was just messing with him, because who would admit to premeditated murder? 

“I hope it’s that girl from my English class. What’s her name? Ah, fuck, I forgot. She’s the annoying one—all emotion. Screams every time the lights go out. You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.”

So, she’s been on campus, Jackson thought. Following me, maybe. I can’t believe it! 

“It’s not her, though. But who knows, maybe she’ll be next. Would you like that?”

“Doll, I really don’t care. Do me a favor, and don’t call me again.”

He put the phone down and went back upstairs. What a fucking psycho. He was too tired to deal with this shit. After a night of wrapping gifts, all he wanted was to rest. But still, even as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about that call. A gut feeling told him not to dismiss it as a prank, but before he could contemplate it any further, he fell asleep.

+++

Jackson drove his car to Westwood’s campus, towards the west side of the college where he knew you were going to be. You had a 2 PM class on Thursday, and right about now was when it ended. He usually picked you up, driving afterwards to a diner, or sometimes to a random spot where you could both be alone and make out in.

As he watched the students pile out of the building, he spotted you, near the back of the crowd, having a conversation with your good friend Lisa. He narrowed his eyes once he saw what you were wearing — a dark, plaid miniskirt with a black crop top. Even from this distance he could see the curved outline of your breasts, and imagined the view from behind, but as you got closer, he noticed the look on your face — concerned, nervous. In fact, he noticed the look on everyones face. They were whispering amongst each other in hushed voices, unlike most days when they were loud and rowdy. 

You waved goodbye to Lisa, then headed over to the car, getting into the shotgun seat. In a quick movement, you gave Jackson a kiss on the cheek, then leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Did you hear?” you asked.

“About what?” He was a little worried, but knowing you it was probably because you got a B on a test or some other stupid bullshit. He started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, exiting onto the main road.

“You know,” you said, not leading much on. “The girl.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I can’t understand you when you speak all cryptic like this.”

“Sorry — I just thought you knew. She went missing, just last night or something.”

Jackson froze. “What?”

“Well, not missing.” Your voice was a little awkward, as if you were uncomfortable talking about it. “Lisa told me she’s dead. At least, that’s what she heard. But you know, the police haven’t come out with a report and I haven’t looked at the news yet.”

Jackson couldn’t believe it. His mind went to last night, and the mysterious call he got. Did the murder have anything to do with that? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Would it be interfering with an investigation if he didn't tell the police?

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone holding a hint of concern.

Jackson wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you. It was probably just nothing, but still, he didn’t want to keep any secrets. It was Relationships 101, communication, even though he was shit poor at it. 

“I got a call last night,” he said, as nonchalant as he could. “It was this woman. Her voice was masked, so I couldn’t recognize it. She, uh, told me that someone was going to die.”

You huffed. “Are you being serious?”

“Yeah.”

You swatted his shoulder, making him chuckle. “You have to go to police, Jackson! They can track down the call and find out who it is — maybe she’s the murderer. Haven’t you thought of that?”

“I did,” Jackson said. Seeing the look on your face, he relented. “Alright. I’ll go to the station after I drop you off, happy?”

You shook your head. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want to leave you alone. What if you’re being targeted, hmm? What if you’re next?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Stop overreacting. You can come, but you’re just gonna get bored.”

You were fine with that, so it seemed.

He drove to the police station, noticing the presence of reporters. He managed to slip you both past them, though he suspected that the only reason he got through was because they weren’t interested in them.

He went up to the front desk and told the lady he needed to report something. She nodded and brought out a paper to record, when she realized exactly what Jackson was reporting and decided to call the lead detective on the case.

It took a while, but eventually called Jackson and you over to Detective’s Reisert’s office, settling you both down in a pair of chairs.

It was a series of routine questions. When did the phone call happen? What was said? Who was in the house at the time? Why didn’t you tell anyone? What did the voice sound like? 

At some point, you were ushered out of the room. It was silly, because it’s not like you had anything to do with this, but then Reisert asked: Who do you think it was? Is it possible you knew this person? Why were you called?

“She knows who I am,” Jackson answered. “I mentioned English,” Jackson didn’t specify exactly why he brought it up, “and this girl in my class, and she said she knew her. She could’ve been lying, though, I never told her a name.”

“And what do you think she meant by saying she was a lover? Do you think it’s possible this is someone who has a crush on you?”

Jackson laughed. “Probably.” He didn’t know many men or women who didn’t have a crush on him at some point.

“Someone who doesn’t like your girlfriend?”

Jackson’s mood got cold. The idea hadn’t even passed his mind. If this mysterious woman was the killer, and did have a crush on him, then of course, you were a threat. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and it was clear Detective Reisert could sense it, because he placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry about it. Those are all the questions I have. You’re free to go.”

Jackson shrugged him off, not leaving. “Who was the victim?” he asked.

The detective hesitated. “Miya Reinhart. She’s currently missing, but we’re doing everything in our power to find her,” he said, getting up from his seat. “We’ll investigate the phone call and see if we can find out where it came from. If it’s anything worth checking out, we’ll call you back in.”

He ushered Jackson out the door. You were patiently waiting in the lobby, hands interocked, nervously glancing around. Why did some bitch have to die? he thought. Now I’m going to have to deal with all of this.

As he approached you, the name Miya Reinhart ringed in his head. He could’ve sworn he knew who it was. Maybe someone in one of his classes, a friend of a friend? It wasn’t until you both started walking out the door did it click in his head.

“It’s Miya, right?” he said, looking over at you. “The curvesetter?”

You groaned at the mention of her. “She thinks she’s so smart, it’s a wonder she has any friends at all. You know, just the other day —” you fell silent, taking in the look on his face. Slowly, your eyes filled with guilt “. . . Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You nodded your head, licking your lips. You opened your mouth to speak, but ended up not saying anything at all. Maybe it was for the better.

Jackson put his arm around you. He drove to your house, a two-story with a nice front lawn and backyard, pretty flowers and sprinkles that ran through the night. He parked in your driveway, hesitating for a moment, before deciding to hell with it and reach into the backseat, pulling out the little bag of presents he made for you.

“I don’t want you to be thinking about anything bad,” he started, handing you the gift. “I got you a little something, maybe it’ll take your mind off of things.”

You opened it up. Inside was a bath bomb, colored red, and two books. Horror books. Stephen King novels.

You paused for a moment. Jackson got a little nervous and glanced over at you, wondering if you liked it or not, but when he saw the little smile on your face, he relaxed.

"Thank you, Jackson," you said genuinely, closing the bag. "You didn't have to get something for me."

He shrugged. "You're my girl." He didn't say anything more after that. There wasn't anything else to add. That was all the reasoning he needed.

+++

Jackson liked to think he had a reasonably good friend group. There were four, not including him — Daniel, a football player who got here on a full scholarship ride; Aneria, a relatively calm girl who liked basic things like the mall and stripped blue jeans; Lisa, your ride-or-die, not much more needed to be said other than the fact that you two were so close he was almost concerned you were gay; and then, of course, you yourself. He wasn’t entirely sure how this group of people came to be, but the basics were — Daniel and Jackson were friends, you and Lisa were friends, Daniel had a crush on Aneria who was loosely friends with Lisa, and so Lisa agreed to try and bring them closer together, and lo and behold, everyone came together like ingredients in a cake.

Jackson’s eventual investigations revealed that Aneria did not like Daniel back, and so the entire thing was a waste except for the fact that he met you, but it wasn’t like he was booting himself out of this group anytime soon. 

“She’s been scared recently,” Daniel told Jackson one day as they were both smoking outside behind a dingy restaurant. “Because of the murder, you know?”

Ah, right. The police report came out the morning after Jackson went to the police station. Miya Reinhart’s body was found in the woods near her house. Police were apparently investigating some promising leads, but at the moment they had nothing more to say.

“And how does that benefit you?” Jackson wondered, taking in a slow puff.

“She’ll want protection,” Daniel said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been driving her back to her dorm recently, she doesn’t want to go by herself, nor do her parents. They like me, dude. Parents plus my masculine energy should be more than enough.”

“Masculine energy?” Jackson said with a scoff and chuckle. “Sure, dude. Just ask her out.”

“It’s not that easy. I mean, how’d you ask your girl out?”

Jackson leaned his head against the brick wall. “She wooed me.”

Daniel thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. I should be asking her for advice, not you.”

“That’s probably right.”

“You know, I’m planning a party next weekend. Halloween-themed.” Daniel got up from his position and dusted off all the dirt from his pants. “You gonna come?” He lent out his hand.

“Yeah, ‘course.” 

Jackson let himself get pulled up to his feet. They started walking down the street and back to the general vicinity of where both their neighborhoods lay.

“It’s a costume party, obviously. And I’m thinking I should make Halloween-themed treats, the type that moms make when we’re kids, you know?”

Jackson never experienced that. As a child, his Halloweens were his mom trying to do something nice for the family, then getting drunk and upset after his father never showed up. After a certain point, Jackson stopped anticipating any type of celebration and his mom stopped making an attempt. 

“It’s a little childish — but who cares? You can get the drinks, right?” Daniel continued.

Jackson nodded, hands in his pocket. “Yeah, and food, too. How many people are gonna be there?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t want this one to be big. I was thinking just us five and, like, a plus-one.”

That was more than fine with Jackson. In all honesty, he didn’t like Daniel’s big parties, the ones where everyone he ever talked to was invited, where he had to clean the house out because Daniel was too crossfaded to move a muscle. 

At least he had something to look forward to this week.

+++

“I told you someone was going to get murdered.” 

Jackson sucked in a breath. He had an awful feeling when he picked up the phone — he should have known it would be her again. His eyes darted nervously around the room, paranoid — across the walls and the crevices of the room, the windows and the opened crack of the closet door.

It was almost enticing. It was like a game, in a sick, cruel way. Who was she? A tormenter, a killer. Criminal.

“What do you want?” Jackson asked, stern.

 “You.”

The audacity! he thought. “I have a girlfriend,” he responded simply, wondering whether this was the right time to call the police. He almost didn’t want to. He wanted to see how far this would go, but he knew that was stupid.

He was still wondering whether this whole thing was a prank or not. It was possible that this was a huge coincidence, and with the murder they were simply taking advantage of a bad situation. 

“Maybe she’ll be next.” 

Jackson’s heart thumped in his chest, so loud he could feel the beat throughout his entire body. He felt his body chill, goosebumps along his arms. No. This was not a prank anymore. 

“Listen here you bitch,” he spat into the receiver, “you hurt her in anyway I’ll find you and gut you like a common whore. You understand?” 

She laughed, no — giggled.

“You’re so protective. What a man.” 

Jackson was about to end the call and call the police but then she added, “But it doesn’t matter. You’re too late.” 

He could feel his breathing waver, shaking. In fear or anger, he didn’t know — probably both.

“What do you mean? What have you done to her?” 

The call ended.

“Fuck!”

Jackson threw the telephone into the wall, watching as it broke apart and left a dent. Upstairs, he could hear his mom call out his name in worry, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was already putting on his shoes, sprinting out of the house and towards his car. Without abandon, he started the engine and sped down the street towards your place. It would take a good ten minutes. Your parents house wasn’t as close to Westwood as his was. The whole time he couldn’t stop thinking, What if you were already dead?

His palms were sweaty, and he was driving recklessly. There were few cars on the road. He he was subject to honking more than once, and it was out of sheer luck that he avoided being pulled over by a cop car.

When he finally arrived, he rushed up to your front door and rapped, frustrated when there wasn’t an immediate response. Where the fuck were your parents?

He thought about going over to the side of your house and climbing to your window like he used to do when you first started dating, but the door opened and to his great relief it was you standing there, unharmed and looking rather confused.

But still. He couldn’t take any chances.

“Jackson?” you said, surprised. “What are you — ”

Jackson pushed his way inside and locked the door, wrapping his arms around your figure, letting your head rest against his chest as he used your comfort to calm his heart. It felt like the world was not functioning the way it was supposed to — everything was so fast and heavy but muted, like he was in a dream. A disturbing, horrible dream.

When you pulled away, you opened your mouth to speak, but he placed his finger against your lips, shushing you.

“Are all the windows locked?” he asked, his breathing steadying.

“Um.” You thought for a moment. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Jackson sighed, wanting to pinch your side for being so careless. How many times had he told you to keep all house openings locked?

He went to every window on the first floor, while you followed behind, barraging him with questions. What happened? Why are you here? Is something wrong?

He placed his hands on the side of your arms. “Call the police, okay, doll?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Just do it, I’ll explain after I check upstairs.”

“Babe, just tell me now.”

Jackson moved past you, but you grabbed his hand and dug your nails into his palm. “Tell me,” you said softly, but your tone indicated that you weren’t playing.

He paused. After taking a deep breath so he could speak properly without running out of air, he spilled everything. When he finished, you reacted in a way he didn’t expect, but was grateful for— calm and collected, albeit worried.

He went upstairs to lock the rest of the windows. He heard your faint voice talk to the police downstairs, explaining the situation. When he made it to your bedroom, however, he noticed something odd. There was a pile of dirty laundry in the corner. Once he made sure that all the openings on this floor were locked, he removed one of the shirts, which had small red spots. Like a splatter.

He sniffed it, against his better judgement, and recoiled at the scent. It was most certainly blood. The iron was unmistakable. 

“What are you doing?”

He turned around like a deer caught in headlights.

Jackson held up the shirt. “What is this?”

“N-nothing,” you stammered. “Lady stuff.”

“Like what?” He narrowed his eyes. “Periods?”

With a faint blush, you nodded. He rolled his eyes, wishing that this type of conversation wasn’t so embarrasing.

“Give it to me,” you pleaded. “I was just in the process of cleaning that when you came. I don’t want the police to see this.”

Jackson gave the shirt back to you. What you wanted to say was — ‘I don’t want a bunch of old men to see this.’ 

+++

“One more time, let’s go through what happened when you came here,” Detective Reisert said. “When you told her — your girlfriend — what had happened, would you say she was frightened? Panicked?”

Jackson sighed. He was sitting on your couch with the police as they canvassed your home. You were being interviewed in the dining room, and your parents were on their way back from the work convention they were supposedly at. There was a swath of news reporters outside your house, as well as confused neighbors. All the curtians and blinds were shut closed, to give you guys at least a bit of privacy, but the nosie and flashing lights were just as distracting as the sight of them.

“I mean, yeah,” Jackson said. “But it’s not like she was having a panic attack. I don’t see why you’re interested in her reaction. I need to know whether she’s safe or not! What happened to the phone call? Did you trace it or — ”

“It’s from a burner account,” Reisert said. “The person who did this was smart. But we’ll find them.”

Jackson was not satisfied. “I want security. For her.”

“We’ll have someone protecting her twenty-four by seven. What I want to know is why she was so calm.”

Jackson couldn’t believe this. “Because she was. She’s just like that. I mean, her cat died a few months ago and she didn’t even shed a tear.”

“Didn’t even shed a tear,” he repeated slowly. “That’s odd. How’d the cat die?”

It was then that Jackson realized what the detective was implying. “She didn’t do this, if that’s what you think.”

“Everyone’s a suspect, son.”

“I’m not your son!”

Reisert paused. “You’re right. Where is your father, by the way?”

“Not important.”

“I think it is. I think it’s a parents responsibility to raise their child properly. To tell them not to say things like, ‘I’ll gut you like a common whore’. That is what you said, right?”

“She was threatening my girlfriend,” Jackson snapped.

“Of course, of course. What about the stain on her clothes? The blood?”

Jackson wished he had never mentioned that at all. “It’s from her period.”

“And what did it look like?”

“I dunno, red.”

“. . . Those are all the questions I have.”

Detective Reisert got up from his seat and gave a polite smile.

Jackson rubbed his temples, finding this whole situation to be absolutely insane.

When he passed by the dining room, he overheard you and some others officers talking. It’s not like it was a crime to eavesdrop. This wasn’t a police station, he could stand wherever he wanted.

“It was a period stain,” you said with an exasperated tone.

“On your shirt?”

“Yes, I was . . . I was doing something, and I didn’t have a towel, you know? I don’t want to explain this, I shouldn’t have to! It’s personal.”

“Can we see the shirt?”

“It’s upstairs, but I already cleaned it.”

“With what?”

“Hydrogen peroxide. I-It’s not weird, I’ve been doing it since I was eleven. Ask my mom when she comes back, she’s the one who taught me.”

“We will. Thank you for your time.”

You got up, the chair rubbing against the hardwood floor. You walked over to Jackson with tears in your eyes. He immediately pulled you into a hug, guiding you away from everyone else and towards a more secluded area.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay.” He rubbed your back, soothing. If only Detective Reisert could see you now. Look what his team had done to her. “Let it all out.”

“I wanna go upstairs,” you cried, grasping onto his shirt. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you.”

They went to the guest room, as your bedroom was being occupied. He laid you down on the bed and wrapped a blanket around you two, letting you sob into his jacket. It was wet now, which he didn’t like, but he wasn’t about to stop you or move your head.

As he soothed you, he thought about everything that was going on. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, to him and his girlfriend of all people. And the thought of you being targeted . . . 

They were still like that for a while. Your parents came back home and made a big fuss, rightfully. They never liked Jackson that much, so after thanking him with a half-assed smile they asked him to leave the house. There was no way Jackson was going to leave you after this, but the police officer who was being stationed at your house insisted as well, so reluctantly, he agreed and headed back home. He kept you on call the entire night, even when you were sleeping. He needed to hear you, even if it was just your breathing. He needed to make sure you were alright. 

+++

“That’s absolutely crazy,” Aneria said, walking side by side with Jackson. They were both heading to their next class which they both shared. They always walked together. Usually Jackson would drop her off and go on his own way, but he’d been missing too many classes and he didn’t want to get in trouble with the school. If that happened they would contact his father, and his father would just give him the fist.

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed, kicking a small pebble across the sidewalk. You were staying at home for the time being. You had taken a few days off, and while he knew you were protected, he still couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“What exactly happened?” Aneria asked, brushing back her blonde hair. “I mean, I heard rumors that they think it might be . . . you know . . .”

“Might be what?” Jackson snapped, turning to look at her. He didn’t mean to lose his patience, but he was in a bad mood. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m just pissed. Tell me.”

Aneria hesitated, then spoke, “That it might be her this whole time.”

Jackson paused in his tracks and turned to look at Aneria. “It’s not. It’s not, why would she do that?”

“I’m not saying I think it’s her, I’m just letting you know how people are feeling,” Aneria said with a shrug. “Also,” she added nervously, “I’m looking out for you.”

She placed a hand on Jackson’s arm. He felt mildly uncomfortable.

“I’m worried about you. Some psycho is stalking you. She’s murdered people, and I — I’m worried about you. So is James, even though he might not say it.”

Jackson shrugged her hand off. “I’m flattered.”

Aneria didn’t say anything more after that. When they got to class, a few people were looking at him with pitiful stares, and after the lecture was finished, the professor pulled him aside to ask if he was okay. Jackson said he was, which was a lie, but he was not about to pour out his heart and feelings to the old man who used to yell at him for not doing his work. 

+++

———

(This is where I stopped writing 😬)

The next part is a short scene where Jackson reminisces about old times and how he met you. Back in highschool you were a good student, but also a preppy bitch and he didn’t really like you. But somehow you won over his heart and instead of going to some fancy college like you thought he would, you ended up staying with him in community college, which he suspects is the reason your parents don’t like him so much.

He also talks about the fact that he’s never had sex with you, and is actually a virgin. He’s nervous about the intimacy.

+++

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jackson chastised, pulling you away from the rest of the crowd and into his arms.

They were at a football game.  

So basically this a small scene where Jackson and the rest of the crew except Lisa and Aneria are at this football game. The next day they realize someone else was murdered, and the police clear you up as a suspect because of your alibi.

In another scene, you try to have sex with Jackson, but he pushes you off. You get a little annoyed and decide to just call it a day, because you’re under the assumption that he has slept with people before, he just doesn’t want to sleep with you.

The police start looking into more clues related to Jackson. They think this is the work of some yandere/stalker, and they think it might be Aneria for a hot moment because she so obviously has a crush on Jackson. They end up dropping that train of thought.

At the Halloween party, Aneria makes a move on Jackson, inviting him into a bedroom upstairs. But you stop her by stabbing her through the heart. Jackson is shocked and also incredibly turned on. You rape him. He struggles at first but eventually gives in and fucks you back. It was supposed to be a blood kink, knife play sort of scene that was really rough and crazy on both sides.

Jackson doesn’t understand fully though, because you weren’t there during the time of one of the murders. You tell him not to worry about it. You suggest running away to some other state or maybe a foreign country. Jackson is ready to leave it all behind.

As you get in the car before anyone notices something is wrong, Jackson notices Lisa in the driver’s seat. She’s been your accomplice this whole time, and she was the one who murdered someone at a football game. You both drive into the night and are never heard from again. 

________________

Taglist in case anyone's still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008 @wild-rose-35 @nela-cutie @slut4thebroken @flwrs4aust @httpxgray

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 64 - part 2 of the apple pie baking session

"Statement of Donna Gwynne, regarding an unlicensed archaeological dig" - DIG

"Original statement given May 20th, 2015." - Oh! Depending on Gertrude's actual death date (15th March or 15th May), this statement could have been given while our Archive crew was already in charge. IF it was the 15th May I don't think Elias would have already put together his new team. I think it took at least one to two weeks. At least! (Even with Elias already knowing that he absolutely needed Jon in this position. HR works slowly…)

"But education funding is being squeezed across the board, and the fact is, most higher-up positions in the field tend to only open up once the previous occupant dies." - Well, talking about Gertrude's death and how to appoint the next Archivist…

"Large upon the stone was carved the closed loop of a shen ring, the symbol of infinity." - Oh wow, totally forgot about that. Nice detail.

"It was a labyrinth" / "it seemed to only assume its deceptive, maze-like form when heading back towards the entrance. When walking deeper in, it was rather straightforward." - Was this done, so the undead person inside wouldn't find its way out so easily? Then again, when you have infinite time to figure it out (or walk along one side of the wall), what good would that do?

"I did notice something in the corner, though: about a half-dozen small bones, with carvings on each face. Dice." - There we have it, the dead (heh) give-away for what kind of "creature" this is. One of those gambling with Death.

"I saw it" - This is something Jonny also uses a lot of times. Announcing the impossible thing with a "And then I saw it".

"Was this thing alive when that had happened? Was it buried in salt for seventy days, feeling the cedar oil slowly melting its insides?" - Thanks for bringing this to our attention…

"positioning the point of the blade on its chest, where the heart should be. Then it made me push the knife in. The poor creature hung there for a second, then pulled the knife out and made me stab it again. Over and over it made me do it, while its torso racked and convulsed. It almost seemed like it was crying But without tear ducts or lungs, there was no way to know." - Ok seriously, there had to be a way to end those of this kind. What about full cremation! Nothing left but ashes. Then again… Would it even burn to that point? I mean mummification seemed to have worked? What about a hydraulic press? Freezing and grinding it to dust? According to this statement you can damage the bodies of those so they are far beyond humanity. But would it be possible to actually destroy the body to a point, that there is nothing left to be alive?

"In ancient Egypt, dying was the most important thing a person would ever do. Your whole life was preparation for it" - Yep, remember learning about that in history and art history. That is an interesting topic in combination with the "And I must scream" trope. I feel like, this is something different the the generic monster mummy.

BASIRA "You can’t just come down to the station asking to –" - Jon, you fucking idiot xD

Hmmm. Later on the statement in web development (mag 123) was given on 1st August, 2015 and Jon says "It looks like this statement came in just after Gertrude disappeared. Another gap. And whoever took it didn’t do any follow-up, just… filed it away. I may be the first person to actually read it, so... Sorry, Angie. I suppose." Which might be a timing discrepancy but I think this means Jon and his team didn't start working until after August and that means this mummy statement was just another unprocessed statement?

[laxyaklovesloz]

The Legend of Zelda: Real Courage 2: Dark Mirror | Chapter Sixteen: A Meeting with the Generals

“Where are they?” Zale asked Salvatore outside of the library.

“They have only just arrived,” Salvatore said. “I’m sure they’re still in the courtyard.”

Zale made a split-second decision and guided Salvatore and Lila to the throne room. Upon entering the throne room, Zale looked at the empty throne with sadness. He approached the grand throne slowly. He felt the oiled cedar as he ran his hand along the armrest. Then he stood back and imagined his father sitting there. King Gaepora’s time had passed. Now it was time for Zale to rise.

Feeling determined, Zale sat on the throne for the first time. It was surprisingly comfortable, though slightly too big for him. His father had been a man of great stature, whereas Zale was almost as frail and fragile as his sisters. He wondered if he would ever fit in his father’s place.

“Your Majesty,” Salvatore said, kneeling. Lila watched him curiously before doing the same.

Zale clenched his jaw and said, “Please, don’t do that. At least, not when we’re alone.” The two stood again. “That’s better. Now, Lila, I want you to stand beside me as my vanguard.”

Lila stepped onto the platform without hesitation. Zale pointed to where she was supposed to be and she took her position. She stood tall with one hand on her belt above her sword. The other hand hung free, ready to grab her sword at a moment’s notice.

“You don’t have to look so scary,” Zale said, trying to joke around. He found he was feeling a little too nervous to put on more than a quick smile. When they were ready, Zale said to Salvatore, “Okay. Bring them in.”

Salvatore nodded and left to fetch the generals. There was a few minutes of silence. Zale resisted the urge to fidget around in his chair. He wished he had a more commanding presence like his father. Instead, he had to draw on his own strengths. What were his strengths again? Lila was the strong one. He could rely on her for anything. He looked at her. She had her light blue eyes set forward watching the door. When she saw him looking at her, she gave him a broad smile.

“You’ll be great,” she said.

Then the doors opened and Salvatore announced that the generals of Hyrule had arrived. He tried to name them one by one, but General Davros stopped him.

“What are you doing on the king’s throne, boy?” Davros demanded, shaking a fist.

Zale swallowed. He knew this would be hard, but he didn’t realize how angry the general of Castle Town would be. Luckily, the other generals didn’t seem angry. They looked at each other with expressions of uncertainty.

Deciding patience was his strength, Zale waited for the generals to calm down. He looked at each of them in turn, landing on Davros last. When he was ready, he spoke in a calm, unwavering voice.

“My father, King Gaepora Nohansen Hyrule, has passed from this world,” Zale stated. He was glad that emotion didn’t take him. “It falls to me as his son and rightful heir to be the new king.”

The generals were startled by the news, but they all knelt down and bowed to their new king. Salvatore said, “All hail the king!”

Zale waited a moment. No one spoke. Good. Then he told them all to rise. “Now, we can begin preparations for the funeral. Send out messengers to your areas of the land. Have them announce what I just told you. Have them also announce that the funeral will be in two days' time. All are invited to attend.”

“Two days, sire?” Jovom, the Zora general, asked.

“Is that not enough?” Zale asked back.

Jovom shook his head. “No, I suppose two days are fine.”

“Good,” Zale said. “Anything else?” He looked around at the generals, but they stayed quiet. “The servants will handle decorations and all of that,” he added. “Now on to my coronation. Davros, is there anything you wish to say right now?”

The general in question looked at his feet. In the quiet room, Zale heard him mutter something under his breath but thought it best not to ask him about it. Finally, Davros raised his head and asked, “When will the ceremony be?”

Fapiath answered, “It’s traditional for the ceremony to be performed right after the funeral.”

Zale said, “Then that’s when we’ll do it. We will have a rehearsal tomorrow. Is there anything else we need to discuss regarding the passing of the crown?”

Fapiath shook her head. “You’ll go over all of that at the rehearsal.”

Zale nodded. He wondered if there was anything else he should go over with the generals. Fapiath caught his eye and he frowned at her. “What is it?” he asked.

“Maybe we should discuss… the two visitors,” she said carefully.

Zale’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t wanted to talk about them, but now that Fapiath had brought it up, he had to. Before anyone else could say something, he said, “Their names are Link… and Zelda.” He waited for their gasps to subside. “We have come to the conclusion that Link is Lila’s twin brother, and Zelda is my twin sister.” More gasps. “They have been away from Hyrule until now. Zelda makes no claims to the throne. They are here for the Master Sword.” He wondered if he should say more, but Davros spoke up.

“What makes him think he can have the Master Sword?”

“Don’t worry,” Lila said suddenly. “He’s not going to get it!”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Lady Lila,” Davros said a lot more politely than before.

Zale sighed. “As twins, Lila and Link both have the Triforce of Courage.”

A third round of gasps. Even Davros couldn’t hide his surprise.

“And… you and Zelda…?” Jovom wondered.

“Yes,” Zale answered. “We both have the Triforce of Wisdom. And before you ask, Ganondra had the Triforce of Power and we don’t know if there’s a twin.”

“So someone could be out there with the Triforce of Power and you have no idea?” Davros accused.

“That is correct,” Zale said, calmly staring into Davros’s eyes.

“If there is another threat,” said the Goron General Nodu, “then we will crush them like we crushed Ganondra!” He slammed his fists together each time he said “crush.”

Zale smiled for the first time during that meeting. “That we will, General Nodu. Everyone, keep an eye out for any activity that might indicate a new enemy.”

“Don’t forget,” Lila piped up. Zale turned to look at her. “Link and I fought some monsters at Lon Lon Ranch. I’d say that indicates a new enemy.”

Zale turned back to the generals. “Yes, that’s true,” she said contemplatively.

“We’ll report anything we see, sire,” Fapiath said.

“Good,” Zale replied. “I know I can count on all of you. You each fought well during the battle against Ganondra.”

Ready to change the subject, Zale said, “Now I pass the floor to you. Do any of you have things you would like to discuss?”

General Davros spoke first. “What are we going to do with all of those Gerudo prisoners?”

“Good point,” Zale said. “I was hoping to talk to Lila about this matter.” He turned to her again. She looked startled at being addressed. “Lila, do you know if there’s a person who would be the leader after Ganondra?”

Lila tilted her head in thought. “Probably Nabooru. I think she was the leader before Ganondra took over. She’s pretty old, but she was always by Ganondra’s side.”

Zale nodded. “Then we’ll find her and see if we can come to an agreement of some sort. I want to send the Gerudo home peacefully if at all possible.”

“But, sire,” Davros protested, “they’re ruthless heathens! What if they go back on their word? What if they want revenge for the death of their leader?”

“They’re not ‘ruthless heathens’!” Lila countered. “They’re people just like you! Seems to me that you’re the ruthless one.”

“It’s alright, Lila,” Zale said, raising a hand to calm her. To Davros, he said, “I believe the Gerudo will be reasonable. The only reason they attacked is because Ganondra lusted for more power. Now that she’s gone, the Gerudo will go back to their peaceful lives.”

“They’re not completely peaceful,” said the general of Kakariko, Eri. She was the one who lived in closest proximity to the Gerudo. “We tolerate them in our lands, but they have been known to assault men. They don’t believe in marriage, and fathers rarely get to see their daughters.”

Zale put a hand to his chin in thought. “Hm, maybe we can ask them to change their ways… but that seems unlikely. I’ll talk to Nabooru about it, but I make no promises. If they can’t be more civil toward Hylian men, then we might have to take more drastic measures.”

“Such as?” Eri asked.

“Banishment,” Zale said bluntly. “That’s the best I can think of.”

For once, Davros smiled. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Prince Zale.”

“But only if it comes to that,” Zale reiterated. “I’d rather have open peace between our two peoples.” He sighed and sat back in the throne. “I think that’s enough for today. If there’s anything else you wish to bring up, you can talk to me about it before the rehearsal tomorrow. Thank you all for returning to the castle. You will have your rooms prepared for you. Good night.”

With that, Zale stood up from the throne and motioned for Lila to follow him. Then he left the throne room. He got just outside of the room when he sighed a huge sigh and leaned his back against the wall, his face looking up at the ceiling.

“Being a king sure is hard,” he said.

Lila wrapped him in a hug, surprising him. “You did amazing,” she said quietly. Zale lowered his head and hugged her back.

“Thanks,” he breathed into her. He took in her smell and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I only helped a little,” Lila replied lightly. “You still would have done great if I wasn’t there.”

Zale nuzzled her neck and she giggled.

“That tickles!”

Salvatore chose then to clear his throat. The two broke their hug immediately.

“Will you be eating in the dining hall this evening?” he asked.

“Yes,” Zale answered, breathless. “Let’s go, Lila.”

[grillsadvisor]

Fish: The Meat (Wood Pellet Grill)

Imagine a world where the taste of fresh seafood is never lost. A utopia for those who love it, and can't get enough. I grew up in Pacific Northwest where all kinds are readily available - from salmon to oysters or halibut steaks cooked on an open flame grill at your own beachside cabin retreat. The seven seas await you with these culinary creations that will make any day better than before, and if not then we've got some more pirate-themed activities waiting.  The ocean is a great place to find seafood. With such diversity in the variety and flavor, I've been able to explore many different types from all over land or in air-conditioned environments where they're sold at local markets near me. My absolute favorites are those Cajun flavors you find along Louisiana's coastlines as well as Baja California’s south beach town Los Cabos. 

Salmon

I've been cooking salmon on a pellet grill since grade school. While other kids were learning about skateboards and keyboards, I learned about cedar planks and alder smoke. I know a lot about salmon. Wild Pacific Northwest indigenous people were crazy for it and so are we! When you smoke your favorite fish recipe on our pellet grill, make sure to throw in some wood chips from trees that have been specially selected by an expert smoker just like me who knows how important this ingredient really is when creating delicious flavors like no other. I might be going overboard here with all my expertise but let’s face facts: fresh wild-caught versus farm-raised - there isn't much difference unless they're being kept refrigerated. Tips & Techniques  The aromatic cedar plank is a great choice for smoking and barbecuing salmon. The cedar plank is so common today that you can find them at your local grocery store or even Walmart. Not only does this cooking technique allow the wood’s flavor and moisture to pass directly onto salmon, but it also helps prevent sticking. When grilling salmon, be sure to oil the grate beforehand. When you cook your fish on porcelain grates, the second time around it will stick and smell terrible. The salmon is best smoked after it has been cooked on the grill or in an oven. To get that delicious flavor, hit your fish with a flame and avoid overdoing it because this can cause flaking apart while cooking. A big spatula helps too especially when turning over pieces of meat so they don't stick together during the smoking process. Mayonnaise and Dijon mustard can help keep salmon moist. One of the most common ways to cook salmon is by applying a thin coat of mayonnaise or mustard before putting it in an oven. This will keep your dish from drying out and tasting weird.

Tuna

When I was working at the grocery store counter in college, everyone said that people only ate tuna out of a can. But one day someone came through my line with two beautiful pink steaks and they were so juicy. It turns out that all these years we've been missing out on delicious food because our minds didn't want us to spoil their image. The customer was a successful and knowledgeable man whom I respected. He explained to me how he planned on grilling his tuna steaks. That night, I bought my wife two steaks. The next morning we cooked up some delicious tuna — everything she expected and more. The next time I saw this customer, we traded stories. He told me how impressed he was by my ability to sear tuna steaks on a wood pellet smoker and actually bought the same one — from me. Tuna can be a delicious and healthy alternative to other types of seafood. However, the quality will depend on whether it's fresh or dried out - if you see any signs that your preferred brand has been frozen before being sold then avoid buying them as they won't taste nearly as good. Tips & Techniques  If you're looking to add a smokey flavor, try reverse searing your tuna. I don’t smoke my tuna steaks longer than 30 minutes to avoid the fishy flavor. Dill is the perfect complement to seafood, especially tuna. Dill weed is a fantastic spice to have on hand, but it's best when used for flavoring tuna steaks. Apply some dill seeds onto your plate before serving the dish up in order to get every last bit of flavor. It is important not to overcook the fish. Tuna steaks are always a treat, but if you’re not careful they can go from impressive to cat food really fast. They're meant for eating just as sushi-grade tuna should be - err on the side of rarer meat when preparing your dish so that each person gets their own piece with juice.

Shrimp

When I think about seafood, shrimp always comes to mind. There are so many ways you can prepare it and not be disappointed in the taste. One way that stands out for me is how easy cooking them on a pellet grill is because they take less time than other types of fish or meats which makes our experience worth every second spent with this delicious food item on hand-held cuisine perfectionists like myself want everything all at once without too much hassle but still getting Their money's worth from each ingredient used during preparation.  Whether you're a shrimp lover or not, the grill is an excellent way to cook up some of these little guys. If possible try and find fresh never frozen ones to be cooked properly with all their flavor intact instead of using small packages that may have been sitting on store shelves since before Christmas. Tips & Techniques Of all the ways to cook shrimp, I think my favorite is Cajun or Creole Louisiana-style. But there are many different types you can try out on your pellet grill. When you're a pitmaster, there are many different styles of barbecue to keep up with. You can never be bound by just one style or method though - experimentation makes us all better.  Lemon is an excellent addition to shrimp. Squeeze the lemon in your cooking or after for an extra burst of freshness.  Grill baskets are a great way to cook shrimp and other small food items. To cook your shrimp, pick one basket up and put it over a direct flame or straight on the grill.

Oysters 

Growing up in the Mid-Valley, it was always tradition to have seafood on Christmas Eve. The three different styles of oysters would be pan-fried or smoked before being eaten on their own with some hot sauce for dipping - but not too much because then you get that burning sensation all over your mouth. I prefer cooking these little guys medium size; they're easy enough so as long as I don't overcook them, which happens easily, everything should come out just right regardless of what kind/size grill/smoker you use. Tips & Techniques  I'll keep saying it until you listen, but the truth is a good pair of gloves will make your job so much easier. handling oysters on your grill can be tricky. You don't want to end up burning yourself or scalding yourself with hot shells, so use gloves.  Peek at your oysters often, but quickly. If you want to avoid drying out the oysters, then keep an eye on them and make sure that they are closed tightly. You also need a lid for when it's time to cook up your meal.  Speaking of needing your lid to be closed to cook, this may be the job for a smoker. The vertical pellet smoker is a great choice for people who want an easy and fast job. The window makes it much easier than other types of smokers, making this type ideal when you're in hurry or just have some time on your hands.

Editor’s Choice: Top-list grills

- The best pellet grill for the money - The best pellet grill & smoker combo - Best quality pellet grills with Wi-Fi - Best small pellet grills on 2022 Read the full article

[beanlot]

MISTRESS

sevika x maid!reader

at first, you were her maid. but master liked you just enough to make you her mistress.

wc: 3.6k (smut)

amab!sevika, age gap, infidelity, slight spanking, spit, vibrator use, master/servant relationship, breeding kink

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“what a gorgeous colour.” her fingers ironing the corners of her lips, mahogany lipstick cleansing from the cedar skin in superlative fashion. she was a classy woman surrounded by old money and platinum basin sinks; an easy life enough that she didn’t even have to raise a finger to apply honeydew exfoliation masks to her glistening skin. “don’t you think?” she stares at you through the mirror, umber eyes fanned by silky lashes - lids glossed with golden eyeshadow, tempted to believe you could see your reflection if stood close enough.

“yes, madam.” you nod, fingers clasped onto a hanger, vintage dress glittered with merlot gemstones against the sapphire tiles of the floor. you weren’t lying, it was a gorgeous colour. and madam wasn’t particularly sinister against you, or even sinister at all..

“you filthy pig.”

“don’t you dare get your dirty hands over my antiques.”

“look at you, fix this messy hair. i will not have guests over whilst you look like a disgusting hooker.”

mostly.

“vika loves this colour.” she sighs, french-tipped nails tapping against the jewellery around her neck, taking the hanger from your grip; you’ll watch as she lays the dress against her body, feminine curves of her hips accentuated through the jewels as she subtly twirls around. she hum, before she shoves the hanger into your chest hurriedly. “be a dear for me and tighten the waist.”

and sure, you don’t expect the best of treatment. you were on the back burner, disposable in every aspect with your dull shirt collar; skirt tucking in your buttons and the driest of hands from the constant polishing. “yes ma-“ a shrill bark interrupts you, and it’s when you turn around that you see a woolly poodle, pastel frilly dress, wiggling through the door.

“ugh, pinkie! what are you doing?” and just like that, as madam scoops the pup into her arms, you’re left alone in the bathroom. moroccan rose handwash beside her gold-plaited cosmetics, face serums and emerald earrings; you’d wondered what the oils would feel like on your fingertips, the creaminess against your skin. it feels like bait when you see that one tub is already open, the serum calling your name - she won’t notice, there’s no way.

so you tenderly swab at the surface, the velvety touch on your skin.. it already makes you feel pretty, glammed up, like her. and the dysphoria only amplifies when you massage the pearly ointment into your cheek, the winsome highlight when you turn your head not going unnoticed.

wine glass and plate in hand as you approach sevika’s master’s study, nudging the door with your shoulder. it was smoked salmon and caviar, and if you weren’t so fond of her, it would be rational to believe she was intentionally inflicting the purgatory of starvation onto you. but she was not resentful, her muffled tone of come in prompting you to amble inside; the air murky from her cigar smoke, illuminated dimly from the scattered lamps. and she’s there, with every inhale, you can decipher the ocherous flame between her lips - her fingers clearing her desk when she sees the wine bottle tucked under your arm.

“thank you, darling.” she murmurs, fumes seeping through her lips to which she fans out when you’re beside her desk. although it’s toxic on your tongue, it’s nice to taste - you settle her plate down, pouring the currant into her glass. she examines this, raising an eyebrow before tapping the tobacco against an ashtray. “are you hungry?”

fuck, you have no idea.

“no, master.” you shake your head, because even though you could feel your organs internally booing inside from the withering, you were under the obligation of being polite. and hell, it was reasonable for her to concern herself with your wellbeing per se: she was older, much older. so when you finish pouring and head for the door, it’s paralysis when her coercive words refrain you from leaving the room. “come here.” she instructs, virescent globes maintaining eye contact across the room. she’s manspreading, white button-up loose against her chest, and the uncertainty only amplifies when master’s tone becomes demanding. “come.. here.”

so you shuffle towards her, and you’re not sure if it’s the nicotine or the brunt of her stare, but your blood pressure raises when you stop - that maybe you’d said something wrong, gotten a wine she didn’t like. but the neurotic thoughts plummet when you see her slice an intricate cube of the salmon, fork held out to you with sincerity.

“try it, it’s good for you.” she advises, and you obey - her fingers scraping against yours when you take the fork, examining the glassy block. you’re not sure what it’s seasoned with, only able to distinguish the honey glaze and sprinkle of pepper; you couldn’t even fucking describe what salmon tasted like, a luxury that your flimsy uniform never got to see up close. and you feel emotional when it finds itself between your teeth, erupting with foreign rich oils and glacé syrup.

you want to appreciate it, had you not interpreted the investigative glances she’s giving you. she searches your face, because there’s something about you that master just can’t pinpoint. “you’re glowing.” she mumbles, fingers branching out toward you and framing your jaw ever so tenderly; thumb stroking along the curves of your cheekbone, the familiar and velvety texture of your skin no stranger to master. “you’ve been using my wife’s stuff, haven’t you?”

great.

of course, how could you have been so recklessly fucking dense? you’d just swabbed a few thousands onto your face and expected that nobody would’ve been able to put two and two together, and now you’re stood here like a fucking embarrassment whilst her conquering globes assess you. master was going to obliterate you for even contemplating putting your filthy wilted fingers on her wife’s belongings, and you’re just waiting for her to call the chef over to slice you into little pepperonis and use your torso as a fucking piñata for her fancydancy din-

“looks good on you.” she mumbles, and the harmonising words nosedive into your stomach with more adamantine force than waiting for her to beat you to a pulp. her fingers streamlining down your jaw before she picks up her plate, ludic smirk concealing the mulberry on her lips as she offers her plate towards you. “don’t tell.”

you look back and forth, and it’s only when she nudges the porcelain into your stomach that you realise what she meant. she was only really interested in the wine, and within her hospitality, gave you something to eat for the night.

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“your muscles are all contracting, just relax.”

“i’m trying..”

“you should really look into tai-chi, saves me hours of making these for you.

i’ll be back tomorrow,

ice or magnesium for any muscle pain,

is that a chip in the wall?

anyway, i’ll see you tomorrow, dear~.”

you’d been waiting outside her room for about forty minutes, folded blouse and dress shirts in hand; although you liked to consider yourself respectful of master’s private conversations, not even the bricky walls and thick interior of the hallways could muffle the massage therapist’s jarringly piercing voice - one that only amplifies when master’s door opens, a tiny woman pootling herself down the hall with a bowl of water, peppermint leaves floating within the misty pool.

you’re prudent, you’re conditioned to be, waiting outside her door for her to have her few minutes of privacy - but she calls you in when she sees your shadow against her marble tiles, eyes absentmindedly tracing the silhouette of your hips.

and when you walk in, nudging the door ever so slightly, she’s face-down on the master bed; surrounded by silk pillows and candles, her wine cellar visible from where you stand. you approach the drawers, and whilst your job was plainsailing, the difficulty of having to avert your eyes from her bare back made it just a little harder for you.

“you have pain, master?” you mumble, clearing your throat when it starts to disintegrate at the mercy of her tensing shoulders, glorious muscle twitching. “my shoulders, darling. it’s not so bad.” she doesn’t move, and although you seem satisfied with the composed silence, the thought of leaving in it made your stomach sour.

“is there anything i can do?” you offer, graphite eyes piercing into your body when she turns her head against the pillow - you can tell she’s in thought by the way she’s zoning out, clouding globes that flutter over you before she pats the mattress.

“lay with me..” she mutters, leaving you a temptingly delectable space beside her. it feels wrong, and your ears can already feel the wrath of madam’s scream when she finds out you dared even the slightest courage to lay in her bed, beside her wife.

but master was at the top of the food chain.

so you reluctantly obey - she’s toned, noir curves that only excite the vim when you’re slithering into the space she’d left you. your body rigid when her fingers flutter against your waist; she notices this, intoxication when her whisper caresses against your ear. “relax, relax.” she whispers, the suggestive timbre diminishing you - she waits until you slump into the satin, before her arm cases over your waist and inches you against her bare chest. it’s morally profane, warmth from her breasts on your spine, skin sweltering - kittenish and lewd and wow you’re getting horny.

it’s silent for a few minutes. but you feel dirty, her vanilla comfort something you ruined.

“you remind me of my wife when we first met.” the wisps against your jaw curdling into vulgarity when her fingers tenderly clutch at the hem of your skirt, and although one part of you feels like nothing more than a doll for her to use the one night her wife is out attending a dinner, another is relieved when the wintry air strikes your thighs.

“young,” her fingers lifting the skirt enough that her perverted eyes can search your hips, the way they embrace the black straps of your underwear.

“pretty,” her nails glissading against your inner thighs, encouraging enough that you separate them. you try to convince yourself that it’s because you don’t want to get into trouble, disappoint that streak of high expectations you managed to leap over the past few weeks - but by the vim in your clit, it was disgustingly undeniable it was because fantasy was becoming reality.

“fertile.” she delicately taps your clothed clit, subtle sensitivity that already gets your hips rolling into her crude touch. her engagement ring flaring in your peripheral when her left hand slinks around your body, palm resting against your breasts.

“look at me.” her lips tickling against your cheek as you turn to her. she likes that she owns you, conditioned you to be her little pet, dominated your identity to nothing more than her servant.

so the overly obscene taste on her lips when she’d pressed her forehead against yours, skin searing with wealthy indecency was no shock. she was impulsive, lips against yours, unseemly sounds of anticipated smooches as you drink up the taste of peppermint. she wants to be delicate for you, but the instinct outlasting the grace when she hears you hum. you’re heedless of your sloppy grinding, shaky exhales which only worsen when she pulls away; her thumb draping your bottom lip down only slightly. jewels of her spit streamlining into your mouth, your tongue absorbing the droplets filthily. “pretty girl.” she swallows, eyes darting along your jaw, her spit slowly drizzling down your neck.

you want to tell her that this is wrong, that she’s a married woman, but the night already feels drilled into stone when her fingers manipulate the buttons on your chest, cleavage satisfying her sadistic eyes with every one coming undone. your shirt loosens, sinking down your back.

her fingers revel in the linen cotton of your bra, the straps cunningly draping off your shoulders. “aren’t you gorgeous, look at you.” she whispers, your breasts tingling when there’s nothing there to cover them anymore, her fingers folding your bra down to your stomach.

admiring the way your nipples harden under her fingertips, delicately pinching the responsive buds. you nod, because you expect her to want you to, flinching when you roll your hips against her sturdy thigh; thick imprint of her veiny cock paralysing you momentarily.

“lean over in that drawer.” she gestures to the bedside cabinet, and you’re sceptical when you lean over, your skirt hitching up ever so slightly. and if the humiliation of having your ass presented to her like a fucking showpiece wasn’t degrading enough, the barbaric strike of her palm against it was. you squeak, flinching, her palm easing the inflamed area intricately, before walloping back down onto your skin. you want to fucking weep, blinking through the blur of your tormented tears, opening the drawer to which a vibrator lays.

“that’s the one.” she confirms, taking it from your fingers as you lay back into the mattress, ass ignited with scorching goosebumps from the brutish force behind her arms. you go to defend yourself, because honestly, you feel lower than the bottom of the food chain - you were no blossoming mighty oak, but rather a withering sunflower under her assertion.. but she knows what you’re about to say. “master, i haven’t do-“

“you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. i’ll make you feel good.” she sits up, and although she intends to comfort you, it only intimidates you further when her tongue wets her lips; fingers slewing the fabric of your underwear to the side and leaving your slit prey to her predacious stare, only amplifying when she unveils how truly drenched your folds are. but she doesn’t say anything, only leaning over whilst a bullet of her spit seeps between her lips and missiles itself against your clit.

you already feel numb, heavenly pressure when you hear the whirring of her vibrator, your thighs quivering when the tip purrs against your clitoral hood. “that’s it, ‘atta girl.” she praises, her breasts pressing themselves against your bare spine when she situated herself beside you again. it’s nirvana, humping against the vibrator so primitively, erogenous to hear your incessant whimpers echo throughout the room. you’re sweating by now, at peace with the heat breeding on your skin - but you want more, your fingers grazing over the stiff imprint of her desperate cock.

her breath is jagged, submerging the vibrator harder onto your clit, your ankles starting to twitch at the susceptibility. you’re not sure if it’s enough to make you come just yet, but that thought deteriorates when her finger glissades down your slit and streams itself inside of your hole. “fuck.. you’ve made my cock all hard.” she sighs against your cheek, your walls greeting her indiscriminately; spasming with every hum against your clit.

she’s testing the waters, fingertips taking a liking to the spongy textures when she tenderly twines it upwards, the pornographic desire in your clit to orgasm more reckless than ever. but you’re not the only one suffering, because sevika is finding that her cock is actually starting to fucking hurt from the distress of not being able to just have her way with you again and again and again.

but she’s patient, finger gliding itself in and out of you; assaulting that carnal pit in your walls as your thighs tremble. she fucks you with them, instinctive sobs leaving your throat unmonitored - sneezelike corkscrew inside your hips when she hooks another finger inside, arousing squelching with every hammer against your folds. “please..” you whisper, unbeknownst to the soreness in your fingers as they lock, clenching tightly on her belt.

and when she’s satisfied with how vulnerable you are under her, the sensitivity just right, she’ll admire the quivering of your hips and the tightening of your thighs before dragging the vibrator away from your clit. “huh?” you squeak, cunt clenching around her fingers at the sudden loss of her manipulation.

you’re about to complain, wail about how much of a fucking tease she is, but she relieves the anguish by leaning over your thighs; her tongue replacing the device and doing its dirty work when it swipes over your hood, delving between your folds and schemingly flicking over your erect bud.

just like that, you’re shaking again, thigh hoisting itself up and planting itself on her bare, burly shoulder. your mewls of master twirling repeatedly in a rabbit hole of ecstasy when her damp lips envelop your clit and suck with cruelty, fingers maintaining their agonising operation; battering into you with precision and artsy discipline, like she’s done this too many times before.

but it’s dispiriting for her, because she wants to be a lovemaker for you, wants to appreciate you for the fine young woman you are - yet the throbbing in her cock conquers that yearning. “are you gonna let me put my cock inside this pretty pussy, darling?” she exhales, fingers slewing out of your brimming hole, selfishly drizzling your discharge over the mattress and coating over the leather of her belt when she goes to unbuckle it.

“yes. yes, master.” you comply, its hazy when you blink; pixels in your vision when you even did as much as look down to her belt. fingers tackling the every latch, submerging as they frame her veiny shaft - cock springing out and admittedly, inciting nothing more than disruptive thoughts of am i going to fucking live to see tomorrow after this.

she’s thick, and monumental.. fucking handcrafted by gods with such clarity. enough that all of that internal envy becomes more.. not envy, because you know this might actually hurt despite how loose and ready you are. you’re not liking how much she exceeds your expectations at the expense of what’s gonna happen to your poor fucking vagina.

“do you still want this?” she murmurs when she notices the hues of uncertainty in your eyes - it’s an ego boost, artificial concern to conceal her everlasting inclination to ruin you. but you blink at her, flickering between her eyes and the slightly palatable mulberry tip of her cock, before you nod.

it would be cruel for her to nosedive straight into you, and even she knows this, her tip glissading through your folds and lubricated with your slick. she’s slightly sensitive, the warmth of your cunt only amplifying the immense throbbing, but she’s consistent this time - your clit rubbing against her head as she accustoms herself with your textures.

“this might hurt, my love, just a little. we’ll see..” she whispers against your jaw, fingers grappling at your hips as her own angles forward, tip insidious as it skims into your walls; your body merely a betrayal of your conscience when your walls welcome her. but it’s smooth, as she pushes herself in with such fucking entitlement, your insipid moisture coating her cock.

because she owned you, every little fragment.

her mindless breaths against your bare shoulder, the subtle rocks in her hips purely intuition. she hasn’t felt this in years, her girth wrapped around such a fine woman, and it motivates the urge for her to start thrusting your hips back into her. your whimpering sobs with every cudgel of her skin against yours, the indignity of her abdomen pounding against your spine and the raunchy heat of her cock assaulting your cunt.

you take her, so easily.

it’s adrenaline when she hears you mewl, her sloppy kisses on your nape sultry and blistering. “i know, i know it feels good..” she sighs, both hands clenching at your thighs, your hips, your waist- anything to feel herself become adaptable inside of you.

“pretty.. pretty girl..” her muffled groan echoing in your ears as she gets herself off into you. she was dictating your self-worth, dictating your fucking life.. and although some of it felt as if it was just pulling the pieces together, another felt it all shatter into irreversible ruins as her left hand compressed itself onto your clit; engagement ring ever so slightly abrading itself against your wet folds.

and that’s when you feel it.

the pinnacles of pleasure so distinct as her fingers roll your clit in circular motions superlatively, cock swollen and erect. “please.. please..” you sigh, the jagged timbre exposing how receptive your bundles of nerves were; fingertips touching the very eminent icicles of orgasm when she speaks her foul language in your ears.

“i’m gonna come inside you, do you want that?”

“uh huh.”

“gonna make you the mother of my kids..”

“mhm-hm, master please..”

and then it erupts inside, whirlwind of frenzy that you could only compare to what felt like being edged for hours. your clit numb and jaded, the overstimulation aggravating as your walls pulse around her cock so tightly that she doesn’t even need to continue pummelling into you. conclusively, you were a mess - her palm sealing itself over your lips to repress the uncontrollable cry, tone it down ever so slightly, arms that confine your body as you tremble and do your upmost fucking best to recover.

and after a few minutes of her rocking a few inches back and forth into you, the dishevelled grunt and adhesion of her hair against your cheek, quivering fingers against your lips and hips that are tense let you know that she’s just came.

and something feels off, seriously off. so full and saturated, and it’s when her cock slews itself out of you that you know there’s no way you’re the only one behind all the mess; looking between your legs and flinching at the pearly cream drizzling out of your hole, thick and balmy. your juices meshing together in such harmony that you feel disgust, and yet hypnosis. because she never wanted a maid,

she wanted a mistress.