#And I was afraid they’d butcher him

[shima-draws]

Violet players took a W on this one 😤

[yandere-daydreams]

file #5: the lactation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!sukuna x reader (jjk).

length: 1.8k.

warnings: afab!reader, heian era sukuna, vaguely dubious consent, lactation (not the way you’d expect though), fem!dom, verbal degradation (m. receiving), breast milk, and mentions of death/cannibalism.

If you could say you’d learned anything about Sukuna, it would have to be that he was not the kind of man you could expect predictability from.

That was, if you could even call him a man at all. It would be more accurate to say that he was not the kind of monster you could expect predictability from, which made sense – monsters were rarely known for having a rational motivation for their senselessness. With Sukuna, though, it was less that you were forced to guess how violent he’d be and more whether he’d be violent with you at all. It was as common for him to demand that you spend the afternoon laying on a shady riverbank, feeding him honey and grapes, as it was for him to threaten to gut you like cattle should you make one more snide comment about the bloodstains his constantly wandering hands tend to leave on your clothes. His other servant, the inexpressive butcher who spoke to you rarely and reeked constantly of blood, claimed to be able to find a pattern to the chaos, but whatever knowledge they might’ve gleaned over their time with him, they’d never seen fit to share with you. You found your own ways of coping, though.

Like right now, for instance – as you hung limply over Sukuna’s shoulder, kept in place only by the hand pressing into the small of your back. Despite the way his arm bit into your stomach, a slight scowl that’d been playing on his lips when he snatched you away from what you’d been doing, you did your best to keep your mind empty, your thoughts limited to a blank ambiance. If there was as good of a chance that he was going to kill you and feast on your decaying flesh as there was that he simply needed someone to fix yet another tear in his favored yukata, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself by panicking prematurely.

Still, you were vaguely aware of the passing scenery as he hauled you through grand, vacant halls and into the master’s chambers. Sukuna would find a place to dwell wherever he roamed, whether that meant sleeping in a damp cave or on a bed of woven cloud and quail feathers, but a part of you was undeniably (and guiltily) glad that he had a clear preference for the latter. Currently, you were biding your time until Sukuna’s next feeding spree in a palace that used to belong to a wealthy merchant; a merchant whose organs were, if memory served, currently being divided into portions and dried on a rack of—

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Sukuna dropped you onto a bed of down-stuffed pillows and silk sheets. Wordlessly, he fell beside you and, using his lower set of arms, hauled you onto his chest, forcing you to straddle his abdomen. With only a slight huff, a roll of your eyes, you settled into place – bracing your hands on his midriff. “My lord, I have other obligations to—”

“I am the only obligation you should be paying any mind to.” His tone was clipped, his voice gruff. Clearly, he was in one of his poorer moods, today. “Get on with it” he barked, making with a vague gesture to his upper chest. “I don’t have all day, brat.”

You spared a half-second to scan over him. He treated you like a tailor, among other things, but at the moment, his chest was bare, and this wasn’t exactly comparable to the countless times he’d dropped the tattered shreds of a kimono or yukata into your lap and told you to make something more or less wearable. “I… I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and you bit back the urge to return his irritation. “Y’know, just…” Another gesture to his chest, this one shortly followed by a disappointed, breathy noise. “Empty them out. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, again.”

Empty them…?

Again, you glanced down, your attention landing on the swell of his chest. He was always sickeningly bulky, prone to wearing his strength on the layers of muscle blanketing his biceps and thighs, but his chest did seem more swollen that it normally was, now that you thought to look, the usually hardened flesh visibly more plush, more tender. You shifted your weight, your fingertips digging into the swell of his right pec, and you felt something warm and wet trickle over the back of your hand and onto the velveteen cushions below you.

Sukuna let out an airy groan, and your mind went entirely blank.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away, but Sukuna had always been faster than you. His hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could so much as break contact, keeping your palm pressed into his pec (breast?). “Don’t act like such a baby. It’s a task even an idiot could manage.” With his hand draped over your own, he ground the heel of your palm into the plush of his pec, and this time, you weren’t lucky enough to look away in time – your eyes falling to his chest as a thin stream of a surprisingly white, surprisingly thick fluid dribbled out of his nipple in short, stilted bursts. Milk, your mind filled in, against your will. Except, it couldn’t be. Sukuna wasn’t human. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

More out of curiosity than anything, you pressed your palm down again with just a little more force, a little less trepidation. The jet was stronger, this time, and Sukuna’s eyes closed, his lips soon drawn into a thin line only occasionally parting to let out a deep breath or raspy groan. His hand dropped away entirely as you fell into a steady kneading pattern – both of his upper arms soon crossed above his head, as he often did when he was lounging in a particularly entrancing patch of sunlight, while their lower counterparts remained on your waist. “Use both hands,” he grunted, and not bothering to suppress your scowl, you did. Soon enough, milk (because, as unsettling as it was, you just didn’t know what else to call it) frothed steadily, painting both sides of his chest with unorganized streaks of splotchy white – delicate ribbons spread over a canvas of ink and scars.

Despite yourself, you found yourself focusing on that. The word, almost jarringly quaint, repeated in the back of your mind; milk, milk, milk. Almost in a trance, you found yourself bowing your head, lowering yourself until your chest was slotted against his. After making sure his eyes were still closed, his attention still on the steady movement of your hands, you ran the flat of your tongue over his left nipple and—

Oh.

It was sweet.

His hand was on the back of your head in an instant, but you were already latched on – your lips sealed around his nipple, sucking harshly. There wasn’t a point trying to be gentle with Sukuna, not when you’d seen him take spears to heart without so much as a wayward flinch, but any passing temptation to veer towards delicacy was quickly forgotten as thick fingers knotted themselves in your hair, a reverberating moan tearing past his lips as you lapped and suckled, letting whatever you couldn’t swallow down flood out of the corner of your mouth. He could’ve pried you away, if he’d wanted to, could’ve torn off your head with little more than a flick of his wrist, but all he offered was a weak – pathetic – tug, a few garbled curses spat under his breath. “Brat,” he hissed, as you drank greedily. “Just— Just do your damn job and—”

“You’re so fucking loud,” you muttered, pulling back just far enough to be audible. “For once in your life, would it kill you to be quiet?”

You couldn’t see him, but you’d seen him baring his teeth often enough to recognize his tone. “Know your place, huma—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Before you could think better of it, you braced yourself and bit down, burying your teeth into the tender meat of his chest. You tasted blood, heard Sukuna moan, and felt his body jolt underneath you, hips jutting against yours as something long and thick twitched against your ass. You pulled away as quickly as you could, already grinning. “Are you…?

“Be quiet.”

He was. You could feel his cock against your ass - already hard, already pulsing. Or, his cocks, rather, both standing stiff against his lower stomach despite the loose fabric of his robes. Carefully, you shifted back, straddling his thighs, as you slowly removed the thin sash sitting low on his waist, as you dragged the silken fabric aside in favor of wrapping your fist around the thicker of his paired cocks; your fingers barely grazing each other where they were supposed to overlap. “No wonder you’re always so temperamental,” you went on, speaking slowly, giving him every chance to cut you off, to throw you to the side, to tear you limb from limp. He only scowled, though, only pouted, clenching his eyes shut as thick beads of arousal blotted and dripped over the back of your hand. “To think the King of Curses would get this hard from some powerless human sucking on his leaking tits… You must be so pent up, you just don’t care who touches you, huh?”

His hold on your hips tightened, threatening to bruise. You barely noticed, already distracted by the slight tremble in his bottom lip, the pitchy whine that escaped his grit teeth as you shifted your weight onto your knees and aligned the blunt, flushed tip of his cock with your entrance. You took measured seconds to lower yourself onto him, ignoring the burning stretch in favor of focusing on the heat of it, the immediate and overwhelming fullness. You’d barely gotten the head of his cock inside of you when you stopped, going completely still. A second passed before Sukuna seemed to notice, another before one of his many eyes flickered open – immediately landing on you.

It was barely a whisper, a breath. He was mumbling, as much as you knew Sukuna would loathe you for accusing him of something so meek aloud. “Do your—” A bubbling groan, a hitched gasp as your pussy clenched around him. “Do your damn job, brat.”

Your attempts to bite back your wide, beaming smile were only half-successful. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You rolled your hips as you lowered yourself back to his height, trapping his unsheathed cock between your body and his as your mouth found its way back to his nipple. It was barely another minute before he was swearing, groaning, bucking into you from below in short, stilted thrusts – like he was afraid of so much as coming close to slipping out. It was all you could do to stay concentrated on the task at-hand, to stop your mind from wandering from the taste on him on your tongue, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside your pussy. Still, you found the time to allow yourself a single, self-indulgent thought – one so ridiculous and so simpering that you couldn’t help but laugh against his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there were sides of Sukuna that weren’t so difficult to predict, after all.  

[qwimblenorrisstan]

To Be Known | Azriel x Reader

Summary: You’ve always been afraid to confess to Azriel about your feelings for him, but after a hookup gone wrong, everything begins falling apart, and he’s there to pick up the pieces.

Word Count: ~ 2.4k

Warnings: Drunk ppl, drunk fem reader, allusions to smut, std mentions, bloodwork (doctors), guy being an ahole + taking advantage of drunk reader, scars, angst to comfort

A/N: this request was so good (ty to anon!!), I feel like az always pairs really good with angst to comfort, anyways hope you enjoy<3 (also sorry for lack of posts recently I just had a math+science test back to back and have spent the past few days studying😭)

Requests are open!

Unlike the rest of your friend group, you weren’t special.

You weren’t a High Lord, Spymaster, General, High Lady, Seer, or any special title. You weren’t funny like Mor, witty like Amren, or even talented in much like all of your friends were.

But then again, like your mother had said, opposites always attract.

Maybe that was why had always had a small crush on the Spymaster who was withdrawn and secretive, the opposite of your friendly personality. You could befriend just about anyone, knowing their name, age, and at least a few background details on them in a few minutes, while Azriel was the exact opposite, getting his information on people through other ways.

With his job and his centuries of experience for two different High Lords, it was a wonder he didn’t already know about your crush on him. Maybe it was because, like everyone else, he was focused on the central characters in your friend group.

The three sisters and brothers. It was hard to overlook them, with all their achievements and accomplishments, not to mention the things they’d overcome and their pasts.

Tonight you were all out at Rita’s, Cassian telling awful jokes to Nesta as she rolled her eyes, playfully swatting him on the shoulder, Rhys and Feyre having a drinking competition, Azriel brooding somewhere in the corner, alone because of Elain visiting Autumn Court with Mor for “political purposes” even though everyone knew she wanted to see Lucien.

You were taking a sip of your drink, idly standing at the bar, elbows propped on the table as your eyes raked through the crowd, searching for someone who could offer a decent hookup. Drunk Fae stumbled about, laughing loudly with genuine joy that made your lips twitch up a bit, the music playing in the background also helping your mood as a cool breeze blew through the open area.

“Looking for someone?”

You choked on your drink, alcohol coming back up to sting your throat a second time before you swallowed it all backdown, one hand over your heart as you sighed in relief, looking at Azriel who’d somehow approached without you knowing.

“Mother above, Az, you scared the shit outta me.”

You replied, taking a few more breaths to calm down, turning to face him, back now against the bar table as the shadowsinger looked down at you, hair falling into his eyes in a boyish way that made you giggle as you tried to brush some behind his hair.

“Someone needs a haircut,”

You teased, and a hint of a smile graced his lips.

“I’ll make sure not to go to Mor this time.”

He said, grimacing for a moment at the memory of the awful haircut Mor had given him, insisting he needed it, only to butcher his beautiful dark locks. You could still remember how distraught he’d been after, looking like a puppy that had just been kicked.

“I could do it, my mom used to cut hair, taught me a thing or two,”

You offered with a little shrug, taking another sip of your drink, one you’d already refilled by now. Maybe twice. You couldn’t remember, all you knew was that the hangover in the morning would be brutal.

A chuckle from Azriel made you rub your thighs together as he shook his head in fond exasperation. He swallowed, almost nervously, odd for him, before speaking.

“Maybe next time, though I wouldn’t object if you-“

He was cut short by another male strolling up to you a tad bit too confidently, one arm going to the right of you on the bar table as his eyes met yours.

An old partner. Particularly a fuck-buddy.

The best solution for tonight, really, since Cauldron knows you weren’t bold enough to push anything with Azriel. He was a friend, nothing more, or at least you tried to convince yourself. He still hadn’t gotten over Elain, or you thought he hadn’t yet, and you didn’t want to risk ruining your friendship or making things awkward between the two of you because of your desires the the crush you’d kept secret for years.

Your fuck-buddy’s eyes met yours, and you swallowed, glancing at Azriel as he watched the silent interaction the two of you had before giving a terse nod and walking away. You would’ve noticed how his eyes narrowed, or how he looked stiff if you hadn’t taken a few too many sips between talking with those at Rita’s tonight.

“Want to take this back to my place?”

The male drawled, arm sliding around your waist as he began guiding you to the exit around the side, where people could discreetly leave. Neither of you was beating around the bush, and you rarely did anyway. You both just needed a release, or at least you did.

“Mm..sure.”

You murmured, body hot now, thinking about Azriel instead of the male leading you to his old home, wishing it was Azriel’s hands on you, wishing you knew what it felt like to know him more, deeper than just the tip of the iceberg you’d touched.

~

Weeks had passed since that night, you’d woken up cold and alone in the male’s bed, gotten up, and collected your clothes before walking your ass back to the townhouse while your head had felt like someone split it open.

You had vowed not to go drinking for a while now.

And things had gotten weird between you and Azriel Joe, too. He was avoiding you, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, you could tell.

When he heard your footsteps, he left the room almost immediately, hell, even his shadows were avoiding you, not following you like loyal dogs per usual, just one or two to make sure you were safe at all times like he did for every member of the Inner Circle. His jaw was clenched every time he was in a room with you, and he wouldn’t look you in the eye, maybe couldn’t.

You barely remembered what had happened that night other than a few blurry memories of conversations and whatnot; so you didn’t know if you’d said something stupid and messed it up, or he thought you were a whore for going out with that other male and leaving him all alone.

The more you thought about it, the more you thought the latter was more likely.

It didn’t help that just a few days later, amidst all your worries, you’d decided to take a little walk through Velaris to get some outside time and a serotonin boost, only for the exact opposite to happen when you were met with your previous fuck-buddy from that night weeks ago screaming in your face, yanking you down a small alleyway to properly yell at you.

“Nasty bitch, gave me a disease! If you’re going to be a whore, at least keep your fucking viruses to yourself-!”

Horror shot through you at his words. You didn’t have any sort of STD, not that you knew of at least, and if you’d spread the theoretical disease to him…He might be an asshole, but no one deserves that.

Unsure what to do as tears welled in your eyes and fell, you began trying to ignore him as you turned and dashed out of the alleyway, the loose clothing you were wearing helping you to slightly outpace him through the streets, avoiding the children and Fae on them, not to mention the vendors and toys strewn about.

He pursued you, screaming still, and hot tears of embarrassment pouring down your cheeks as you began to sob, you didn’t even realize you’d outrun him until you were already at the steps to the House of Wind, ascending them, not even bothering to count out the 10,000 steps in your head.

Somehow, through either pure anger or sadness, you reached the top right when your knees gave out, only for Nesta to catch you right before you fell, dressed in her training leathers, weapons strapped to her. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion and already-building anger as she saw you crying your eyes out.

“What’s wrong?”

She demanded, shifting to hold you up fully, carrying you bridal style as she started walking into the House, snapping her fingers once she got inside, and the House listened to her as always, making a warm cup of tea in your favorite flavor, and a comfort meal she knew you loved as she slowly sat you down at the table. The House must’ve deemed it necessary when it added a cushion beneath your butt on the chair, considering your aching legs.

You tried to blubber out an answer amidst the tears, but couldn’t manage to, and her eyes softened as she sighed, sitting down next to you on your right, before seeing that she wasn’t making much progress, and getting back up.

“Eat, we can talk about this later, I’ll go get him.”

You were about to ask who she was going to get, even though a part of you already knew as you saw her walking off in the direction of his room. You began slowly digging into the food, finding yourself to be much hungrier than earlier anticipated. Then again, you’d skipped out on breakfast, expecting to get a big lunch while out and about in Velaris.

Azriel arrived only a moment later, shadows swirling, concern evident on his face as Nesta gave him a stern look and pointed to you before she mouthed “You’re welcome.” to you, and strolled out of the door.

“What happened?”

He asked, smooth voice soaked in worry as he quickly pulled out the same chair Nesta had just been sitting in, sitting in it as it groaned under his weight. One of his wings stretched out in your direction, just barely curling around you.

You swallowed a bite of your food, tears coming back up.

“It’s embarrassing.”

You managed to croak out, and he shook his head.

“I won’t make fun of you, I promise.”

He pledged, and you trusted that promise as you sniffled again, wiping the wetness from your eyes with one hand.

“Me and that male from Rita’s, we slept together, and he just accused me of…of giving him an STD.”

You said, before breaking into sobs again, hands going to cover your face despite the warmth that burned in your cheeks from the shame of being in this situation. His large palm gently brushed over your back as he scooted closer, raising an eyebrow at the cushion in your seat for half a second before his wing curled fully around you; and he pulled you into a surprisingly warm hug.

“I’m sorry.”

He murmured, and your sobs slowly subsided until you had no tears left to cry, but you still held onto him in the hug, hands fisting the back of his shirt, the cloth bunching up beneath your fingers.

“What if I do, though? Have a..virus?”

He gave a little hum of thought.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, do you want to go get tested?”

You gave a sad little nod, a small pout on your lips that made him want to rip apart the male that made you feel this way. He gently picked you up, careful with your sore legs, figuring out what had happened rather quickly after some of his shadows informed him what they’d seen. They also quickly informed him on the full story, and what that male had done. Another job for another day, but he would make sure he paid for it.

Nearly two hours later, you’d had to pee in a cup for Madja to check, and now were getting blood taken to get that tested as well, as well as any other necessary bodily fluids. Symptoms were noted if there were any. It was uncomfortable at best, but Azriel held your hand the entire time, not even wincing when you squeezed his hand a bit too hard for all the scars covering it.

He quickly winnowed the both of you to the House of Wind afterward, having been told the results would take at least a day to get back. He winnowed the both of you straight into his room.

It was dark, curtains drawn and everything, with the barest essentials in it as well as a desk for work, a few maps hanging from the walls, and assortments of fancy knives you knew he must’ve collected over the centuries.

You turned to leave, but his hand grasping your wrist quickly made you turn, tilting your head sideways in mild confusion.

“Stay.”

He begged, looking terrified of what you might say, but also hopeful. You sniffled again, nodding and tentatively following him as he gently led you over to the bed, each move like a new dance, one that neither of you had practiced before, but were willing to try.

He slowly stripped his leathers off, letting you see his scarred body and wings for what it truly was. And for once, the sight of his bare body, while very attractive, didn’t just make you horny or craving him. It made you appreciate him, who he was at his core. The years he’d spent training and honing his body to protect his Court, the scars he’d suffered protecting his loved ones and serving them; even willing to take it to the end.

You appreciated him. Even in the bad lighting of the room, or the thick shadows swirling everywhere, you appreciated Azriel.

And so, in turn, you began slowly tugging your clothes off, leaving only your undergarments on. His eyes ran over you, respectfully as always, but taking in your vulnerability; who you were beneath the covers, before he gave a small nod.

He walked over to his dresser, pulled out one of his more casual shirts; one that was clean that he hadn’t worn in a good while, and walked over to you, standing in front of you as he helped gently tug the opening over your head, guiding your hands to the arm holes, adjusting it for you.

No words were exchanged, and none needed to be, not ad you both crawled into his bed under the blankets, and he enveloped you in an embrace; wings and arms wrapped around you with his head tucked into your neck.

And tonight, you knew for sure that you wouldn’t wake up cold and alone like that night so many weeks ago.

No, tonight, you didn’t need the warmth of passion or lust to keep you from the biting cold, now you had Azriel by your side, and that was more than enough.

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation

Rating: Teen || Chapters: 1/4 || Word Count 1.4k

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Read here on Tumblr, or over on AO3

dedicated to @softest-punk for making me emotional about Hob adopting the kids in DBD 💖

----------------

“In here!” Edwin shouts, gesturing frantically at the entrance to a pub that looks vaguely familiar to Crystal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to wonder before the banshee chasing them lets out a blood curdling scream. Crystal rushes in with Charles right behind her, pushing the door and slamming it shut behind her. Thankfully the pub seems to be completely empty except for one man. 

A man who looked extremely pissed off to see them.

“Oh bloody hell, fuck no, not you, out!” the older man shouts, moving out from behind the bar and looking ready to chase them out by force if necessary. Crystal braces herself, glancing around frantically for some sort of back door that she can bolt to if necessary. She’s pretty sure she can outrun him.

Charles and Edwin however, are a different story.

“Hob, it’s us!” Charles exclaims, throwing up his hands in an attempt to show no harm.

“We’re sorry for bringing a ghost to your door, Mr Gadling,” Edwin adds. “If you’ll just let me borrow one of your books to get rid of this banshee, we’ll be out of your hair.” 

“Not you two, her,” the man, Hob (what the hell kind of name was that?) growls, pointing at Crystal accusingly. Edwin and Charles turn to her in shock, and Crystal is about to protest that she has no idea what this man is on about, but then the memory of how she knows Hob Gadling comes flooding back to her.

The pub they’d run into was The New Inn and Crystal had almost burned it down last year because some girl she hated at school had come here for her 18th birthday. With all of Crystal’s friends, sans Crystal. Ex-friends now, since Crystal had tried to burn the place down with the whole party still inside. Hob had, unsurprisingly, pressed charges, and it took a lot of money from her parents to make everything go away.

“I’m sorry!” Crystal yells, just as the banshee screeches and slams its body against the door behind them. It lights up an iridescent blue, a warding against ghosts. Of course Crystal had to go and fuck up the one supernatural relationship she had because she was an idiot asshole last year. 

“I know this isn’t a great time, but I’m kind of a different person now?” Crystal says, having no idea how to even begin to explain the weird circumstances of the last month. “I swear what my past self did isn't who I am now,” she adds, also raising her hands to show she means no harm. 

“She’s part of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency, mate,” Charles interjects, while Edwin nods furiously in agreement. “Please don’t throw her out!”

The banshee lets out another screech and slams itself against the door, rattling the frame so hard that Crystal’s afraid it might fly off the hinges at any moment. Whatever ward Hob had placed, it wasn’t going to hold out for that much longer.

“What the hell is going on?!” a familiar voice cries out, and then Jenny Green of all people is coming out of what Crystal assumes is the kitchen. She’s also brandishing a butcher knife, because why would any of that change now that she lives across the pond?

“Jenny?!” Charles and Edwin yell.

“Oh fuck,” the older woman curses, glancing back and forth between the three of them and Hob. Crystal really hopes they haven’t just gotten Jenny fired. Finding a job had been tough enough for her when they'd relocated, and she had refused any help financially from Crystal.

“You know them?!” Hob asks, shock clear in his voice.

“It’s a long story,” Jenny grumbles, then screams when the banshee throws itself against the door again. “What the fuck, why did you lead a ghost here? ”

The door rattles and creaks, and the ward around the pub shimmers and vibrates angrily, which seems to finally prompt Hob to action. He straightens his back, rubs a hand over his face, and then takes one, two, three deep breaths before he looks them all over appraisingly. 

“Jenny, get the salt from the back,” Hob orders, gesturing her back to the kitchen. “The iron knives should be on the shelf next to them. Edwin, you know where the tomes are,” he adds pointing upwards, likely towards a room on the second floor of the pub. Jenny and Edwin nod quietly before disappearing to their designated posts, leaving Crystal and Charles alone with Hob.

“Right, so since when have the Dead Boys gotten themselves involved with trust fund brats?” Hob asks, still eyeing Crystal warily as if he expects her to pull out a lighter at any moment. 

“Since this trust fund brat got possessed by a demon and got her memories stolen,” Crystal answers, wincing when she realizes how harsh that sounds. “Sorry. I just recently got them back and it's been a weird time. I really am sorry though. For like, nearly burning this place to the ground cause I was mad.”

“You did what? ” Charles cries out, his mouth agape. “Please tell me that was all David’s doing.”

Crystal scrunches up her face and then shakes her head. “I wish it was, but no. Just plain old shitty Crystal,” she answers truthfully.

Hob looks between the two of them, then sighs, his expression softening. 

“Look, clearly you’ve done some soul searching and I am the last person who should be allowed to hold a grudge against someone who’s done some bad things,” he says, then gestures to Charles. “If the boys vouch for you, then I’m willing to bury the hatchet. All right, Ms Von-Hovercraft?”

“Please just call me Crystal,” Crystal pleads. She really hated being referred to by her surname. It still felt weird and foreign to her, after everything she had gone through. Hob huffs, and this time when he looks at her, there isn’t a shred of contempt in his expression.

“Yeah okay. Crystal,” he says warmly. “You can call me Hob.”

Crystal wants to ask where the hell the name Hob comes from, because she’s pretty sure she remembers his name being Richard , but before she can say anything, Edwin and Jenny come back and Hob turns his full attention to taking care of the banshee that’s trying to get past the wards he has around the entire pub. 

“You’re lucky Tuesday’s a slow night,” Hob says, before he starts flipping through the tome. “Jenny, Crystal, make a salt circle by the tables over there,” he adds, pointing to his left. “You’re going to need to lead her there so we can trap her.”

Crystal and Jenny make as large of a circle as they can, pouring generous amounts of salt into the floor. When they’re done, Hob instructs them to the front of the pub, where the door is still rattling and glowing angrily. Edwin and Charles are standing next to Hob, Charles with his cricket bat out, and Edwin and Hob ready to chant the spell within the tome. 

“When I count to three, open the door and run like hell into the salt circle,” Hob tells them. “One, two, THREE!”

Crystal throws open the door and both she and Jenny cover their ears as they run towards the salt circle. The banshee’s cries are even louder now that she’s inside the pub, but their plan works. She follows them straight into the circle, then screeches again in anger once she realizes she cannot follow them out. Her long hands try to grab for Jenny’s apron, but Charles materializes right at the circle’s edge to bat her hand away. 

Hob and Edwin start chanting some spell in what Crystal assumes is Latin, and the banshee screeches at an even louder volume than before. The salt circle alights a bright gold, and Crystal and Jenny are practically thrown backwards by the force of the magic taking effect.

The banshee lets out one more high pitched scream, and then her dark grey dress suddenly becomes stark white, dark and wet black hair paling slowly to a soft light brown. When the banshee lifts her face, her eyes are no longer sunken and black, but wide and bright green. 

She’s beautiful, now that she’s no longer in pain.

The Night Nurse shows up shortly afterwards, collecting the woman and gently reassuring her that she’s going to a better place. She looks at Hob like she’s offended by his very existence, which the man takes in stride and cheerfully waves her off, telling her to say hello to her boss for him. 

“Right then,” Hob says after the banshee and the Night Nurse have left. “Now that that’s taken care of, care to explain to me what the bloody hell is the connection with you lot?”

[moonflower91]

Where You Go, I Go

"He's afraid of me."

"Yes," Saerah hummed back, her fingers running softly through the ends of his long silver hair. "He's an old man now. Short of time, patience and temper. Like as not to lash out. Daemon has spent his life at war -- in the Stepstones, with his brother, even poor Rhea Royce to a degree. Now, likely the biggest war looms on the horizon, and he did not draw first blood."

“The folly of the young, as grandfather said. Smarter to wait than draw first blood.”

She fixed him with a sidelong look. “I shall say naught, for to insult Daemon for his recklessness, is to insult my love.” Aemond only rolled his eye, and settled further down her body to rest his head in her lap. 

"I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day."

"I know. You did not leave me intending to kill anyone, nor did anyone expect such a little fool to be the bearer of Rhaenyra’s business. You left me intending to make a marriage offer." She said it softly, stroking his hair, but he could hear the fire behind the icy tone in which  she spoke.

"That work is done now, Saerah."  He all but grumbled, turning his face into her lap.

"Yes, yes it is. Anyway, Daemon is full of bile and pride, but he is beholden to Rhaenyra. I can only imagine how burned he feels, to be reined in like a mad dog. Especially by her—not only his young wife, but the one whom Viserys chose over him.”

"You believe that whore would stop him from winning the war for her?"

Saerah thought for a moment. “To a point. She has ruined herself forever now with Jaehaerys’ slaughter. Mayhaps she takes pause now to act an innocent. But as her losses pile higher, I think it will make her desperate.”

“We fly with larger dragons and possess a larger army, with some of the best military minds in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye. She and Daemon will die for Helaena and Aegon’s boy. Imagining how I might kill them has caused me  such dark thoughts of late. I’m frightened of them because I know I truly desire them.”

“Tell me.” He said, turning his head to look up at her.

She could not meet his eye, and stared out, watching the flames in the hearth. “I would burn all of her bastards alive, perhaps making her watch. And then, I'd keep her alive for a long while, to let her wallow in her agony, and have Daemon ripped apart by dogs. His limbs thrown into the filth of slums he once lorded over.”

Aemond scoffed. "You've thought about it quite extensively."

"What else can I do all day, trapped here in the Red Keep but think of ways to make them suffer?" Saerah did not enjoy the idea of murdering children, even if it was in vengeance. But that little child, sleeping in his bed, who loved stories and ponies and playing with his mother's long hair...to be butchered, to die in fear and pain…

Her fingers tangled in her brother's hair, heart speeding because it felt just. Almost. But she knew her pain and grief drove this feeling. It would not be justice, she knew. But how she longed for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s agony to sate the burning ache of her family’s suffering and grief .

"I was terribly lonely without you here, Aemond. If you leave me again, I shall follow you on Vexxa."

“And leave Helaena here? Alone with naught but her fears? With her broken heart?”

“Helaena has Mother beside her. And Jaehaera.”

“Whom she can hardly look at without running away in tears. Jahaera and the boy looked just alike.” Like we did , he thought. When they were very small, Alicent once told them, they’d looked so alike no one could tell them apart. Of course, that had changed as their personalities grew. 

“I am a selfish creature, then, for I will still follow.”

“I am selfish then, too, for I would let you.”

[krirebr]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Curtis + bound wrists + “Mmm such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you?”

This took me forever, but between being sick at the beginning of the week and work kicking my ass at the end, it took a while to get to a point where I could string multiple sentences together. 😂😭 But we're finally here. I'm a little afraid this is only half a hoe thot, but it's already over 600 words and I kind of like ending it where I did. This is my contribution to the Curtis successfully takes the snowpiercer and deserves a reward trope. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for playing with me!!

Warnings: dark elements, bondage, forced public nudity, threats of and implied non-con, explicit language, 18+ - MINORS DNI

Your wrists were bound with rope in front of you as you were led into the meatpacking car, wearing what you’d been sleeping in, a short nightgown. You shivered, partly out of fear and partly because it was freezing in this part of the train, nothing like the warmth you’d always had in your private compartment near the front. A group of tail-enders flanked you. They’d barged into your room in the middle of the night. They’d overpowered you, tied up your hands, and then dragged you out. You weren’t sure how long you’d walked or what was happening. The whole train seemed to be in chaos.

One of the tail-enders pushed you to the car's center towards a large man wearing a dark overcoat and a wool beanie on his head. Animal carcasses hung all around him, in the process of being butchered. He had sharp blue eyes and an intense stare that he fixed on you, like you were the most prime cut of meat in there. You tried to hold your ground but the man pushing you forward was stronger than you were. 

The blue-eyed man reached above himself and pulled down a large hook on a chain suspended from the ceiling. The men on either side of you grabbed your bound hands, raising them above your head. You tried to flail away, scream for help, but it was no use. The rope around your wrists was placed on the hook, which was then raised until you were balancing on your tip toes. 

The large man, who was clearly in charge, stood right in front of you. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and gritty. “My name is Curtis. This train is mine now.”

That could not possibly be. That wasn’t how things worked here. “What?? Where’s Wilford?!” you shouted.

He chuckled. “I killed him,” he said, plainly. 

You tried to recoil or thrash or something but suspended how you were, all you could really do was sort of sway.

“Life is about to change drastically for all you front-enders, but for you most of all.”

 “What? What are you talking about? Why me? I didn’t do anything!” you protested.

He nodded calmly. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure that’s true. I’m sure you did a whole lot of nothing while my people suffered in ways you can’t imagine for seventeen years.”

You felt your eyes start to tear up. You couldn’t help it. You felt like you were still asleep. Maybe you were. Maybe this was just a nightmare. 

“What are you going to do to me?” you whimpered.

“I saw you, you know,“ he said, instead of answering your question. “I had to pass through the club car to get to the front. And there you were, dancing away like you didn’t have a care in the world. And I thought to myself, ‘That’s what I’ll deserve if I make it through this.’”

All you could do was look at him, confused.

“Oh honey,” he said, reaching out with one finger to brush away a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen. “What am I going to do to you? Whatever I want. You’re my reward.”

In the moment it took you even to start to process what he’d said, he tore your nightgown away. He took one of your now bare breasts in his large hand and squeezed it cruelly, tweaking your nipple. You jolted at his touch, whining despite yourself. 

“Mmm, such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you? That’s ok,” he said, with a sharklike grin that both terrified you and went straight to your core, “I’ll make sure you get used to it real fast.”

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24

[applesontheground]

lonely girls, they don't survive 🌙

KINKTOBER 2024 | DAY TWENTY THREE - LICKING & DEGRADATION

this one goes out to the lovely anon who said they actually liked what i've written about my fave occult beings. 🐺

i've had a pack of rowdy boys in the works for a long time, and although i wanna build their characters up a little more before going public with them, enjoy another peek into a group i'm coining "the butcher's dogs". 😋

all i can say for now, happy werewolf wednesday! 🐾🦴🐾🦴🐾

NSFW | Word Count: 1,116 | Original Werewolf Characters x Female Human!Reader contains predator/prey, chasing, manhandling, open ending (and the ending would be a gangbang if you couldn't tell) 🎼: x (WOE, WERWOLF PLAYLIST BE UPON YE)

Coworkers wondered why you had a Friday appointment with a local trail every night, surrounded in a city wrought with dark forest and urban legends about people disappearing within the lengths of trees, to whatever else was in there, sitting on the edge of the little civilization you called home.

You asked them if it was any coincidence you always came back, just needing the crisp air and cardio since the next gym was a forty minute drive away and you never wanted to do that after work. The younger of your peers digressed, but the older folk would give you a second look over. “Be careful, it’s all we suggest.”

That was understood, of course, because you knew what waited on the trails on the nights you took off on a brisk jog. The monsters that lay within and you had formed that schedule together a long time ago.

“Pretty girl,” called one of them, the shorter side of the pack but eyes bright as sunshine, beaming at you from the treeline. Most of the times, he was the one you had to worry about first and foremost. You stuck your tongue out, continuing to run and eyeing a good, open spot on either sides of the path. If you could duck through the trees, hide in some brush…they’d lose their minds, only finding the scent but not the girl.

“Out and alone where anything can get her?” He looked to something on the other side of the path, hidden in the trees but with his gawking expression you figured it was one of the other wolves. You winced, but bit back, “Not afraid of you.”

“Liar, liar…” Tsked another one, the voices coming from the other side of you. Eyes reflected in the half-moon as he also kept up with you while staying absconded by the flora, and it startled you on top of a heart pumping with adrenaline. You flinched away, but merely tripped against the edge of the path from a movement too large, his laughter like a wildfire catching in the branches in his face as he stepped forward. “And a dumb one to boot!”

“Fuck you.” You scrambled back, standing up but knowing there was far too much of a tip towards them on the scale when it came to who was catching up now. You merely took two steps further on the path, facing behind you to keep an eye on both of them, and soon you were flush with one of the larger packmates.

He didn’t touch quite yet, but when you looked up at him, he chuffed through his throat, a smile growing on his face. “Hello, pretty girl…” Your eyelids fluttered, trying to appear horrified as you turned away again. They were walking up casually, huffs and laughter in the air as you muttered, “I don’t understand why one of you haven’t turned me yet, I really don’t.”

“Because we like the chasing.” Spoke a quieter member, mute thus far but his warm voice apparent now. When he did speak, the others seemed to stay silent until the thought was completed.

Then again, judging by the way he let the silence hang, looking next to him awkwardly, he didn’t have much else besides that anyways.

“…Who says that, huh?” You cocked your head, eyes widened and open-mouth smile perking at the allured expressions that got. You turned again, ducking easily under the crossed arm of the wolf behind you and took off again.

“Get her!”

You hopped a long, kept up with uneven terrain as the path started getting less defined the further you got out in the forest. Yet, you knew when there was a slam of bushes, rustle as the birds took off from commotion, it was futile and right next to you.

“Peekaboo!” cried the wolf, bolting out again and his arms around your waist as he hoisted you off the ground, growling in your face while you immediately squirmed, eyes still alive -- not as bright as his friend, but still searing like water on a hot skillet against your form.

“Gonna eat you alive if you don’t stop playing so roughly.” He smiled against your cheek, a swipe of his tongue against your racing pulse that made you push against his chest, making him gasp in mock offense. “I assumed you would by now. …Is that a promise?” You knocked your forehead against his, going limp for a moment as you finally breathed one of their names against his mouth, “Leo?”

It gave you enough of a jump, the release of pressure against your back from loosening arms, and with a shoulder check you broke away yet again. He snarled after you, “Careful what you wish for, pretty girl-!”

“I have a name.” You finally sputtered, turning around fast and making him stand back a bit. Still, he looked above your head, and that was when the leader of the pack was now standing behind you – the others naturally keeping distance now, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and growled your name into your ear.

“[Y/N], my dear. Is that what you want to hear? Pretty [Y/N]?” You melted, and admitted with a taut throat, “Yes.”

“Simple mind, simple needs.” He spoke with weight in his voice, like he was thinking on those very words, but then caught your flinch as his tongue went up your neck, a nip on your jaw from his slender mouth.

“Maybe that’s why I like you the way you are.”

“Your boys will bite me themselves if you keep them waiting,” You whispered, and he smiled at that with a nod. “Yes, they could. They want to, but you should know we have these discussions far in advance. Against a couple strong opinions, we’ve decided we don’t want to meet the she-wolf.” He shook his head, cooing at the disappointed glint in your eye as you looked away, muttering his name now. “Aw, Toby…”

You spotted the same emotion in the eyes of Leo, one of the obvious ones with such a big mouth, strong thoughts being known. He would’ve torn your throat out, licked the blood while making obscene noises if he didn’t have the others to worry about. It was a dynamic that was weirdly animal despite them being…well, men on the outside.

At least tonight, the growling and doglike persistence not in question.

A whisper against your ear brought you back to the lean pair of arms squeezing you, slight nail contact against your shirt as he seethed to you, and you realized Leo might not be the only one who needed to sink his teeth in.

“Not yet, pretty girl.”

[freesia-writes]

Ch 15: First Date

Author's Note: It's happening... it's HAPPENING! Everybody stay calm! 😉 ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 4.5k (they deserved it)

.

Hunter sharpened his butcher knife absentmindedly, the scrape of metal on metal providing a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. It had been almost a month since the festival, and things had settled into an almost monotonous routine. There were no complaints from him, however, and he found himself quite content with the few regular things on his plate – work at his shop, projects at home, and time in nature with Lyra. A smile touched his face but was soon followed by a rather sour expression as he thought about his family’s recent opinions. He’d not only been ribbed mercilessly at family dinner the night before, but he’d also endured some sort of an intervention, where the others seemed to turn on him all at once with what he assumed was well-meaning intention regarding his time with her.

“Hunter, everyone can see it but you,” Echo began, swirling the wine in his wooden cup. “What are you afraid of?”

“Who says I’m afraid?” Hunter asked, bewildered by the sudden attention. “And why do you all care so much?”

“Aw, I think it’s adorable,” Wrecker had said, clapping Hunter on the back so hard that he’d dropped the bite of sushi he was about to eat. “Looks like his senses aren’t so sharp in every area.”

“An effective joke, Wrecker,” came Tech’s factual approval. “He should ideally be able to sense the physiological signals of infatuation in another human, but apparently his ability to discern their meaning is not fully developed.”

“What?” Hunter breathed.

“He means you’re blind as a jogan-bat,” Crosshair offered helpfully.

“Perhaps he will be more attuned to the symptoms of sexual arousal, as they tend to be more pronounced in realms such as scent–” Tech continued, immediately cut off by a chorus of disapproving disgust. 

“Come on, Tech. I’m eating,” Echo complained with a pleading glance at Phee, whose mirth was apparent.

“You boys are ridiculous,” she chimed in, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. “He’s been a soldier all his life and you expect him to just forget all of that and start schmoozing the ladies?” Surprised by her support, Hunter’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch as he went back for another bite of sushi, hoping to actually enjoy this piece.

“Some of us didn’t seem to have any issue with that,” Crosshair remarked, staring pointedly at Tech, whose owlish expression of affront brought an impish smile to Phee’s face. 

“Aw, don’t get prickly just because you’re jealous,” she teased. Crosshair’s indignant retort faded into the backdrop of wandering conversation as they slowly found other topics to pursue. Once there was enough distraction to allow Phee to share a quiet word with Hunter, she leaned over to speak to him privately.

“Don’t start–” he began, but she held up her hands with authentic warmth on her face. 

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your life,” Phee interrupted. “You’ve had more than enough of that.” Hunter fell silent, mollified by her understanding. “And there’s nothing wrong with taking your time. Sometimes we just don’t stop to look at exactly what is holding us back. You know? But you’re a smart guy. And I’m just glad you’re enjoying your freedom.” 

She nodded, leaning back to the center of her seat with a clear intention of giving him space. Hunter remained still, staring at the table as he considered her words. He’d grown quite fond of Phee once they’d gotten past the showy front she had to maintain in her line of work, and he’d come to respect her insights too, which were often more accurate than he’d like to admit. 

His awareness returned to his work at the butcher shop, having set the knife and the sharpener down on the counter. He’d been unable to shake the general sense of confusion that accompanied any attempt to sort through the vortex of thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t something he’d ever had time to do, much less been inclined toward, and yet he was feeling quite directionless in a realm that he hadn’t ever thought he’d be a part of. How does one craft a life that feels worlds apart from their expressed creation and purpose? It was a question that nagged him constantly, and he alternated between feeling an overwhelmed futility and striving to figure out the perfect structure and approach. Life wasn’t quite as simple as a mission, however; he hadn’t been given any objective or parameters for his own autonomous future. He thought he would find that fact freeing, but instead it always kept him questioning. And yet, beneath it all, when he tried to tune in to a simple, basic voice within, he regularly found himself somewhat resolved around a singular idea…

The bell on the door chimed a happy note, and he meandered out to the front of the shop to see Lyra standing on the other side of the counter. There was a nervous energy about her that threw him off momentarily, but he wiped his hands on his apron before sliding around the edge of the glass case to give her a hug. They’d shared only a few, having tried it out along with their hellos and goodbyes, but for Hunter, it was one of the highlights of their interactions. She was always so soft and gentle, and the way she’d lean her head gently against the front of his shoulder somehow made him feel proud and protective while also giving the soothing sense of being nurtured and comforted. It was one of very few times in this new stage of life that he felt he could just stop all the thoughts and worries and let down his guard a little. 

They hugged for a lingering moment, warm and peaceful, before pulling apart to regard each other fondly. Her dark eyes were admiring and affectionate, yet she still had a spiky sort of intensity about her. She opened her mouth to speak, closing it and glancing off to the side for an uneasy cough before turning back to him. There was a long pause, and Hunter felt an opportunity to take a chance on something he’d been mulling over for a while.

“Hey, so…” he began, voice low and hesitant.

“Wait! Sorry…” Lyra blurted out, eyes widening. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you… I just… If I don’t get this out, I’m afraid I’ll never do it. And I really want to.” 

“Okay…” Hunter said slowly, more intrigued than affronted. “Let’s hear it.”

“Would you…” She paused, taking a huge, deep breath before saying the rest all at once. “Would you like to come over for dinner? Tomorrow? At my house?” Her fingers were at her lips immediately, and she nibbled at her nails as though she’d just confessed something dark and terrible. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction, nodding slowly as serenity blossomed in his chest. 

“I’d like that,” he answered quietly, watching relief change her entire demeanor. She brightened up considerably, dropping her hand from her mouth to grasp the strap of her purse, which he’d learned by now was her self-soothing move when she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Can I bring anything?” he asked, trying to focus more on the logistics than on his growing excitement. 

“Just your infamous meat,” Lyra deadpanned, keeping a straight face for a split second before his raised eyebrow melted her into laughter. “Sorry, the office ladies are getting to me. But no, nothing to bring! It’ll be simple.”

“Alright,” Hunter grinned. “Sounds good.”

* * * 

.

The next day seemed to last forever, and Hunter busied himself with any task he could get his hands on to pass the time. But when he flipped the sign on the butcher shop window and hurried home to change, he suddenly wished he could stop the chrono altogether, feeling an unsettling sense of panic that, in his opinion, should not be happening. He took a shower, shaved his face, and pulled on a flannel shirt, examining himself in the mirror for a moment before swapping it out for a thick green sweater that Lyra had once said she liked. Grateful to have the house to himself, he spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to do with his hair. She’d complimented it a handful of times, in a variety of different styles, so he finally resigned to leave it half-up, a small bun on top and the rest in loose waves down below. 

The front door slammed, accompanied by Wrecker’s eager greeting, “I hope you made flambaa cause I’m STARVING!” Cringing inwardly, Hunter’s first instinct was to escape through the window, but before he could come up with a plan, his brother had flung open his bedroom door.

“Wrecker, you’ve really got to start knock–”

“You haven’t even started cooking yet?!” 

“I’m not cooking tonight! I’ve got… There’s still a bunch of stew in the cooling chamber. You can have that.”

“Where are you going?” Wrecker asked, his voice slightly quieter with a touch of sing-song smugness about it. 

“Out,” Hunter evaded. 

“Mmm. Okay. Well have a great time… out.”

With a nod, Hunter headed for the entryway, pulling on a thick khaki jacket and brown boots. He waved to Wrecker, who was rummaging in said cooling chamber, and headed out with a spring in his step. The walk to Lyra’s took about half an hour, giving him plenty of time to get anxious about a variety of things, quell the anxiety with some rational thoughts and a focus on the path ahead, then repeat the process. When he got to her front gate, he took a deep breath, chiding himself for making such a big deal out of a simple dinner. His hesitation at her front door was only a moment before the enticing smells of food, spices, and wood smoke beckoned him to knock. 

“Hi,” Lyra said quietly upon opening the door. She wore a soft, creamy beige sweater tucked into a long blue skirt. Her hair was down, falling in feeble attempts at waves around her face, which was a mix of shyness and enthusiasm. She opened her arms for a hug, but Hunter pulled an arm out from behind his back, producing a small bunch of wildflowers that he’d picked along the way. 

“Hi,” he echoed. “I know you probably have most of these in your backyard, but I just grabbed them on the way…”

“I love it,” she affirmed, taking them with both hands. “Come in!” She led the way, guiding him along a simple hallway to a modest room that was a kitchen, dining room, and living room all at once, where she rummaged in a cupboard to fetch a vase. It gave Hunter time to glance around, both surprised and not surprised at what he saw in her home. There were framed paintings in every style he’d ever seen and random bits of nature peppered throughout. Her kitchen counter was covered in assorted bowls, colorful towels, and random cooking tools, and small candles dotted the large wooden dining table, the living room, and the shelves. 

“Okay, listen,” she began, placing the flower vase in the middle of the table. “I know it looks like I’m trying too hard with candles everywhere. But I swear I’m not.” She laughed a little self-consciously, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I don’t think a place can ever be too cozy… But… Okay, I may have gone a little overboard.” The realization came with a bit of an awkward shift in weight, as she ran a hand up and down the outside of her arm before dipping her head and turning back to the oven. Hunter chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement.

“It’s really nice,” he admitted. “I haven’t had a lot of ‘cozy’ in my life, so I don’t mind making up for lost time.”

“Excellent. I’ll join you on that mission.” Her use of the word stole him away from the peaceful moment for a split second, but he was soon back in the present. “Can I get you a glass of wine? I found one that pairs quite nicely with tonight’s menu… I really like food,” she confessed with a grin, taking a sip out of her own wine glass that was sitting on the counter. 

“Sure, thank you,” Hunter nodded, and as he leaned against the counter, dissolving into conversation with her as she put the finishing touches on their meal, he felt them both relaxing into their usual selves. The fire in the hearth and the heat from the oven made the entire cottage quite warm, and his jacket was soon hanging over the back of a chair. The next time Lyra turned around, having finished sprinkling the final herb garnish across the entree, her eyes raked up and down his neatly-groomed form. The rich green sweater hugged his physique just enough to highlight his athletic build, and a tiny bite of her lower lip was the only clue of her reaction before she hid her face quickly under the guise of looking for some water glasses.

When they moved to the dining table, Hunter’s mouth was watering at the sight of what lay before them. A motley assortment of candles illuminated a simple yet delicious-looking spread: there was freshly-baked bread wrapped up in a flowery cloth beside a thick chunk of butter in a handmade dish, a colorful and crisp salad in a large wooden bowl, and at the center, a large, round pot full of steaming meat and vegetables. They fumbled awkwardly with the serving utensils for a moment, each unsure if they should serve the other, but soon enough their mismatched plates were full and they dove in. 

Hunter had never experienced food like this. Tart lemon provided a snappy contrast to the rich, buttery sauce that she’d roasted the meat in, and a hefty amount of garlic was complimented with small fingerling potatoes and root vegetables nestled together in the pot. It took a significant amount of self-control to avoid wolfing the entire thing down as quickly as he could, so he purposefully took it slow, buttering a slice of impossibly soft bread and using it in the hand opposite his fork to scoop up a bit of extra sauce with each savory bite.

“This is amazing,” he sighed, looking up at her with a downright dreamy expression on his face. “Do you always cook like this?” 

“Not always… But kinda,” Lyra said, smiling demurely behind her wine glass. “I really enjoy the process, so I’m always trying out new recipes or helplessly repeating old favorites. But I also love ‘snack dinners’, which are… well, pretty self-explanatory. So it just depends on my mood, the time I have, and how tightly my pants are fitting that day.”

“Well, either way, it sure beats ration bars,” Hunter muttered.

“Ration bars?” she repeated curiously. “Isn’t that what they used in the GAR? I thought I remembered them talking about it in the office I worked in on Coruscant…” 

“Uh… Maybe. I guess. I don’t know. I… I’ve had 'em for… travel… and stuff. Cheap, fast, and easy, you know? Maybe they sold the surplus when the war ended,” he answered quickly, kicking himself for such a careless slip-up and a response that was anything but subtle.

“Oh, makes sense,” she nodded, chasing a potato around her plate with her fork. It was let go as quickly as it had arrived, and as the conversation continued, Hunter felt himself relaxing again. Maybe he didn’t have to be quite so guarded with her, but old habits were hard to break. And there was never any need to share more than was necessary, after all. 

Dinner was followed by dessert, which was some kind of impossibly rich chocolate mousse swirled together with bright, fresh berries. The wine was a perfect companion, bringing out the flavors immaculately, and they soon felt pleasantly full and tingly. They chatted and ate until each had leaned back in their chairs, hands folded contentedly on laps and bellies as they regarded each other in blissful satisfaction. 

“So I’ve seen a lot of these around your house,” Hunter mentioned, gesturing to some small sprigs of leaves tucked around the bread basket on the table. “Do they have some utility or do you just like them?”

“Ahh, my granny leaves…” Lyra smiled, earning a furrowed brow from Hunter. She picked up one of the thin stems, holding it up so that the pointy leaves dangled in the same direction. “They look like a little hand motion that my grandmother used to do – she’d pinch all her fingers together and shake her hand at us.” She illustrated the motion while Hunter grinned at the apparent affection she felt for the nostalgic detail. “It was a very diversely-used signal for her; we’d get it if she disapproved of something, if she thought something was delicious, if she was trying to emphasize her words… But usually when we were in trouble.” A sigh broke her explanation. “The way the leaves fold together reminds me of it, so I always feel warm and fuzzy when I see them on the trees out there. It’s like she’s scolding me everywhere I go,” she laughed. 

“Sounds encouraging,” Hunter attempted, feeling a need to offer some sort of meaningful memory of his own but coming up blank. 

“Maybe I see too much character in nature,” Lyra shrugged. “I feel so content out there that it’s like being surrounded by old friends whenever I walk. But I guess I’m also scared of a lot of stuff, so… Ah well.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter as he realized the directness of his question in such a vulnerable area. “Sorry – you don’t have to answer that, I just–”

“No, it’s okay,” she said quietly, fidgeting with the end of a sleeve. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean, everyone has twists and turns in their life that shake them up a bit… I just feel like…” She fell silent for a moment, unwilling to meet his eyes as she scanned across the table. “I guess I wish I were more resilient. And brave.”

“Hmm,” Hunter nodded slowly, sensing that this wasn’t a time for advice. Lyra lifted one shoulder slightly, again grazing a hand up and down the outside of her arm – a frequent tell of mixed emotions. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she continued, finally looking up at him with a depth and openness that made his mouth feel a little dry before she looked away to the fireplace. “I wish I had your strength.”

“Well, I did get beat up by a girl at the Farmer’s Market…”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. They relaxed into their mirth for a moment then both took a breath, suddenly at a fork in the road between authentic discourse and lighthearted banter. Lyra glanced back to Hunter from her distant stare into the fire, tilting her head at him fondly. “You… Um… That color is really nice on you.” Each word was confessed shyly, and each was received with equal uncertainty of how to respond.

“Erm… Thank you.”

“Want to sit somewhere more comfortable? These wood chairs dig into my butt after a while,” she said, cringing for a second at her awkward choice of things to point out. He smirked, sure that if Echo were here, he’d have plenty to say, but also deeply grateful that Echo was not, in fact, there.

Hunter helped her bring the dishes to the sink despite her insistence that he could relax by the fire, and they soon found themselves side by side at the large kitchen sink, washing everything by hand. The warm soapy water was disproportionately soothing, and they lost themselves in random discussion as they finished the last few cooking utensils. Pulling her sleeves down, Lyra gestured toward the sitting area, inviting Hunter to join her. There was one small couch facing the hearth, as well as a plush armchair on the side. Hunter reclined in the corner of the sofa, watching her stand awkwardly between the two pieces of furniture. 

“I can sit here if you’d like some space to stretch out,” she murmured, pointing at the chair. He found it somewhat odd, but didn’t want to question; instead, he beckoned to the seats beside him.

“Plenty of space,” he said. “Plus, I mean… It’s your house.” She smiled in response, settling herself neatly on the middle of the three cushions, and leaned back just slightly as they relaxed back into conversation. Elbows brushed, memories were shared, and comical observations were made as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, they settled into silence, the last few words giving way to a deep, contented sigh from Lyra. 

Hunter adjusted his sleeves, still rolled up to the elbow from both the heat and the dishwashing endeavor. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude, a deep sense of comfort and luck that seemed at odds with an underlying thought that he shouldn’t be there. It always whispered doubts, accusations, worries… That he’d be “found out” somehow. That he’d be rejected. That he was living a lie, and none of this was real. He shifted in his seat, moving a little closer to Lyra, which tipped her own cushion toward him, tilting her body gently against his. 

She tensed for a moment, eyes flitting toward his knees, then she tentatively, precariously leaned into him the slightest bit, pausing halfway as though anticipating resistance. But he loved the way it made him feel, and he found himself yearning to stretch his arm across her shoulders and welcome her even more closely against his chest. Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, instead settling to leave his arms at his sides, fingers toying with one another in his lap. 

“Hey, remember that little flock of squawkers?” she said suddenly, turning slightly against him to look into his face. A tiny grin accompanied her memory, and Hunter’s cheek curved in shared mirth. 

“I do, although I think we scared them a lot more than they startled us.”

“They have a huge nest that they all share,” Lyra continued conspiratorially. “I went back a few days later, and there were a bunch of eggs in this awesome little round… pile… thing. I don’t know, I didn’t get too close. But they were definitely not happy with us being near it.”

“Did they flap at you again?” he asked, meeting her gaze with a slight shift of his shoulders. He suddenly became aware of how close their faces were, trying to disguise his sharp inhale with a clearing of his throat. 

“No,” she answered, picking up on his demeanor and turning back toward the fire after a quick skim of her eyes over his face. “But I kept my distance,” she finished, drifting off as though into a distracting thought. They remained quiet for a full minute, each seeming to wrestle with their own internal dialogues, then Lyra broke the silence with a nervous jumble of words. “You smell really good.”

“Ah, yes… That’s… Omega gave me some cologne?” He said it as though he were confused or surprised by the situation himself. 

“It’s…” she took a deep sniff, letting her breath out through parted lips that seemed to communicate more than the lighthearted sentiment of her words. “You should limit your use of that. You’re gonna have creatures of all inclinations fawning over you. Although you probably already have that…”

“Oh, you know me…” he said sarcastically, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand then realizing he didn’t have anywhere to put it, having dug it out from between them. He angled his upper body toward her to awkwardly prop an elbow on the back of the sofa cushions. “Just… swarming with attention…” He cringed at his own words, shaking his head and making a mental note not to attempt stupid humor again. 

“I’m not surprised,” Lyra mumbled, quiet enough that she thought he couldn’t hear it over the shuffling of her climbing to her feet. He smiled, following suit without knowing why, and soon they were standing in the living room, facing each other in front of the fireplace. 

“I should get going,” he proposed. “Don’t want to keep you up too late.”

“Oh, um, okay. Yeah. Work tomorrow…”

Hunter’s fingers twitched at his sides as she met his gaze with an appreciative vulnerability on her face. Pushing down the insecurities that plagued him at any opportunity, he opened his arms for a hug. A deep sense of tranquility melted over him as she wrapped her arms around his waist, turning her head to the side and tilting it against the front part of his upper chest where it met his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her upper body and rested his cheek against her hair, a smile touching his lips as she let out a blissful sigh. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said quietly, holding on to her for a few extra seconds before loosening his arms regretfully. 

“Thank you for coming. I could talk to you forever,” she admitted honestly, then turned to head toward the entryway. Hunter followed, pulling his jacket on and trying to keep a calm exterior despite a giddiness bubbling up within. He hesitated on the way down the hall, distracted by a sudden awareness of a large amount of electronics with a variety of frequencies, as well as a lot of metal overall. There were no doors that he could see, and he tilted his head, puzzled by the sheer amount of materials he sensed that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the quaint, rustic cottage. 

“Everything okay?” Lyra asked softly, turning to face him from where she’d stopped at the front door. 

“Yeah, sorry… Uh…” Hunter wanted to ask about it but had no idea how to go about it, considering that he hadn’t revealed anything about his enhancements to her. “I thought I heard some electrical humming or something…” He hoped it sounded innocuous enough, although her slightly nervous shift on her feet made him wonder if he’d gone too far in speaking up about it. “Wrecker said that sometimes lightbulbs do that if there’s a short in the line,” he added for good measure.

“Oh,” she answered, glancing inconspicuously around the hallway. “I’ll have to check them. It’s a rickety old house sometimes,” she chuckled. “All kinds of creaks and complaints, you know.”

“Gives it character,” he mused, still pondering the undeniable perception of more metal and electromagnetic fields than one would expect in such a place. “Anyway…” He brushed it off, looking back to her and giving one last nod as he thanked her again for dinner. He walked home slowly, pulling his coat tightly around him, thoughts swirling through his mind with relentless demand. 

.

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[hehkshew]

[Catch Your Death] (H/azbin H/otel) A/ngel D/ust x A/lastor [1000 Words]

Alastor glanced sideways, a small and amused expression tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised an eyebrow towards Angel, “You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” Voice smooth as he twirled his microphone in hand as they walked.

The pair currently on an outing, Alastor getting the urge to pick up something from his favorite butchers. Angel insistent that he wanted to go, trudging along side.

It was the colder parts of the year, as low of a temperature  Hell could get at the least. Instead of blazing warm the place got air could even be referred to somewhat as cold.

And with cold came sickness. Alastor’s glance turning away with a light shake of the head, bemused smile gracing his features.

The two in long coats, Alastor’s more burberry colored with Angel in a Hot pink, vibrancy as always, thick pink scarf wrapped around his neck, covering his mouth and nose. 

Angel turning his head with a harsh sharp turn to the side, a muffled sneeze into it. Turning not needed with how his face was practically covered, but doing it anyway. Sniffling with a small groan. 

Alastor’s hand resting on his back as they walked, aware of the unfortunate cold that had been plaguing him since before they’d stepped out the door.

As Angel sneezed again into the thick scarf Alastor gently  gave him a look, one that read as a reminder that they could turn back home at any time. He himself wasn’t all too bothered by the cold, he was dressed warmly for it.

Angel was too, but even he knew it probably wasn’t wise to be out here.

Angel’s expression changing with a scrunch of the nose, blinking away the blearyness from the constant sniffling. Shaking his head no as he mumbled spoke through the fabric, “What, and miss a chance to strut around with my favorite Deer? Not a chance, babe.”

His voice sounded thick with congestion, the usual sass and charm he usually displayed was almost entirely gone, muted by sickness.

Alastor’s voice crackled with a laugh, spiking as it echoed with the sound of radio static. A grin of amusement. “Well, as much as I admire your dedication, I’m starting to think maybe we should have stayed in. You’re sneezing far more than you’re breathing, My Dear.”

Angel let out another muffled sneeze into his scarf, grimacing as it was feeling more damper and less pleasant by the minute. Another small groan of frustration as he sniffled behind it, Alastor gently turning and hooking a finger between the space, pulling the scarf down so it wasn’t covering Angel’s face any longer. Angel flushing with a glance away.

“... Still, It’s gonna take more than some shivering to keep me down, besides. Who else is gonna keep you in check?” He grinned, voice wavering slightly as he sniffled louder again this time. Feeling his nose ran slightly as he hovered a hand over his face, searching his pockets and failing to hide his disappointment at them being empty. “Ugh, of course I’m outta tissues.”

Alastor paused their walking, eyes flickering over to him with an exasperated smile. and an ear twitch, “Caught in a bind, now are we?” Twirling his microphone again as he leaned on it, reaching deep into the pockets of his own coat with practiced ease, pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief, “Here, Darling.” Offering it to him, glint of amusement evident.

Unfurling it as he looked down at it. “Pink, really? I’m almost afraid to ask.” Voice teasing, but there was a fondness to it as well. Appreciating the gesture a lot more than he let on.

Bringing it up to his face, small inhale with a sharp sneeze, muffled by the sound of the frantic. Pulling it down with a sniffled, blinking with eyes a little watery, “Cute. Matches my eyes.” Glancing over to Alastor, who was looking oddly… Flustered? 

Angel paused, glancing down at it again, he looked down at it. Eyes narrowing with a small confused smirk as he examined the embroidered piece, pink with white stitching. Little spiderwebs in the corners. This was custom.

A mischievous glint flashed across his eyes as he grinned towards him, “Wait a sec, what’s with you having this anyway? Ya ain’t carrying it around just for me, are ya?” Alreading knowing, expression playful as he teased. Enjoying the rare moment of Alastor actually looking caught off guard.

Alastor’s composure wavering, a faint hint of red creeping over his features, barely noticeable but there. Looking away as he adjusted his tie as thought it needed straightening– it didn’t, but it gave him something to do as he tried to compose himself.

Alastor cleared his throat, voice a tad stiffer than before, “It’s just so happens,” He began, tone carefully measured, “That I’ve noticed that you frequently find yourself in need of one.” Words almost defensive, albeit the warmth hidden behind them.

Angel laughed, a bright genuine sound that echoed through the street, dabbing at his face again as he sighed with a grin, looking down as he sniffled.

“Aw, Al. You’re so sweet, I didn’t know you cared about me so much” Amused as he continued to beam. “But seriously, thanks.”

At his words, Alastor was able to regain some composure. Smile softer than the usual sharpness, blinking down at the ground at they passed the streets. “You’re most welcome, Dear. Though I do wish you’d take better care of yourself, perhaps invest in a warmer coat? You seem fully determined at attempting to catch your death out here.”

A snicker, “Eh, maybe.” Shrugging at the suggestion, sniffling loudly as he shook his head with denial, “But then, what would my excuse be to keep stealing your cute little cloths?” Winking as he stuffed the piece down the fluff of his chest, right near his heart.

“True enough, shall we? I want you home warm, after all.” Leaning closer as they approached the butchers. 

As Angel rested his head on the other’s shoulder with hands entwined, perhaps, being with Alastor was more than enough to keep the chills at bay.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Part 5

*language, violence, mention of p*rn, mentions of dr*gs, angst, smexual situations 18+ please*

Soldier Boys POV

He couldn’t give two shits about Butcher’s vendetta against Homelander. He didn’t need his help in settling the score against Payback, I’m the first goddamn supe. The only reason why he stuck around with the boys is because of y/n. He thought he was in love before with the Countess but boy was he wrong. Sure, the Countess was gorgeous and had talent, especially when her lips were wrapped around his cock, but deep-down Ben felt like she was only doing things for him out of fear, a fear he didn’t see in y/n. Y/n had every right to be afraid, he blew up her friend and almost killed her for god’s sake, that’s not my fault, it's whatever those fucking Russkies did to me. He also killed one of her friends, MM was it, family members, okay that was my fault I was so high I couldn’t see straight. To impress y/n that he’s a better man than Butcher, Ben apologized, even though deep down he didn’t really mean it.

Ben and y/n talk about some of the most random shit. She’d tell him jokes he didn’t quite understand but would chuckle at anyway. He’d talk about meeting celebrities that have long since died and which ones were dickheads. On the rare times they had an hour free, she’d explain what was happening in Game of Thrones, ‘Why didn’t the dumbass just zigzag?” “I KNOW RIGHT? Goddamn it Rickon!” She’d have him listen to different bands from various eras; Ben decided that he liked listening to Wanted Dead or Alive. They’d bond over their love for discovering new foods, however, nothing they find will ever replace his love for a double bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon.

The rest of the gang slowly warmed up to Ben once they realized how fast y/n trusted him. They understood that he was a man out of time, and he needed to be taught a few things about this day and age. What he can and can’t do, how to address men and especially women, how to work a smartphone, and how to access the internet. There was one time, okay several times, Ben stumbled across a porn website by ‘accident’ on y/n’s ipad. The loud moans on the video echoed in the living room and Ben had to remember how to turn the sound down. Is it this button? *screenshot*. Ben would continue to fumble around with the device until he decided to give up. He’ll figure it out one day, but right now he needed to crank it out.

Frenchie and Ben would talk about their favorite illicit substances, Hughie would ask some dumb fucking questions which would almost always end up with him being tongue lashed by Ben. Even MM found it acceptable to sit on the same side of the room as him, they still never interacted. The only one that appeared to have a problem with how close Ben was getting with everyone was Butcher. Ben didn’t care about that though, he can go fuck himself. Every time Butcher would try to tell Ben something shitty about y/n and how he should focus on the mission and Homelander, Ben would just go about his day and reply, “Takes a real broken man to try and bring down a woman at the top of her game.”

But after all that, Ben’s favorite thing was going on missions with y/n and watching her work, it was his new religion. The way y/n’s hips sway back and forth in her skintight tactical suit showing the world she’s comfortable in her own skin, the brutality she showed towards their victims and the confidence she now exudes, Ben likes to think he had a hand in that.

*

Y/n grabs the knife from Ben’s belt. She proceeds forward to their tied-up victim, one that’s going in and out of consciousness. This is one tough bastard. His face all puffed up, lip busted and the hinting of dark bruises forming on his face. Then, a blood curdling scream,

“Tell us what we want to know! Where are the TNT Twins?” Ben saw his knife lodged just above the kneecap while y/n shook the man by the shoulders.

“I’d tell her where they’re at. She’s supposed to play nice cop.” Y/n twists the knife and screaming rang out again.

“Y/n the bastard is gonna bleed out before we get our info.”

“He won’t bleed out, at least not as fast as you’d think. Where I stabbed him just barely misses the major blood vessels that is embedded in the synovial joint. It’s riddled with nerves so if I do this,” she moves the knife slightly, the victim screams out, “He’ll feel it. If we don’t kill him by the end of this then any infection that penetrates the joint fluid, will.” Marry me.

“I don’t know where they're at now, but I know Herogasm is in 3 days at their place outside of New York!” The man confesses and gave the address to the house, Ben left the man tied up on the chair and walked towards the entrance of the dilapidated warehouse. While the two of you were walking back to Butcher's car, Ben asked,

“Normies don’t have that much force behind them to jab a knife into some assholes knee. What kinda powers you got?”

“I was a field surgeon in the United States Army before I joined the boys, so I know my way around the human body. When I stayed with Grace, they ran me through a series of tests and realized I’ve got strength and stamina, accelerated healing, heightened reflexes and a potential for hand-to-hand combat. I’m still working on that though. When training with Grace’s men, I was be too strong for them and break a bone or something so no one wanted to train with me. That was the end of that.”

“You know, I could train you if you wanted. Will be a little harder to break my bones doll. Plus you get to be up close and personal with the nation's hero Soldier Boy.” Ben throws in a wink for good measure. Y/n giggles,

“Thanks, but no. I’d rather stick with the knives.” Y/n waved Bens knife around in the air. Ben reached out and grabbed it and placed it back in its sheath.

“Which by the way you need your own. You can’t keep taking mine whenever you feel like it.” You could take anything from me whenever you want. Shit, take me right now.

“Are you twats ready to go yet or should I circle around the block?”

*

Y/n’s scent was intoxicating, her musk mixed with the vanilla scent of her perfume, not too light, not too heavy, just right. Ben, being the upstanding gentleman he is, let y/n sit in the front seat but learned the back of Butchers cadillac was torture. The limited leg room, lack of airflow to the back of the car and the shitty rear suspension almost made Ben regret giving up the front seat. Almost. If he positioned himself just right, Ben could see y/n tits bounce up and down in her top every time the car hit a pothole. Ben had to adjust himself on occasion to accommodate the semi chub growing in his pants.

The car was placed in park, and everyone exited. Finally. Once you reached the hideouts front door, Ben commented,

“You know, you have quite a knack for that.” y/n looked up at him questioningly. “Torture. Where’d you learn it? I’m assuming they didn’t teach you that in basic training.” y/n huffed,

“No. I picked up a few things from that one there,” she points to Butcher now slamming his bedroom door shut. “I just never had the stomach to follow through. I shall never intentionally do or administer anything to the overall harm of my patients and all that jazz.” Ben poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“What’s changed?”

“I don’t’ know, but I think I like it.” y/n flicked her hair back using her hands. She was being sassy, is that what they call it nowadays? Ben poured out a glass of whiskey for y/n and they both downed the amber liquid, simultaneously let out an exhale to help rid the burning sensation.

“We’ll I’m a bloody mess, I need a shower.” Y/n went to her room and grabbed a fresh set of clothes. Ben poured himself another glass of whiskey as he watched y/n come out of her room again. She was looking right at him and had this look on her face, eyes darker. Y/n slowly walked into the bathroom, keeping eye contact and gently shutting the door. Ben downed the glass of whiskey and walked over to the bathroom. She wants to get up close and personal with Solider Boy in a different way, got it.

@butchers-girl @xmariakx

@deans-spinster-witch

[edwinisms]

You have some pretty great takes on Edwin so I was wondering if you had any thoughts on what a season 2 arc could realistically look like for him. Edwin's s1 character arc is fleshed out and concludes nicely with Edwin having a growing understanding of himself, so I'm guessing we will get to see him navigate these newly realized parts of himself in season 2, but I have no idea how that could actually play out. I'm also wondering about the Charles of it all, since one of Edwins newest revelations is his feelings for Charles. I'm wondering how he'll deal with that. Edwins a very "on mission" type person who always needs a problem to solve, but since his feelings for Charles are already figured out (and Charles supposedly lack of romantic feelings isn't a problem with a solution) I can imagine Edwin pushing those feelings to the back of his mind so he can focus on problems he deems fixable.

good question– I feel like it’s pretty easy to think of what kinds of conflicts and feelings charles might deal with in a s2 but edwin’s situation is certainly a lot more open-ended as it stands– but, that being said, him and his feelings are very very intertwined with charles and whatever charles is dealing with (especially in regards to edwin himself), so whether or not something external or overarching s2 plot-related ends up influencing edwin’s arc(s), I think we can pretty solidly say that part of his s2 situation is gonna have to do with charles’, not passively, but directly.

soooooo what i mean is that whatever might ALSO be going on at the same time with him, edwin’s probably gonna be heavily impacted by charles’ impending sexuality/romantic crisis and however that manifests. I think the most prominent idea in my head of how this might go (though of course i have others) based on charles’ response to the confession and his flirtatiousness in the finale is– if charles maintains, or god forbid ramps up, his flirting and teasing, all while edwin believes he was rejected, charles is straight (and based on crystal kissing him in the butcher shop, also possibly believing charles is still set on dating her), and all-in-all he doesn’t actually have a chance– it’s going to drive him fucking insane.

like, obviously he’d love the affection and attention, and he’d continue to be relieved that his confession definitely didn’t repel charles in any way, but with the belief that it can’t and won’t amount to what edwin pines for, that the implications of attraction aren’t genuine, etc– at a certain point that relief and flattery is going to give way to an ever-growing, pained frustration that’s bound to reach a breaking point eventually. and with edwin simultaneously becoming more and more confident in his sexuality and his romantic feelings and such, the pre-existing insecurity won’t be strong enough to prevent his willful, not-afraid-to-speak-his-mind personality from breaking through and making him snap once something pushes him over the edge. and yeah, he’d be a bit worried about damaging their friendship by bringing it up initially and all that, but I think he’d be equally, if not more worried over the feeling that he won’t be able to take being strung along like this forever, especially if/when charles ends up with someone else. it’d just be unnecessarily painful.

of course, all the while, charles isn’t registering his behavior as cruel or anything, because in his mind, his response to the confession wasn’t a rejection at all. it was open-ended, with the implication that they’d figure it out over time once they could. nor is he really that focused on edwin’s perception of his flirtatiousness, because he knows how edwin feels about him, and he’s dealing with his own internal conflicts trying to figure out

A) if his feelings truly amount to being “in love”,

B) what that implies for his identity, and

C) how to know what being “in love” even means and how to identify it in himself (this one being especially heavy, because it involves dealing with the fact that he really wasn’t deeply loved by anyone during his time alive, and he didn’t get to see any good examples of what being in love should be either).

shifting the focus back towards edwin– let’s say, as charles is dealing with all that, he ends up in a situation where crystal kisses him, perhaps misreading him confiding in her and asking about what it means to be in love (which, I have to note, would be a satisfying little parallel to edwin’s conversation with monty). and though he’d shy away and she’d be able to tell something was wrong and/or that he wasn’t talking about her before he even says it, the damage is done, either directly (by being witnessed) or with a delay (someone mentioning that they kissed later on). that, and/or the two appearing to be off in private together and in intimate conversations a lot as of late (when in reality charles is mostly working out his feelings for edwin and his identity issues with her, definitely deeply bonding with her but not like that)– the cues would build up and make edwin’s snapping all the more inevitable.

and i mean, there’s several ways that confrontation could play out, but the natural, drama-esque scenario to me would be edwin having an outburst of all that pent up anger and pain and jealousy and confusion, during which charles realizes that this whole time edwin’s thought that he’d been rejected. edwin, being stubborn and intense as he can be, clearly needs to be fully, completely convinced, and charles, always the type to act on impulse and heart, kisses him into clarification. and also to shut him up. cliché? maybe. but tell me you can’t see it.

anywayyyyyy obviously there’s a plethora of other ways all this can go, plenty of other conflicts that can pop up in between, and as for storylines/themes/etc outside of this particular relationship it’s nearly impossible to tell what might come up because obviously edwin (and everyone else) will be intertwined with whatever the plot turns out to be and whoever it may introduce– but this is probably what I’ve thought about the most. second most dwelled upon plot point in all this being charles having to address his Own jealousy over the guys who hit on edwin– like. considering that’s not exactly a super platonic feeling, at least at the level he feels it. but yeah, i could go on forever so I should probably stop.

[vasyandii]

Heyo!

Wandering by (again) and was curious what they’d all think about crows (yourself included).

Liiiike if a crow took a liking to Nak or Krueger and left them little bobbles (acorns, paper clips, coins, random stuff) for some peanuts or something.

Anyway! Love your art very much, always a joy to see your content.

-the raven in the corner

Howdy Anon!! I personally love crows; they're so smart like people and their feathers are so colorful! Thank you so much for the ask! 💞💞

KRUEGERNAK - How Do They Feel About Crows?

Creator's Note: This is purely based off of my interpretations of the characters and are bound to change in the future.

Krueger

I don't really think..Krueger likes animals all that much xD. Not that he dislikes them, but more that he's kind of neutral about most - though I feel he'd be quite fond of crocodiles (they look cool) and hunting dogs (are useful) .

Maybe it has to do with how his brain works or how Sebastian was raised. A father that he was afraid of and took on hunting trips at an early age, Sebastian could easily butcher a rabbit at 12; so it seems to have made him have trouble having the same fondness with animals.

Crows, are one of the animals he's familiar with, and he likes that. He won't go out of his way to feed one or interact with one, but would be picking up any feathers they might've dropped.

I don't think he'd know how smart crows actually are (loser) since it's.. not knowledge one would remember. So he'd think that the trinkets they left for him are either junk for their nests or something Nak left for them.

Nak

She doesn't allow herself to get close to animals; she was raised to not have any opportunity to enjoy things like having an animal she likes because training was her top priority.

I think she enjoys crows since she's basically dating one xD. Birds remind her of him, especially when they are loud and give her random things found on the ground.

She might not understand why the crows are leaving bobbles and trinkets on her balcony table but she'll keep them in a little jar to look at. She's superstitious, so their gifts seem like good omens :3

Thank you for reading! I hope my answers suffice :D if you have any questions or need clarification I'm always here!

[aprilthearcher]

roman roy x reader [blurb]

wordcount: 809

warnings: cuss words, english is not my first language and this is not edited; also, not my pictures. first time writing after a long time and first time writing roman as well, so perhaps he’s a little ooc ? i’m also a huge taylor swift fan and this was written based on “welcome to new york”

The sun was setting down the horizon, painting the sky different shades of blue, orange, and some specs of pink, when the private jet landed from its journey all the way from London to the outskirts of New York City. The stars were going to appear soon; one could see the shining waning crescent moon up there.

There was a company car already waiting for her, which she would’ve thought had been sent by her dad were it not for the man leaning funny against the back door while looking down at his phone. She recognised him too well for her own good even after a couple of years without seeing each other. How could she not when she had spent her whole childhood running around his house, getting yelled at by Logan for making a mess, chastised by her father for making her godfather mad; having sleepovers with his sister that turned out to be sleepovers with him, sharing summer vacations by the side of the pool until Kendall and Connor taught her how to swim. 

The click of her high heels walking down the stairs of the jet seemed to have alerted him of her presence. His eyes went quickly up and down her figure, finally setting on her face. She looked exactly the same yet entirely different at the same time. 

“If it isn't (Y/N) Vernon in the flesh, ladies and gents,” he screamed, bringing both of his arms to his chest and doing some sort of imitation of a reverence. “Did you take the Queen’s place up there in little England? Took control of Buckingham Palace?”

“I was about to, actually”, she said with a small smile on her face and shiny, bright eyes she would never admit were for seeing him after so long, “but then I saw the mess you’ve all gotten yourself into”.

“Look at you, miss ‘I-sound-all-poshy’, you got an accent”.

“No, I don’t,” (Y/N) protested, scrunching up her face.

“Oh, you so totally do”.

“Shut up, Roman,” finally acknowledging him.

“It’s not my fault you sold yourself to the fucking brits, darling,” he said, replicating a butchered british accent of the pet name, while she started walking towards the other side of the vehicle where the chauffeur held the door open for her.

Once they were both inside the car, on their way to Logan’s apartment — her father had told her they would be waiting for her there for some “welcome home” lame party —, (Y/N) took off her heels, then let her head fall against the window to look at the city she had left more than half a decade ago.

When they started to approach the city centre, the sky had turned a deep tone of blue, stars barely visible because of the light pollution now. Her eyes were beginning to feel heavy the moment she heard him speak.

“You know, you should probably sleep a little before you encounter the sharks again after so long”. The sentence was whispered, almost as if he were afraid she’d already fallen asleep. 

“I’m gonna miss the view.” 

Roman snorted at her comment, “What view are you talking about? Tall buildings and, and fucking blinding lights?”

“Maybe I missed the blinding lights.”

“Oh yeah and fucking traffic too.”

“There’s traffic in London too, you know”.

“Of course I know that, you idiot, there’s also fucking blinding lights everywhere in London too, don’t you know that?”

(Y/N) turned her head to face him. She smiled, the expression on her face full of tiredness from the trip. Roman noticed it right away.

“Get some sleep, you baby,” he insisted. “New York is not gonna disappear just because you rest for two fucking minutes”.

The car ride fell silent then. It was nice. It was home. It was undisturbed peace, one they both knew wouldn’t last long; they’d soon be sucked back into the unfiltered chaos it was Waystar and its twisted insides. 

Just before she could fall asleep, (Y/N) managed to croak a question. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”.

“What? My family? Yeah, they fucking do”.

She shook her head softly. “Not your family, silly, the city. New York”. (Y/N) looked at him with hooded eyes, Roman had his eyebrows drawn together. 

“Yeah, I - I guess. But now,” he answered with his eyes set on hers only, “now I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Me neither.” She managed to reply with a content smile through the sleepiness. 

“Stop fighting the sleep or you’re gonna keep asking random questions, you weirdo.”

When she didn’t answer, he knew she’d finally taken his advice. Shrugging off his dark, woolen coat, Roman placed it on top of her upper body in an attempt to keep her from getting too cold, perhaps even to protect her against the crumbling ruins of the world outside. 

[softagenda]

birds of a feather (ais)

ais x reader(f)

baking au / short fic

series: birds of a feather ; aperitif

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

“Barkeep said you’d be back here,” Ais’s voice echoes through the empty kitchen, sounding bemused. “Gotta admit this wasn’t what I expected.”

You glance over your shoulder, snort, and continue to knead the large, lumpy mass of dough on the counter. “Thought I’d be butchering the cow for them?”

“Cleaning the bones for a necklace, bottling marrow for potions,” he adds, his footsteps drawing closer until he appears at the edge of her counter. “Scrying prey with skin or eyeballs. The usual.” He leans over and braces his elbows on the stone, chin notched in his palm.

“Ha ha.”

“Just thought you’d be doing something a little more badass.”

The dough softens and pulls beneath your hands, wisps of flour puffing into the air with each roll. For a long time, you’d been afraid to touch not just anyone but any thing . When you were young, your teacher had eventually convinced you to work on more crafts and skills, to grow more comfortable with your bare hands - and despite all they’d put you through, those memories still held bittersweet solace even now. “There’s still time to add more ingredients. A cup of chopped, eldritch sea demon should add some spice.”

“I was just about to ask if that was a meat cleaver in your pocket, or if you’re just happy to see me.”

You roll your eyes and pause to spread the dough between your fingers, before balling it up and dropping it in a pot to mature in the shade for a while. “Guess Leander’s getting most of my loaf tonight. I know he’ll appreciate it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Most? Who else?”

“Vere will probably sneer, express his utmost disdain for such peasant fair, and then eat a fourth of it. He’s a slut for a honey glaze.” You sidle closer and prop your hip on the edge, looking him over. It’s a little unusual to see him out and about during the day. His hair windswept, the folds of his kimono draping around his belt and down his left arm, Ais looks as though he just rolled out of bed.

“Mhin seems like they’d have a sweet tooth too. Kuras… hmm.” You shrug and flick the tail of your hair over your shoulder. “Hard to know what the good doctor likes. Have you ever seen him eat?”

“No, despite Leander’s best attempts.” Red eyes trail lazily over the quiet kitchen: stacks of copper pots, a shelf full of knives and spokes, the massive iron cauldron warming in the hearth, before stopping on you. “He likes you, though.”

“Think he’d break bread with me?” You ask with a laugh in your voice. 

Ais only hums, but the faint smile evolves into something with a little more teeth. 

“It’s a shame my bread’s not badass enough for the Seaspring’s master,” you muse, biting on your tongue to keep from grinning. “Guess I’ll go and have a cry about it.”

“Always wanted to make you cry, sparrow,” he says, rising from his slouch and stepping toward you. His broad shoulders cage you up against the counter, his body looming over you. He’s not hot like most men and monsters - Ais seemed to exude the same chill that drifted in mists from the Seaspring, smelling of brine and brimstone. “Didn’t think I’d manage it like this.”

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, hooking your finger into the lip of the leather belt. You’re exceptionally careful of what you touch and where, without your bandages to shield him. “How did you imagine it?”

Ais leans into your space, his heavy-lidded gaze settling on your mouth with smoldering heat, like embers roasting on a bed of coals. His finger drew a line across the counter before lifting, a peak of flour sitting there like a snow cap. “No clothes. Less flour.” He blows it off, smirking as the cloud drifts into your face. 

“The counter’s unexpected, but… not bad.” He wraps his knuckles against the top. “It’ll probably hold up.” 

Heat curls within you. “ Probably .”

Ais shrugs. “Probably.”

You take a long, steady breath, feeling your stomach brush against him. “Better chances than that pier, I suppose.”

Something swam through his red eyes, the glow brightening for a heartbeat. “Now that’s a thought, sparrow.”

“You haven’t had it before? I’m offended.”

“Figured you’d want a bed, at least.”

“I’m not picky.” 

Ais chuckles, the sound so low and pleased that it hooks into you with electric warmth. He leans his body forward until his weight presses against you, pins you to the cold stone at your back, and cranes his neck. He presses a grinning mouth against yours. 

“Birds of a feather, sparrow.”

_____________________

a/n: thank you for reading!

[secretsocietyofgamejumpers]

Grace’s Post-RBTI Headcanons

One thing I didn’t like as much about the Sugar Rush Racers books from 2023 is that they were explicitly set after Ralph Breaks the Internet, but we really didn’t get to see much of how things changed back at the arcade ever since Vanellope made her decision to stay in Slaughter Race (Ex. How did her relationship to the Sugar Rush racers change? Who’s president now? Etc.) So, here are my headcanons about what happened after Vanellope left.

Sour Bill became president of Sugar Rush. Vanellope chose him 1) because he is the most knowledgeable about ruling the kingdom, having served under two leaders of the game, and 2) because she was afraid there would be a bloodbath if she offered the job to any of the other racers.

When Gene found out about Sour Bill’s new position of power, the two formed a bond. Gene invited Sour Bill to come to Niceland Apartments in the evenings to discuss political strategy (that’s why Gene was carrying him at the end)

Felix took Vanellope leaving perhaps harder than Ralph did—mostly because he felt guilty that he and Calhoun had grown apart from the kid, but also because he felt the responsibility to keep positive for Ralph’s sake. Ralph found Felix crying on his brick pile one night and invited him into his shack for a drink and a chat. The experience helped them grow closer than they’d ever been before.

Calhoun, meanwhile, didn’t seem to be taking the loss so hard. However, one night she opened up to Felix that she was afraid that, like Vanellope, he was bored of the routine of his life, and might even be bored of her. Felix reassured her that would never happen—and that coming home to Calhoun is the most exciting thing to happen to him every day.

Vanellope loved her new friends, the Slaughter Race Five, but no one could replace the friends she’d made at the arcade.

When she first arrived in Slaughter Race, she cried herself to sleep every night over whether she made the right decision. Butcher Boy was always there to lend a meaty shoulder to cry on. (Inspired by the Sugar Rush Racers books.)

Debbie is a tattoo artist when not racing. Vanellope often hangs around her studio, helping her come up with new designs. Also, Debbie created the candy apple design on her car.

Felony is the punk rocker in the Slaughter Race crew. She makes mixtapes for the other four and was stoked to make one for Vanellope. Also, she writes her own music in her spare time, and Vanellope loves to jam out with her.

Pyro is the prankster, and he and Debbie have a sort of friendly rivalry when it comes to pranks. They enjoy filming their pranks on each other and posting it to BuzzzTube, and Vanellope loves to join Pyro in getting back at Debbie. She also enjoys watching Yesss give play-by-plays of the vids.

The Sugar Rush steering wheel didn’t arrive for a few more days after Ralph returned, so Felix and Calhoun still had the racers in their apartment during gameplay hours. Calhoun came up with a foolproof solution: get someone less crucial to their game to babysit the Racers. It was a win-win situation…just not for Markowski!

[muffinlance]

Fellow Prisoner Li, Part 6: Bloodbender (Positive)

Read from the beginning || Previous

“When the moon rises,” Hama spoke softly, as they guarded the door of the inn. 

Katara eyed the sky above the trees. Evening was coming, but the sun would still be up when Tui fully rose. But it wasn’t night that gave them power: it was the moon. The moon, which wasn’t quite full anymore. 

“You’re stronger than I ever was,” her waterbending master said, squeezing her wrist. “And we have to try.”

Fire Nation imprisonment was what they were bound for, if they didn’t try now. Katara had already stared into that fate, and broken its last survivors free.

She stretched out her fingers, slowly. Watched the Fire Nation princess, impatiently pacing across the clearing.

She’d do more than try.

* * *

“A spirit,” the princess repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That kidnaps people. Every full moon.”

“Yes, princess,” one of the guards said. They’d just come from the town.

“Then find me his bones, if you must, but find him,” the princess snapped. She had no patience for this.

Katara would have as much patience as she needed. Just like Hama, in that prison.

Just like the moon, as it sang to her blood. Soon.

* * *

Soon.

* * *

“Princess, we found—”

“There was a cave, we’ve got more people seeing to the rest—”

“Bring him here,” the princess said, belying her own demand by stalking closer to the soldier who was carrying a limp form. Azula’s back was to the inn. The attention of the other soldiers was on the newcomers, and what they carried. 

Now. 

Azula stopped mid-stride. Jerked, like someone had pulled her strings taut. It took a moment for the soldiers to notice that something was wrong. Took them longer, to identify the source.

Katara didn’t need to stand to do this. She sat on the steps of the inn, and crooked her fingers, and made the princess spin towards her in a pirouette human muscles were not made for.

“Good,” Hama whispered, into her ear. 

“You’re going to order them to let us go,” Katara said. “Or this will be the last thing you feel.”

It… looked horrible. Worse than when Hama had her practice, during the full moon, on the chicken-pig that was to be their dinner. They’d butchered it afterwards, and the master had shown her the way the blood vessels had burst and muscles torn where the soft flesh had twisted too hard against bone. Slow movements, Hama had said. Smooth. Like hanging a rag to drip, not like wringing it out. 

Unless you want them down, she’d added, and turned her knife away from anatomy and towards making them a stew. Then as fast as you can. 

The princess jerked in her hold, as much as she was able. Her torso was free, the soft organs and lungs and heart left alone. Her head, as well. Katara held her by arms and legs, as she’d been taught.

Don’t try for the head unless you want them dead. The brain has a lot of water. 

“You dare,” the princess spat.

Katara looked at her. For the first time, she was not at all afraid of the Fire Nation. 

“Order them,” she repeated.

“Princess—” said a solider. One of many who were uneasily shifting into stances ready for attack. 

“Stand down,” the princess barked. “Let them leave. Kill them if they kill me.”

Katara stayed sitting on the steps, her fingers cramping, meeting the princess’ gaze with her own as Sokka worked to free Appa from the net. As Hama helped the elders into the saddle, one by one. As Sokka politely—Excuse me, I’ll just be taking that, thanks for the find—reclaimed Li.

She couldn’t see their firebender breathing, from here. But she could feel the blood in his veins. She could feel it all around, in every enemy and every friend, pounding against her head. Her fingers twitched involuntarily. The princess grit her teeth against a gasp. 

“I’ll just be taking this, too,” Sokka said, scooping the princess up in the same bridal carry he’d just used for Li. “You can tell your Fire Lord to expect our ransom letter.”

“Sokka,” Katara said, between teeth clenched with strain. She couldn’t tell him I can’t do this much longer, because she didn’t know what would happen if the soldiers or princess heard. But she couldn’t, it was… it was too much, and everywhere, and she wasn’t sure for how much longer it would just be the princess. 

Pulling water from plants had been easier. She hadn’t cared which ones had wilted. 

“Katara,” Sokka said. “It’s free royal hostage.”

The princess went in the saddle. Hama helped Katara up, too. And then they were in the air, and—and she could let go. Relax. Let the only pulse she felt be her own.

She’d done it. 

She was crying, and Hama was hugging her, and another elder on her other side was too, and the moon was high above them white and brilliant and she’d done it.

“You’re so strong,” Hama said, holding her tight. “Such a master you’ll make. You’ll never have anything to fear, my child. It’s the world that will fear you. Our beautiful, brave southern bloodbender.”

The princess sat in the back of the cramped saddle, rubbing slowly at her arms. She was watching Katara. Katara couldn’t read her expression, through the tears. And to be honest? She didn’t really care.

She’d done it, she’d done it, and she could have done so much worse. 

If the princess didn’t recognize mercy when she saw it, it was only because she was still alive to disagree.