#Foot odor control

[henry7931]

Uncle Nephew Swaps Vol.1

A Very Different Vacation

Caleb:

My best friend Jake and I always travel with our families together. His parents are friends with my parents and I’ve grown up with him all my life.

And when it came time for our family beach trip, we decided to shake things up. Specially, we switched bodies with our uncles!

That’s right! Our entire trip will be me in my uncle Shawn and Jake in his uncle Mike.

So far I’ve really enjoy being inside of Shawn. Especially since we haven’t told anyone in our families about the swap. Luckily, both Shawn and Mike are single so we can do just about whatever we want!

That means if we want to go golfing all day, party all night, it’s really up to us!

I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot being inside of my uncle Shawn. He’s a good looking guy and I can’t help but notice my attraction to Mike’s body. I wonder if Jake would be down to fool around.

His uncle has a sexy chest, he’s fit like Shawn, and from the bulge I’ve seen Jake sport around on the beach— I just know that thing is big!

Maybe after we go out tonight, I’ll try to make my move. In the meantime, I’ll just low key flirt with him.

Wait a minute, I wonder… if I’m so attracted to Mike inside of my uncles body… does that mean Shawn and Mike may already have a thing?

Uncle Shawn:

“Okay smile for the camera!”

I feel Mike grab on tight to my nephew’s shoulder and seductively rub down my back as the photos over.

“You wanna get ready for the beach?” I ask him with a big grin on my face.

“Oh yeah let’s go get ready.”

The second we get back to our shared room, Mike yanks off my pants and my nephew’s eager dick comes flying out.

“Shit, Shawn this is so wrong but I love having these bodies. The amount of times we can keep going in one day.”

“I know! You thought this mornings shower session was enough but damn! I’m already horny again!”

My grabs on to my borrowed cock and I yelp.

“Sorry it’s just so sensitive.”

“It’s all good, I like making you squirm a bit,” he says toying with Caleb’s 21 year old leaking equipment.

I look down at Jake’s beautiful big feet. Mike’s really good at putting those toes to work.

“Ohhh does someone want me to jerk them off again with these toes?” he says wiggling them in front of me.

“Please…”

Mike kisses me with his soft lips. We end up making out for a few minutes before he pushes me back on the bed.

“You ready ‘Caleb’?”

“Oh my ready ‘Jake’!”

Mike wraps Jake’s toes around Caleb’s sensitive cock and i immediately start moaning.

He runs his toes over the shaft down to Caleb’s tight balls.

“Ohhhhh…”

He proceeds to put the other foot towards my face and I start sucking on his toes.

I get the foot good and wet before he switches off to the other one.

His feet stink mainly from him refusing to wear any socks all trip but Mike knows I love nothing more than natural body odor. He’s even wore the same pair of boxers all week which he’s even cum into a couple of times.

I feel him start to pump faster with Jake’s toes. I rub and down his hairy legs. We keep eye contact which is so sexy to me. Both of us don’t want to miss a minute of our experience.

Now we’ve both fooled around with body swapping, especially with each other. I’m normally fucking my own body most of the time when I’m with Mike. But this switching bodies with our nephews all week is a whole new level of kinky!

I soon feel myself get close…

“MIKE!!! IM ABOUT TO!”

Cum squirts all over the place including all over his borrowed feet. Mike lets me lick them clean.

“Now my turn!”

Mikes pulls down his nephews pants and his cock is throbbing. He pushes my face into his crotch and the smell is overwhelming.

Mike throat fucks me tor 10 minutes before exploding down my nephews throat.

We lay back in bed and cuddle our nephews baked bodies together.

All of the sudden someone knocks at the door.

“Hey! Are y’all coming down to the beach?”

It’s my own voice with my nephew controlling it.

“Yeah give us a few! We’ll be down shortly ‘Uncle Shawn’!”

“Ready for the beach?” I say kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah let’s get dressed!”

Uncle Jax’s Body For Halloween

Timmy couldn’t believe his uncle agreed to swap bodies with him for Halloween! Timmy wanted to feel like a real life superhero so what better way than his uncle Jax’s muscular body.

Now with the latest available technology these days body swapping had become the newest trend for costumes. Especially since home swap devices are so popular, you can really be however you want!

Luckily for Timmy, he’s gets to be his cool uncle all night! I’m sure he’s going to have lots of fun!

Uncle Rocky’s Massive Bod

Jeremy:

I work for my uncle Rocky and when he told me about his vacation I was super nervous to get everything done since I’m no where near as strong as him. But he told me not to worry that he has a plan.

So the day before he was planning to leave he called me to meet him at his house. That’s when he told me about his plan.

I wasn’t prepared for the words that came out of my uncles mouth. He told me we are going to swap bodies for a week. He’ll take my body on vacation while I stay at his house and go to work as him.

“Really uncle Rocky?!?!”

“Yep! Just be careful with my body.”

So here I am inside my uncle doing a bunch of physical labor. Kinda cool right?!?

I’m surprise by just how much easier it is to get stuff done with his big muscles.

The best part about all of this is that after I finish up, I get to go back to his place and enjoy just being him.

My Uncle is a handsome guy and I’m fully aware of it. He even has a giant thick cock which is so fun to jerk off with!

Tonight, I made him a Grindr page. I’m hoping I can find a really cute guy with his body that will let me top him. That shouldn’t be too hard, as long as they can handle this massive monster!

[theambitiouswoman]

Benefits of apple cider vinegar 🍏✨

• Skin toner: Clears & balances

• pH balance: Supports vaginal health in a diluted bath

• Face masks: Adds glow & fights acne

• Hair rinse: Boosts shine & reduces dandruff

• Salad dressing: Adds flavor & aids digestion

• Cleaning: Natural disinfectant

• Fruit & veggie wash: Removes dirt & pesticides

• Immune boost: Rich in antioxidants & antimicrobial

• Digestive aid: Supports gut health when taken diluted

• Appetite control: May help curb cravings

• Blood sugar balance: Helps regulate levels

• Sore throat relief: Mix with warm water to soothe

• Foot soak: Softens skin & fights odor

• Sunburn relief: Calms redness when diluted

[whispersxwhimpers]

Hello Darling 🖤

Please read my bio before interacting (18+ only)

Queued Posts: Active 4p-12a

🖤 Rules/Guidelines 🖤

● This is an 18+ blog ONLY. Users without their age in their bio will be BLOCKED. MDNI (minors do not interact), or you will be BLOCKED

● DMs & Anons: Open

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🖤 About Me 🖤

● I'm from the USA (EST Zone)

● I'm a Libra sun, Scorpio moon, & Cancer rising. My personality type is INFJ

● I'm genderfluid, I use she/they/he pronouns

● I'm polyamorous and currently single

● I love art & being in touch with my creative side. I like doing crafts, doodling, & coloring

● I love nature, I love hiking through trails and visiting the beach. I love exploring and traveling, I love taking pictures of my adventures

● I'm a masochistic switch who takes both roles seriously. I believe it takes lots of communication, trust, care, and bonding to build and maintain a dom+sub's dynamic/relationship. My dom's/sub's well-being is one of my highest priorities, inside and outside of play

● ♡ @stonedlilac 🐯 is my darling sub, I also have a beloved switch who is my BunBun 🐰 ♡

🖤 Kinks 🖤

BDSM Play

Breath Play

Breeding

Choking

CNC Play

Gangbangs (WLW Only)

Group Play (I don't like to just watch. I do like to share and be shared, but I'm no spectator.)

Hairpulling

Impact Play

Intox Play (cannabis only)

Nipple Play

Oral

Power Dynamic

Public Play

Punish Play

Roleplay

Sensory Play

Supernatural Play (Vampires, Phantoms, Demons, etc.)

Somno

🖤 Limits 🖤

Bathroom Control

Branding/Burning

Conversion Play

Cupping (massage cups)

Diper Play

Enemas

Foot Fetishism

Incest

Necrophilia/Snuff

Odors

Pins/Needles

Piss/Scat/Vomit

Raceplay

Sounding/Urethra Play

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If you'd like to know more, you can always send me an ask. My ask box is always open for questions! You can also feel free to send a message!

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[anon-sect]

PART TWO

Zane went home, thinking about his wild weekend at his coworker Eric's house. He was on all fours nearly the whole weekend. At night, he had to sleep on the floor next to Eric's bed with the leash tied to the bed post. He was literally being treated like a foot pet, Eric's foot pet. In the morning, he would have to kiss his coworkers feet when he woke up. And kiss them at night when he went to sleep. Eric would be on the phone during the day, while he was in the floor licking his feet, or even if Eric was watching tv. Many times his coworker would simply ignore him at his feet. It was quite a humiliating experience, but he was loving every moment. He started seeing his coworker as his hot owner and wanted to serve even more. Before this weekend, he would never have thought of Eric in this way. He was told that would be coming over on some nights and almost every weekend till the loan was paid off. He slightly pretended to hate it, but was oddly looking forward to it.

It was a couple of days later, when Eric told him to be at his house tonight. He wanted to try something different. Zane wondered what he would make him do this time.

Eric was enjoying the control he had over Zane. As long as the loan wasn't paid in full, he could make Zane do anything he just about wanted. He almost was hoping his coworker couldn't pay him back. Having Zane under his control was a power trip he never thought he would actually enjoy. He was looking forward to tonight's fun with his personal foot toy, as he thought of Zane.

Zane was met at the door by Eric the moment he knocked on his front door. He saw the he had the collar and leash in hand, ready to start the fun. Once the door was closed, Zane got to his hand and knees without being told to do so. He felt Eric put the collar around his neck and attach the leash. "Kiss, boy." He heard one simple command. He began kissing Eric's feet several times, worshipping his coworker. As Eric began to walk toward his den, he followed crawling on hands and knees.

Once in the den, he saw the coffee table was pushed further away from the couch. "Tonight, you will serve as my foot rest." Eric spoke to Zane. "Stay on all fours and straighten your back." Eric spoke as he maneuvered Zane into the right position in front of the couch. Once in place, Eric propped his feet on Zane's back. He tried to keep his back as straight as possible. "How long do I stay this way, Sir?" He asked him. Eric removed one laeg and rubbed his socked feet into his face. "For as long as I want, foot rest. Also, no speaking unless I say otherwise. Furniture don't have mouths to speak to their owners." Eric paused as a thought entered his mind. He removed both socks. "Open up." He commanded as stuffed one foul sock into Zane's mouth. The other sock he used to tie it around his mouth and face, keeping the sock in his mouth. "Now you are a quiet foot rest." He laughed as he snapped a quick picture with his phone.

Zane thought the weekend domination was bad. Tonight definitely stepped it up a notch. He was literally being used as furniture in Eric's house. The sock was a bit disgusting to suck on in his mouth. He initially wanted to take it out, but his owner would not approve. He kept quiet while Eric ignored him and watch television. A few times he would rub his bare foot in his face and laugh at him for letting him do it.

After about two and a half hours, Zane's arms and legs were getting tired. He was struggling to hold his back straight for Eric. He saw that he was getting annoyed by it. The entire time, Eric never bothered to remove the sock from his mouth. "Since you can hold my legs and feet up anymore, get on the floor on your back." Zane found himself maneuvered again in front of the couch. He watched as two soft soles pressed on his face. With the sock still in his mouth, the only way was to breathe out of his nose. Each breath he intake a slightly foul foot odor of Eric's feet. As much as he thought he should hate this, he was enjoying being dominated by his hot coworker.

Eric really didn't care how much Zane was either liking or hating what he did to him. As long as he owed him, Zane was his to do with as he pleased. But secretly, he was also enjoying the power he had over him. He kept Zane sniffing his feet till late in the night when he finally took out the socks and let him go back home.

This was Zane's life for months as he continued to pay back Eric on the loan. At least three nights of the week, he was over at his house being dominated at his feet or in bed on some occasions. He had paid back $2,000.00, so far. He wondered how much longer Eric would own him at this rate, even though he secretly didn't want it to end.

Eric knew Zane would pay him off eventually, and the fun would be over. He really didn't want that result, but what possible solution could there be where Zane was his forever. He saw an advertisement on Formula X and Formula Z. He knew his solution was that. With Formula X, he could turn Zane into anything he wanted and keep him forever being dominated. With Formula Z, he could transform him back and use the other Formula to make him into something else. He now had the perfect idea and plan.

Zane was at his desk when Eric approached him. "Be at my place tonight. I have good news for you concerning the loan." He told him and walked off. He hypothesize what the good news could be. Maybe he canceled the loan or reduced it even further. At any rate, he would find out tonight.

Zane arrived that evening at Eric's house as directed. He expected him to have collar and leash ready as usual, but there was no collar or leash in his hands. In fact, he instructed him not to crawl behind him but walk normal. He was a little confused about what was going on. As he went to sit on the couch beside him, he saw two glasses on the coffee table. Were they about to celebrate something, he thought to himself.

Eric handed Zane the tainted drink with Formula X in it. "I decided you paid it in full. We are drinking to the end of you owing me." Eric spoke as he drink what was in the other glass. He watched as Zane continued to drink the tainted liquid. He waited till Zane finished it off and placed the glass on the coffee table. "Massage my feet one last time, would you?" He asked.

Zane loved whatever that drink was. He was relieved that he no longer needed to pay Eric, but was sad to see the domination end. When Eric asked him that, he gladly got to his knees to massage those feet one last time. As he rub them, he began to feel weird. He saw a devious smile on Eric's face. What was he up to, he thought. The room seemed to get larger, including Eric. The realization of what was going on scared him. He was shrinking. "What did you do to me?" He quickly questioned.

"Instead of you continuing to pay me, I decided to take you as the payment. You love Mt feet and socks so well. I thought, why not be my socks for a while. You really will get to smell like my feet for real then," Eric spoke and laughed at the rapidly shrinking Zane. Soon Zane was so small that he began to morph into a pair of white cotton socks. He picked them up off the floor and put them on his feet. "Wow, you really do make a good pair of socks, Zane. I will keep you like this for a good three months and not wash you. That way you get to really feel my foot stench." He spoke as he relaxed and turned the TV up. Zane was socks now, or at least for the next three months or so. If anyone asks about him at work, he would just simply tell them he didn't know where he was. As far as he was concerned, he got something special in exchange of the money.

Zane found himself wrapped around Eric's feet. He could tell that he hadn't showered since the morning by the smell of his feet. As socks, the stench was even stronger. The taste of his feet is even foul than before. The wiggling of the toes truly made him see how his fate was. He was just an object on Eric's feet totally against his will. This level of domination he was prepared for. He mentally begged him to let him go but could tell Eric couldn't hear his thoughts or pleas. After about an hour later, upon which he was also walked on without a single care from Eric, he decided to settle for his fate. He wanted him to continue to dominate him, but not like this. Soon, he would smell like the foul socks he worshipped for months, and no one would know of it. Only Eric would know his whereabouts and fate, totally placing him at Eric's mercy forever.

Collaboration with @jkob85

[spnbabe67]

The Simple Act of Breaking Hearts

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: This is pure angst (fucking made me cry writing this), Hurt/No Comfort, Slapping, Cursing, Dean is a belligerent drunk, implications of cheating, implications of child death (nothing graphic)

Summary: After a hunt involving multiple casualties, Dean goes missing. When Tori finds him, words are exchanged and ties are cut. When Dean comes to the following morning, he is forced to face his actions.

Word Count: 1694

Authors Notes: This was inspired by the songs Last Night by Morgan Wallen and Something In the Orange by Zach Bryan

Let me know if y'all want a part two

It had been a hard hunt. None of them had realized that the nest of vamps was working with a demon, and by the time they figured it out, 3 small children were dead and two more, Tori and Sam had sent to the hospital in critical condition. Like always, Dean had taken their deaths the hardest, not to mention Tori herself had a nasty black eye and a gash slicing across her bicep. Despite her protests that she was fine, Dean still insisted on doing the stitches himself. After he'd completed the last stitch, Dean had fled her room. That was two hours ago, and Tori hadn't seen him since. Well, that was until she found him in some rundown tavern just outside Lebanon city limits.

The first thing Tori noticed as she set foot into the bar was the blasting music, followed by the stench of body odor mingling with cheap alcohol. It was nearly enough to make her vomit, and definitely, enough to trigger an ache at the base of her skull from all her senses being assaulted at once. Tori swallowed hard and made her way, weaving through the throng of bodies. It wasn't hard to find Dean, she'd know him anywhere. The hunter she'd lived with, whose clothes she mixed in with hers, the hunter who'd just a week ago shared her bed.  But what she wasn't expecting, was the scantily clad blonde practically curled up in his lap, the two sequestered away in a booth near the back. Tori felt ice flood her veins, making her shiver despite the overwhelming heat in the bar. She licked her lips, huffing an irritated sigh as she walked up to the table.

"Mind if I join you." Tori bit out, ire practically leaking from her body.

If Dean was surprised to see her, then he didn't show it as he spoke. "Actually, I think we do." 

The girl on his lap looked up at Tori with a heavy-lidded gaze from where she had been nuzzling at Deans neck. It took years of masking and self control to keep the rage bubbling up in check and not drag the woman by her bottle blonde hair and throw her to the ground.

"Well to fucking bad, Dean." Tori pulled her eyes away from where the girl was sucking another dark mark against Dean's tanned skin, adding to the myriad of them already littering his skin. "Tell your," Tori ran her tongue over her teeth, "Friend, to go get us another round of drinks."

Tori, pulled a few bills from her pocket, slamming them hard enough onto the table to rattle the empty tumblers and cast a few glances their way. One sharp look from Tori had the onlookers quickly returning to their conversations. The blonde looked at Dean and he leaned in whispering in her ear, nipping at the skin below it before pulling away. The woman crawled over Dean to snatch the bills from the table, sauntering up to the bar.

"What are you doing here, Tori." Dean slurred, knocking back what was left of his drink before slinging an arm over the back of the booth. 

"I'm bringing you home, Dean. We were fucking worried." Tori started, curling her hands into fists to keep the tears that threatened to well up at bay. "Sam was worried. I was worried."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine." Dean snapped back, words sharp as a blade. "You can go tattle to Sam and tell him I'm fine. Peachy even."

"Dean. I love you, and I will not let you drink yourself to death."

Dean chuckled darkly, the sound roiling some uneasy part in Tori's stomach. "Yeah, well the feelin' ain't mutual sweetheart."

And like that, the bottom of Tori's heart fell straight into her stomach. She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "You don't mean that."

"I do." Dean shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you  gonna do about it? Cry?"

Tori blinked, eyes blurry with tears. How could he be so fucking cruel? It was sheer will now keeping her from breaking down completely, and even that was beginning to slowly crumble.

"Fuck you, Winchester." Tori spat, clenching her fists so hard she barely registered the blood trickling from where her nails had bit through the flesh of her palms. "You're drunk."

Dean got up from the table, legs unsteady enough for him to place a hand on the table to prevent himself from falling. Tori reached out, but he slapped her hand away. He took a step forward, their chests millimeters from touching. She could smell the alcohol on his breath invading her nose and into her lungs to the point Tori wondered if she could get drunk if she breathed deep enough. 

"And you're a nothing but a fucking slut. But you know what?" Dean gripped her chin, making her gaze shift from where she had been staring a hole into his chest to meet his. "In the morning I'll be sober, and you'll still be a pathetic whore who sucks the life out of people."

Tori's hand made contact with Dean's face before she had time to think. Her eyes were drawn to the lines of red dripping down his face from where the impact of her nails had sliced into his face, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I wish I'd never met you." Tori snarled, ripping Dean's hand from her face before he spun on her heel and disappeared back into the wave of patrons with no look back.

The first thing Dean registered when he woke up the next morning, was the pounding in his head. It was a herculean task for him to crack his eyes open. All he could remember was leaving the bunker, images of the dead on a reel in his mind, driving to a bar. Flashes kept coming in and out, drinking at a bar, Tori being there, but most too fast for him to comprehend. At least not while he was this hung over. Dean rubbed a fist against his eyes before blinking them open. It was much to his confusion when he was met with the sight of a naked woman sharing his bed. A naked woman that was very much not Tori, and in a bed that was very much not his room at the bunker. A sinking feeling started to nag at the back of his mind. He sat up, not caring if he woke the blonde woman in the bed, surveying the dingy motel room. If the sun peeking through the cracks in the yellowed blinds had indication, there were several hours between the present and the last sober memory he could recall.

Dean slipped out of the bed, frowning at his own nakedness before slipping himself back into the jeans that were discarded on the floor. He closed the bathroom door behind him before walking to the sink. He cursed under his breath as he beheld the blue and black mottling the left side of his face along with the two or three small cuts on his cheekbone. He ran the water in the sink cold before splashing it onto his face. The icy water was enough to send a shock through his system and the dam broke. Everything came flooding back like the water tumbling from the tap. Getting rip roaring drunk, making out with the blonde in the bathroom, Tori showing up, his downright vile words, her slapping him before disappearing as quickly as she came, tumbling through the motel room with the woman in the bed. 

"Fuck." Dean whispered, before turning the water off and stumbling back into the room, hastily pulling his shirt on. He didn't take the time to tie his boots before running out of the motel room.

Dean was sure he'd broken a significant number of driving laws getting back to the bunker, not bothering to lock Baby before making his way into the bunker. The silence he'd grown to love about he bunker was now eerie without the sound of Tori's laughter, the music she'd blare while doing practically anything. His heart sunk as he approached his room, the door left cracked open. He slowly pushed it the rest of the way. Just days before he'd helped Tori move her stuff into his room. But now, every trace of her was gone. The bed was made, with every piece of clothing she had borrowed from him folded neatly on her side. A quick check in the dresser revealed that her clothes, along with the ones in the closet, were gone.

Dean's eyes slid to the desk, where Tori's sketchbook and pencils had taken up residence. Those were gone too. And in their stead, was a single folded piece of notebook paper addressed to him and a set of key. One was a copy of the key to the Bunker he had made for Tori when she officially moved into the bunker years ago, and the other was the key to the car she'd fixed up in her time here, the car Dean had given to her for her birthday last year. Dean took the note with a gentleness you'd think he held a bomb, not a piece of paper. He slumped down onto his bed, and with a shaky breath and equally shaky hands, opened it and began reading the note written in Tori's familiar, elegant scrawl.

Dean,

By the time you read this, I'll be long gone. Don't bother asking Sam where I went, he got his own note, but nothing regarding my whereabouts. The keys to the bunker and to the car are on your desk. I took nothing I didn't come here with, or bought on my own. 

I'm not sure if I'm to thank you or curse you for the memories over the years. Those aren't so easily washed away as it was to wash the clothes I stole from you. I owe you no debts, and you owe me nothing in return. I wish you no ill will, only the best, which is what you deserve

Don't bother coming to look for me. I've disappeared once, I know how to do it again. 

Love,

Tori

[vibratingskull]

Fake dating

I took @al-astakbar​‘s idea and run with it.

Thrawnxf!reader

Resume : Alone on an strange planet with a little chiss girl you walk desesperatly trying to reach coordinates given by a beacon. Here you are saved by Grand Admiral Thrawn’s crew and he proposes you an incongruous solution to your problem...

You hold her hand, never letting her go. You advance on the precarious terrain, stepping over trunks and gullies. The tall grass is as tall as her and she can’t see far away in the forest. 

“Keep going… walking farther…” You try to communicate. She looks at you with round eyes, like you’re asking the impossible. She sighs with a tear rolling down her cheek. You sit her down and take off her shoe.

It is not pleasant to see.

And without a bacta pack you’re afraid amputation awaits that little girl. But she didn’t complain once, walking straight without slowing you down, she’s far more resistant than you were at her age, she’s impressive.

“Show me beacon, please.” you try to articulate. This little girl, Moarorou, if you understood well, doesn't speak a word of basic and you don’t speak a word of her language. So you opted for your very poor Sy Bisty, the only language that sparkled a reaction in her. She hands you her weird necklace, it’s still beeping, still giving you the same coordinates she translated for you earlier, you only know that you're approaching them.

This is your only certitude.

You don’t even know if you could reach it in time, or ever. Too many parameters out of your control.

Your gaze lowers down on her foot again. The poor thing got stabbed by a metal tube in the foot and it got infected due to the grease and rust. You tried to wash and bandage the wound as well as you could, but without proper medical equipment, a miracle is all you can hope for. Right now you wish you could give her a painkiller, an anti-inflammatory medication, anything…

She pulls on her collar on wince, gasping for air. 

Those shock collars…

You take hers in your hands and try to find some slack to break it off, but once again to no avail, you look at her and shake your head with a sorry expression. If you're once again at range of your captors you're done for. You feel yours constricting your throat. The symbol of your enslavement… 

You wipe her tears with your thumb and smile at her, trying to give her the hope and courage you’ve long lost, putting your forehead against hers you caress the back of her neck in a soothing manner.

You palp the rifle at your hips and pass your arms under her.

“I carry you.” you explain standing up “Hold on.” She encircles your neck with her emaciated arms and lays her head  on your shoulder. You walk with her in your arms for hours, in the stifling air despite the shadow provided by the enormous trees. You only stop to permit her to ease her pain in a fresh stream of water and eat some berries off a bush. The cold water seems to be efficient but as soon she takes her feet off the water the pain comes back as grave and powerful. 

“Destination… help…” You promise every time, but the walk is so long and your chances so thin.

At night you hold her as she cries in pain and fear. You’ve never seen her species before, she must be so far away from her home… So you squeeze her, chant her some old melodies your mum sang when you had a nightmare, doing your best to not get wet by the rain, your rifle never far away. When she finally sleeps it’s you who can’t, reviving the crash with such precision… The panic, the horror, the screams. You see the Hutts, your captors, you see your chains, and all those nights parked in the slave cell; pressed against the other slaves, shuddering and cold.

And now you’re lost on this forest planet, blindly following an alien antiquity to find your way.

You wake up to the hot air, even more oppressive than yesterday, but without any sun. You examine her wounds. The flesh all around started to darken and the bad odor indicates you the necrosis started. She’s sweating and is really hot, taken by a fever.

If you don’t find civilization in the next 48h you’re afraid even amputation might not be able to save her.

Once again you carry her, on your back this time and walk straight ahead, crushed by the heat. She sleeps and talks at the same time, in complete delirium, you don’t understand a word as she’s talking in her strange language but imagining with ease that she calls her mom. 

You seem to hear some sort of… humming. 

You press your steps, hope rising in your chest. Is it the ship here to save you?

When you arrive at an open clearing you stop dead on your tracks.

You understand now why there isn’t any sun : An ISD of the Empire is floating just above you, finally free of the foliage that hid them until now.

Your stomach drops, escaping the Hutts to end in the empire’s hands is not an improvement. You gulp as you see a corvette slowly going down towards you, menacingly.

You stay on your toes ready to sprint off at any sign of danger. Strangely, only one woman exits the small ship, in the green uniform of those monsters that she seems to wear with pride. You take a step back as she continues towards you with assurance. When you decide she’s close enough you draw your rifle.

“Stop right there!” You shout.

She stops and gauges you up and down in silence, like she’s measuring her chances. But to your surprise she holds her hands high and visible. You think you see some commotion behind her in the dark of the ship, but you can’t say for sure

“Why are you here?!”

“Hello madam, I am commander Karyn Faro of the ISD Chimaera, I-”

“Why are you here!?” You shout back again, the temptation to shoot her between her eyes is so tempting, but that would for sure be your sign your own death warrant.

“Calm down madam, I am here to help.” She tries.

“Help? No. Your kind doesn’t help, it never does!” You start panicking, counting your options.

“We do. Often.” She tilts her head on the side. “We are here to help the child.” You feel Moarorou’s head resting on your shoulder moving a bit. The denominated Karyn takes a step towards you “Listen, we are here because of a distress signal. Let us help you.” Your gun starts to tremble in your hand but you don’t lower your arm “We can give you food and shelter, we can heal that poor child. The Grand Admiral Thrawn asked that no harm be given to you.”

“I don’t know that Thrawn!” You warn. “What value can I give to the words of an Imperial anyway?!”

“The highest value.” She’s almost on you. “The Grand Admiral is a man of honor. You can trust him…” With the tip of her fingers she traces the canon of your weapon. You search in her eyes any trace of humanity, she doesn’t seem to lie. “Do it for the child.” 

Slowly she invites you to lower the gun, and very gently take it out of your hands. 

“O…Ok…” You mumble, at the end of yourself.

She nods and spins on herself in a swift movement. With a snap of her finger she calls two all black stormtroopers that head towards you with their gun pointed at your chest. You’re tempted to run away but you know they shot in your back, therefore Moarorou’s back to stop you. The first one comes and just grabs Moarorou off your shoulder, tearing her from you. When you hear a weak whine of pain you immediately see red and ready to jump at their jugular. You throw yourself at them but you're stopped by a prodigious smack of the second’s knee in your stomach. You fall down, panting for air, they force you on your belly and handcuff you unceremoniously. You’re dragged to the shuttle and thrown into a seat.

“Hey!” You protest.You frantically search around you to find Moarorou. You find her on a stretcher with two droids busying themself around her. You rise up to go to her but you’re shoved back down right away.

“She needs me.” You plead to the black stormtrooper. They remain silent but threaten to hit you with their rifle butt. You turn back to Moarorou in despair as you hear here faintly calling your name.

“Here, Moarorou. Am here.” You answer, praying it comforts her.

“Don’t worry, our meddroids are the most competent across the galaxy.” Karyn Faro calmly enounces. “Now remain calm and everything will go smoothly. We are going.”

As she finishes her sentences you feel the shuttle take off. You gulp. In what mess did you end up? Your stomach is turning acidic by the minute and the closer you get of that gigantic ship the worse you feel.

__________________________________________

Then everything went so quickly.

Someone grabbed your arm without any care, stripped you of your old ripped dress and throwed you in a shower where you’ve been clinically cleaned with water blasts attacking your delicate and wounded skin. Then someone scrubbed all your body and hair thoroughly with a very efficient chemical product with alcohol lingering scents. You scream and protest, in pain, but the people in combination are deaf to your cries. Once cleaned you are asked to put on those pajamas for the hospital's patients and Karyn Faro guides you through the ISD, your arm in hand. You have no idea where you are going, your questions remain unanswered. She just lets out a stern “You’ll soon see.” 

You end up before a large door guarded by two stormtroopers, they salute her and open it, you end up in some sort of short corridor with two doors, one on your left from which you hear some grunts and metal impacts, but she pushes you towards the one in front of you. She looks at you up and down, pulls on your t-shirt to flatten it and pushes any strand of hair out of your face. 

“Alright, be polite and you should avoid the cell.”

“Wha-”

She pushes you inside and the door slams back shut. You drum against the cold metal.

“Wait! Don’t leave me alone! Please” But she’s far gone. You slowly turn to see where you are. It looks like an office of some sort with art decorating its walls. Behind an impressive desk, taking center stage are two statues of a lizard of some sort, holding a world in their claws. You consider the seat in front of the desk, wondering if you had the right to sit. Surely not. You must be in a high officer’s office, a low person like you surely remains standing.

A shudder spreads across your spine as you hear the door shuffling behind your back.

You feel a presence behind you.

Something cold and merciless. Something imposing…

You dare not move nor make a sound, not even turning to greet the person. You feel them move more than you hear them walking.

“Sit.” Say a calm voice.

You obey, eyes low.

They walk around the desk to sit in front of you.

You dig your nails in the fabric of the pajamas, greeting your teeth.

They remain silent but you can feel their burning gaze on you, gauging you, judging you.

After a full minute, no words were exchanged.

You hold your breath.

“Are you going to remain like this? Are you not going to look me in the eyes?” He asks softly. Too softly for someone with such a presence, it’s hiding something…

Looking at him in the eyes? You don’t know if you would dare. The last time you looked up to someone higher than you you earned 30 whiplash. You’ve learned your lesson. Your collar is still strangling you…

“Look me in the eyes.” He says. You don’t move an inch, too terrified. “It is an order.” The tone calls for no resistance.

So you obey.

Reluctantly you raise your head, and slowly you open your eyes.

And air gets caught in your throat.

This man…

Moarorou!

They are the same.

Detached from all of this, he observes you behind folded hands.

“Is it not better? Speaking eye to eye…” You gulp, knowing better than to speak your mind. Or speaking at all… “Relax, you are not in any immediate danger.” He assures taking a datapad in his hand. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I only need you to answer me some questions.”

You observe his red eyes, piercing with intelligence. You feel like they could read you like a holobook. So he’s the Grand Admiral? An alien? You observe his stature, tall with prominent muscles he’s surely a warrior. Your eyes linger at his large hand, terrified at the idea that they could go for your throat in the immediate future…

“Are you mute?”

Your gaze crosses his once again and you lightly shake your head.

“Then answer me.” he hits you sternly. “What is your name?”

You answer with a small voice.

“Louder.” He says, eyes on his datapad.

You repeat.

“Good. Where do you come from?”

“I… We come from a crashed ship.”

“Owner?”

“My master’s name is Nattai Gleula.”

“No. The ship owner.”

“Oh…” you feel embarrassed now “The Hutts.”

“How did you encounter that little girl?”

“She was brought to the Palace one day. I don’t know much, we don’t speak the same language…”

“I figured you did not. Do you know for what works they purchased her?” This time he looks at you, and you would rather he did not because his gaze is terrifying. You always find Moarorou’s eyes pretty but from an adult warrior they are just terrifying…

“Huh… For cleaning and cooking. That’s what most children of her age do.”

“Did they ever take her to a ship?”

“No?” What a strange question “I mean, I never saw them do that…”

He nods pensively.

“What were the reasons for your trip?”

“Family reunion. They always travel with their court of slaves.”

“Do you know who could have something against your master?”

Your eyes widen, who couldn’t would be easier.

“Huh… He’s a crime syndicate so..”

“Excuses. Let me reformulate : Do you know who could have attacked you that day?”

“Attacked? I thought the ship just malfunctioned?”

“I think not. I think you ended up in an ambush set by an enemy. So?”

You think, but no one comes to mind. They all want your master dead and they all failed until now. Or maybe not, you didn’t stay behind to ensure the safety of your master, you took your chance and runned.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry sir.”

“It is okay, I already have an idea. Describe me the crash in more detail.”

You gulp.

“I was performing for my master when I felt the ship tremble. It was terrifying. Then it brusquely tilted on one side and everyone fell against the wall. I think I hit my head because I lost consciousness. I woke up with flames all around me, I used them to melt my chains. I tried to find an exit and ended up in the slave quarters, that’s when i heard Moarorou’s cries : her cell comrade was already dead and she got something metallic through her foot, locking her on the ground. I had to tear it up from her foot. There was so much blood… I managed to more or less cauterize the wound and we runned to the escape pod. I knew we couldn’t join space with them from the ground but they could project us far enough to escape. So we launch them and almost killed ourself when we landed. Since then we walked through the forest following her beacon’s indications and… then you found us.”

You remember the necklace, too weird and of poor metal to be worth anything, was in fact your life saver. For now….

He nods.

“Yes. This beacon comes from our people and is distributed to the likes of her.”

“The likes of her?” You dare ask.

“Children, of course.” He smiles.

“Oh… okay…”

You're disappointed. For what need a species would give a beacon to all of its children?

“And since when were you in that forest?”

You count mentally.

“A week, sir.”

“Hmmm.” He holds his chin and contemplates you. “I find myself in a precarious situation, miss.” 

That’s when he’s gonna tell you he can’t keep you like that, that he’s gonna imprison you and sell you back on the black market, unless you prove yourself to be nice and docile and earn some moment of liberty against some favors. If only you could secure Moarorou’s place at the medbay.

He rises from his seat and turns towards the statues, hands folded behind his back.

“You see, we are very few of my race in those parts of the galaxy. And the apparition of a child is not a good auspices in my humble opinion. If I am right, we are going ahead with some serious problems.”

You look at the back of his head, mouth agape. Some problems? What is he talking about? 

“Do you care for the girl?” He turns towards you, looking down at you from his height.

Why would it count? Why should your opinion count? Why does he care? You look at his eyes, searching for malice or a trap. 

But his gaze is clear.

“I… Yes.” You nods firmly. “Yes, I do.” 

“Good. Then I will ask you for your help. We must protect the child, at all cost, and send her back home as quickly as possible. But we must protect her identity.”

You blink, you’re not sure you’re following everything. And it’s been a while since someone “asked” you anything.

“Hum… Alright. And how should we do that, Sir?”

“I ponder this question since I have been made aware of your existence. I expected to only find a child, not two people. I have a plan, but I would understand if you refused.”

Flashes of Moarorou’s calling desperately for you appear in your mind.

“I want to know!” You exclaim. “I want to protect Moarorou!”

“Moarorou is her name?”

“Yes, I think…”

“We will know soon. We will find her once her operations at the medbay are over.”

“Alright.” You nod, reassured. “So… How do we proceed, sir?”

If you ever thought you would partner up with an imperial. But to protect little Moarorou you would do anything.

“We should pretend to be family. If I pass myself as her father, nobody should question her existence and search for her past. I would need you to pass for her caring mother.”

“But… That would make me your…”

“My wife. Exactly.”

You could burst out laughing if you were not that shocked. 

You?!

Pretending to marry an Imperial?!

A God-Damn Imperial?!

A slave trader ?

No!

“Wha-? Sir, you cannot be serious!?”

“I am completely serious. It is a necessary wrong to protect her.”

“But… Why would she need protection in the first place? She’s just a child!” 

“She is more than just a child. She is a key.”

“What is she?”

“That I can not tell you.”

“Then I think I cannot help you...”

“Then know you are condemning her.” He shakes his head with a sorry expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Only with this comedy I can fully protect her to the full extent of my capacities. The other option is keeping her locked and hidden from the world, but that is not a life for a child. She should be able to learn, to live freely, and I do not think you might want to inflict that on her.”

“No. I don’t, I…” You lose your words.

“Then consider my proposition. Think about it for a night, and give me your answer tomorrow.” He proposes.

Your head is spinning. Too many things to think about. 

“Come.” He proposes. “Let us see her. She must yearn for your presence.”

He looks into your eyes, and you can only see intelligence and an inalterable resolution.

“Yes…” You murmur “Let’s go.”

[seqyv]

[HYSTERIA CANON - SCP-173 REWRITE.]

ITEM #: SCP-173

LEVEL-2 -- RESTRICTED

CONTAINMENT CLASS: EUCLID DISRUPTION CLASS: VLAM/KENEQ RISK CLASS: WARNING

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-173 is to be contained within Site-19's Anomalous Art & Humanoid Containment Wing, and is assigned a reinforced-concrete chamber. When personnel assigned to cleaning duty enter SCP-173's container, no less than three (3) persons may enter at any given time and the gates must be relocked behind them. Two (2) persons must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173, while one cleans the surface area of SCP-173’s chamber, until all personnel have vacated and relocked the chamber.

Description: SCP-173 is an animate cognito-hazardous statue resembling a human composed of concrete, rebar and traces of spray paint with an atypically high concentration of isobutyl acetate (C6H1202). Its primary anomalous characteristic is its mobilization and hostile, predatory behavior towards any biological organism in the vicinity that exceeds a certain threshold of intelligence. However, when visually observed by such organisms, the anomaly becomes immobilized and temporarily activates its secondary, cognitive-damaging effects. These secondary effects are:

mild paranoia, anxiety;

subtle, unpleasant olfactory hallucinations.

These effects occur, intensify sequentially, and immediately subside when line of sight is broken. These effects typically don’t result in permanent damage to the psyche and are relatively easy to treat.

SCP-173 is also capable of instantaneous acceleration. It retains momentum when immobilized, allowing it to resume movement as if it had never stopped. SCP-173 has been observed to reach record-breaking speeds aswell, traveling roughly 22 meters a second (= 50 mph / 79 km/h) when unobserved.

SCP-173 is highly aggressive and prefers to target isolated, vulnerable individuals, presumably for an advantage as suggested in later interviews beginning from 1997 (ADDENDUM-01-1997). In addition, SCP-173’s preferred killing method is by snapping the neck at the base of the skull or violent strangulation. SCP-173’s preferred means of traveling is via the ventilation system and on foot.

The reddish-brown substance the anomaly produces resembles a mixture of bio-waste in texture and odor; the origin of these materials is unknown and exclusively manifests ectoentropically in rooms it is in while out of sight. The enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis. Sounds of scraping stones originating from within the container are heard when no one is inside. This is considered normal, and any change in this behavior should be reported to the acting HMCL supervisor¹ on duty.

DISCOVERY: Moved to Site-19 in 1993. Origin is as of yet unknown, suggested to be an art piece constructed by an unknown sculptor who belongs to a sub-sect of GoI-2979 (“Are We Cool Yet?”) which focuses on Dadaist principles, instigating the breakdown of logical superstructures and coherency.

ADDENDUM-01-1997: As of 1997, it has been revealed that SCP-173 could participate in limited verbal communication after repeated attempts to initiate a conversation with the anomaly. Interview logs are to be added.

Note: SCP-173 has become habitually verbally aggressive and refuses to offer any information pertaining to its origin and purpose. Interviews have been indefinitely suspended and stricter containment procedures have been implemented.

REFERENCES USED: SCP-173-B DOCUMENT FROM SCP-5K. ORIGINAL SCP-173 DOCUMENT.

NOTES: ¹ “HMCL supervisor” is a role akin to the lead researcher working on an SCP. They are in charge of said SCP and control almost everything involving it. They deal with everything related to it and what course of action to take.

[ectoplasmic-entity]

I would love a hurt/comfort oneshot where dark Danny has nightmare (maybe the event of his family and friends dying) and the reader comforts him.

A classic hurt/comfort trope :) This allowed me the opportunity to write and express a slightly more vulnerable Dan.

It's pretty interesting to see him devolve that way, slowly peel the layers back. I should do it more.

I hope you like it!

Genre: Gen + Hurt/Comfort

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: Implied/referenced character death, slightly suggestive

Words: 1.9k+

His muscles burn. His eyes sting with desperate tears. He's in pain. Too much.

It hurts too much.

He can’t stop now. He’s almost there.

He can already perceive the odor of the charred flesh. It unpleasantly itches his nose. It leaves an awful mix of chalk and salt in his mouth.

Not a sound from any of them.

No.

No.

He can still reach them. Reach them in spite of the blazing inferno that’s upon them. Time. There’s still time… please.

His foot catches on something. He can’t stop himself, his own kinetic energy continues to propel him forward. Down to the cold, hard ground.

Pain flares throughout his body. He’s sure he feels something break inside. He no longer has the strength to pick himself up.

NO!

In a blink. That’s all it takes. A deafening roar blasts his ears. A sheet of white floods his vision as a wave of deadly heat washes over him. He can’t feel himself anymore, there’s nothing left. Floating. Not even a ghost.

---

Dan wakes with a wheezing breath, swallowing deeply and holds it. He doesn’t move, the darkness of the room too still for his liking. He’s right where he should be. But… it feels empty. Uncontrollable shudders course through him, all the way down to his very core. He’s not usually this shaky.

He immediately stops his train of thought. Not tonight. Likewise, he’s already having a hard time sleeping. Even though he sinks into the comfort of the bedsheets. It’s a warm summer night, with some light rain pattering outside. Best of all, you hug him from behind in your sleep.

He still can’t relax. Dan grips the sheet tightly, squeezing the nonexistent life out of it. A tight, sickly sensation boils in his gut. He shivers violently again. Dan tenses as he inexplicably becomes cold, cold biting all the way down to his ‘bones’. Faintly glowing eyes slowly close to ease the feeling. For a moment or two, he’s calm. The coldness quickly fades away and leaves nothing but a mild numbness. Without warning, a boiling hot suddenly jumps to the back of his throat. Acidic and scratchy, Dan abruptly sits up with a hand to his throat.

Panting heavily and uncomfortably swallows the burning sensation back down. It’s persistent, always coming right back up as soon as it goes down. Beads of sweat form and drip down his face, an equally uncomfortably hot flash floods his face. Dan does a full body shudder; his core pulsates with rapidly increasing speed.

“Fuck…” Dan mumbles out, his throat burns like he’s going to be sick.

Oblivious to him, his abrupt awakening also shakes you awake. The sheets ruffle quietly behind Dan as you sit up to gain your bearings.

Unwilling to make a potential mess on the bed, Dan turns to the side. The frame creaks as he throws his legs over the edge. He bends over with his head in his hands, fingers curl deeply into his hair for a sense of control. Dan’s body quivers with held back breaths.

Right behind him, you stare blearily at him, confused as to why he’s up so late. The bed shifts unevenly, you don’t hear anything else.

Suppressing a yawn, you rub your eyes. Once you take your hands away, you see Dan’s silhouette on the bed. Right on the very edge, his posture stiff. Though, you feel small tremors vibrate through the bed.

You realize Dan didn’t get up with the intention to leave the bed. It’s too quiet. He’s not the type to dawdle around, either. Your hands lightly fist into the sheets, your mouth moves with a soft, shaky breath. You remain silent, unsure of how to approach him if he’s in that state. He’s never been good at accepting help. Or even comfort from others.

A heaviness settles in your chest with realization. You hold a hand up, it hangs hesitantly in the air. Dan must’ve… had that nightmare again. It’s been so long since you met him, even from the first meeting it's obvious how it bothers him. Fidgety no matter how much calmness and control he exhibits. Turning away, hiding from others. How his usually sharp red eyes lose their lustrous glow.

Finally, a soft breath to calm yourself, you lean forward and place one hand on his tense shoulder.

“Dan?”

Your voice is soft with worry.

No response. Dan doesn’t move at the sound of your voice. All you can make out are very small sounds, barely comprehensible. You bite your lip, your body shudders in uncertainty. Slowly, you sit up as to not disturb him and place your other hand on his other shoulder. You tilt your body forward and gently lean into him.

You feel Dan’s tension melt away almost immediately. His body grows loose, he’s vaguely aware you’re awake now. His body rises up and down with every heavy breath. Dan’s ghost core hums softly in spite of his mood, the hum reaches you and your chest thrums in return.

Taking it as a sign that Dan will let you get closer, you sit up higher on your knees. Carefully, you loop your arms around his neck and intertwine your hands at his chest. You bury your face into the crook of Dan’s neck, the familiar firmness of his muscular physique and a distinct scent that smells of fire and burnt cinnamon.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Dan says thickly. He’s been holding back.

“Funny you say that, when you shook me awake because of a nightmare,” you say lightly. You want to try to broach the subject early on before Dan can internalize it.

Dan tenses under you, you hear him do a sharp intake. You can imagine his hands clenching the blanket in a powerful grip, easily squeezing it with ease.

“I wouldn’t call it a nightmare,” Dan counters, something very faintly rumbles in his throat, “it… wasn’t a nightmare…”

His sentence falters, his breath shakes with emotion. A flash of heat rises up in his body so suddenly that you flinch in discomfort. Then you huff loudly when it spills over to you, a painfully tight, piercing stings your arms. You shudder as you take breaths to calm the feverish fervor.

“I’ve been with you a long time, known you even longer,” you start, “I know when you have nightmares. It’s pretty obvious when you try to hide it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should be over it by now,” Dan’s voice grows hard, “it happened a long time ago.”

Your hands tighten in frustration. He could be so stubborn when it comes to feelings, having suppressed them to the point it physically hurts him. You lift your head slightly and speak in Dan’s ear.

“You are clearly not ‘over it’.”

It sounds cruel, you feel you have to say it. Make Dan hear the fact that this is bothering him more than he’d like to admit. From someone he trusts and… loves.

A soft growl of warning breaks the silence. Dan’s frame rumbles under you.

“You are being persistently annoying about it,” Dan growls out, fangs visible. “It’s not…”

He stops, he inhales deeply and harshly. It sounds too close to a dry sniffle. Emotions, as dull as they may be, well up in him. A constant reminder of what he used to be. Thank fuck it wasn’t light right now, or his scars would be visible as well. Dan duly wishes the darkness could actually swallow him up whole.

You push yourself off of him and sit back down. You aren’t done yet, but it’d be easier if you’re face-to-face with Dan. Several seconds pass without a word, you don’t make an attempt to nudge him to turn to face you. The silence stretches to an eerie chorus before Dan finally turns his head to look at you, eyes glowing a bit brighter.

You reach for Dan’s hand. “Come here.”

Rough, firm fingers intertwine with yours as Dan settles himself back onto the bed. The mattress yet again shifts with the familiar weight, you feel yourself relax slightly. Your breaths quieter and the burning tension fades from your muscles. Both of your hands tingle with past affections and the need to display those affections again. Running and tracing your fingers over each other’s bodies, whispering stories of marks and scars alike. Hush tones to soak at the moment. The warmth from Dan’s fire ghost core that basks you both in a soft, comforting glow.

Moving closer to him, you loop your arms around his neck again. You lightly pull him with you as you lay down on the bed, your head thumps on the pillow. Dan does similarly, eyes flicker in patience, his body still with quiet contemplation.

Cautiously, Dan wraps his arm around you. Under your arm and down around your back, his hand grasps around the other side of your body. His sharp nails lightly trickle along you, ticklish but not uncomfortable, he’s careful to not dig them into you. You smile lightly, a finger caresses Dan’s face, running along the sharp cheekbone.

“I’d rather have woken up like this,” Dan says first, he pulls you closer to his chest. “You’re quite the sight to see in the mornings.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply, your eyes avert their gaze, “the sun catches your body in a way that’s irresistible.”

“What can I do? No one can ever keep their eyes off of me.” Dan smirks.

He looks down at you to catch your eyes. Your expression as you melt in bliss under his intense gaze.

Instead, he notices that you intentionally look away. Your brows crease with thought, your lips taut.

A low groan emits from his throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” you say softly, “it’s your story to tell.”

A pause passes.

“You know you can’t bottle it up forever, Dan.” You reach up and gently touch his face. He leans into it without protest.

Dan shrugs at that. Ghosts and emotions are a volatile mix. Some of them fixed on the moment they died, that moment permanently etching into their being, growing into an obsession. Others exist harmoniously without an obsession dangerously driving them. At most, their powers amplify their emotions.

“I’m… glad you woke up.” Dan relents, he shifts his weight around to get more cozy. “I usually deal with it alone, but…”

“Me being here made it easier?” A jolt of excitement shoots through you.

“Mm…” Dan nods, his eyes lock with yours at last. Piercing red sends a pleasurable tingle down your spine. You become very aware of his fingers digging deeper into you, your body quivers. He grins widely, his sharp canines dangerously stick out from his lips. “Comfy?”

“Considering that I’m pinned under you, quite,” you reply with a mischievous undertone.

Dan’s form trembles with quiet chuckles. You remove your arms from his neck to let him move about freely. You unconsciously fold them up against his body, paying more attention to the sound of his voice. It’s soothing to your ears, your mind even. Deep and smooth.

“Your voice,” Dan says suddenly.

“My voice?” You repeat. Did he read your mind, somehow?

“I want to listen to it,” Dan continues, his ears tilt down. “It lulls me to sleep.”

“A story, you mean?” You huff softly in amusement. “I’d need to get a book then.”

“You’re not getting out of bed.” Dan rolls you over on to your back, he lays himself on top of you. A warm tension forms now that your bodies are together, much closer so. You stare in exasperation, your mind already blanking. A full, blissful sensation fills your chest.

“I’m sure you can think of something…” Dan inches his face close to yours, pulling you into a kiss before your mind can comprehend another thought.

[satomatto]

. AFFECTION//

yan!gojo satoru x reader

cw: AU; stalking; scientists; elements of angst; yandere; love/hate relationship; toxic mindset/

tw: PWP; orgasm control; intercrural sex; clotching kink; forcing/

wc: 3k.

❒ pt 1 (sfw) | pt 2 | pt 3

Coffee smells fragrant - the odor has long been absorbed into your clothes, and that's why your scarf constantly smells of it. Perhaps it's the only thing that saves you from sleep deprivation, even if it's a placebo, you still believe it, and that's why you prefer it solid drink; flat white pleasantly burns your tongue, a little hotter than you're used to drinking, or maybe it's the cool fall weather. Somewhere behind you there's a loud and lingering laugh, peppered with fairly friendly greetings.

You sigh and snicker lightly, catching a glimpse of the man who was striding toward you. You sped up, not wanting to even look in his direction and hoping he'd just realize it and leave you alone, but a few seconds later, you get a loud call and a poke on your shoulder in a failed attempt to get your attention. Shit.

Without even turning around, you stop and mentally prepare yourself for this torture, aka "nice" dialog-more like a monologue of the "great and masterful", extra talkative old acquaintance, deep down still hoping that this white-haired pillar will get away from you without getting a proper response. Trying to keep your pauses as long as possible and your answers as dry as possible, you don't look up at all. Right where his face is.

Come on, do you really think it's that easy to get rid of him? Of course not. So when you feel the breeze on your face, you slowly open your eyes. You bring the glass to your mouth deliberately sluggishly and take a long sip - as if savoring the drink, pondering, oh no, actually not the answer to one of his hundred questions. It's just how beautiful the weather is - it's really warm today, and that wonderful breeze is so pleasantly caressing your face. A ginger cat ducking into the alley is more interesting than a lively buzzing in your ear-… Wait, buzzing? Oh, yeah… That's right, though.

Until now, you had successfully ignored Gojo, who was following at your heels. Literally at your heels: after all, you, with your tiny legs, can't keep up with him. But here he is quite comfortable not just catching up - overtaking and circling you as you walk… You're walking. What the hell is he doing here? Maybe that's what he was telling you so excitedly. You really shouldn't have ignored those messages at five in the morning, because he doesn't simply text you… Usually. But your train of thought is interrupted by your foot slipping off.

And that pillar just happens to be right behind you. Okay, it's not completely useless.

"Make way for the pretty lady!" He suddenly shouts across the street, picking you up under the armpits like some big, clumsy cat. And that throws you into a frightened stupor. He's getting too loud and active, maybe you should do something about it…..

"You don't think it's over the top?" You say, carefully disentangling yourself from his long limbs entwined with yours. Well, trying to disentangle yourself - he only squeezes your hand tighter around his forearm. This becomes painful, which you promptly report to him.

In a rather polite manner, let it be noted. Your words may be cold, but they sound quite mild. It's commendable restraint - pretty hard for anyone to keep their cool with a naughty boy, but you're not you if you couldn't handle something like that. Maybe if you start acting more repulsive, he'll finally leave you alone? Hmm, is that the reason he's interested? Come on, you like teasing him, don't you? Playing that stupid cat-and-mouse game with him. Staying behind and watching his back, that goddamn bastard-…

Abruptly breaking free of his grip, you took a quick step across the few meters that separated you from the door that had become so inviting, slamming it hard behind you. You can feel the glass shaking and rattling in the back as you step forward, pushing the bad thoughts away from you. Still, perhaps you should have been more careful - it's glass, even tempered glass. You're very lucky nothing happened. Otherwise, you'd have to pay compensation to Satoru, too. You know that very well. But didn't you just give up thinking about it a few minutes ago? Him? Today, nothing will spoil your mood, you've already decided that for yourself.

The protesting and disgruntled shouting behind you is successfully drowned out by the morning noise of the campus. You swiftly dive into the flow of people, trying to get lost in it, dissolving your worries and anxieties into a much-comfortable routine. You can finally exhale.

With the blonde butthole once again, you are only seen during your lunch break. You don't know what gods have turned against you or what prayers you need to recite to rid yourself of this affliction - you only know one thing. Your intolerance for Gojo Satoru is a fact. Your incompatibility is only an assumption, but very close to the truth. He's not really compatible with anyone - he doesn't have the time or inclination to be - he's not an empath, and a disposable person, either. Rather, a walking problem. A problem for everyone, a mistake, but so perfect that it's not a mistake at all.

No one can say for sure why he is so sickeningly good at everything his naughty hands can reach. You think he's a walking curse, despite the fact that he's the one who protects against those very same curses, providing the proper support in time and somehow keeping two steps away from total collapse.

If you are the embodiment of misfortune, he is luck itself in the flesh. Fortune is as reckless and dispassionate and blind as he is, managing to ignore any rules and regulations he doesn't want; despite the fact that his ideas do have merit, you've been trying to avoid him since the first time you met him - back then, in freshman year. You feel like he's haunting you - so much so that you try so hard to get away from him that you find yourself getting closer to him every time you meet again.

Your curse is holding a can of soda and having a nice conversation with your supervisor behind your back.

You can hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Gee, the great and masterful Gojo Satoru needs an assistant. You don't even know if he's being serious, but his laughter gets to your bones.

Why do goosebumps run up and down your spine? Why does a disgusting lump curl up in your stomach and dark thoughts begin to swarm in your head? The staring, piercing gaze sears you to the marrow of your bones. You don't dare turn around, but you know he's looking right at you. And he knows you're eavesdropping. His cheeky smile instantly pops into your mind - one and only, just for you.

You're anticipating a quick conversation, but these things don't usually get resolved in a day-sometimes they take months to finalize, so you swallow hard and feel the coffee sloshing around as you try to slowly calm yourself down. An unpleasant residue remains.

When you are called into your boss's office in the middle of your workday, you already know what awaits you. Not really that you're happy about it, and not really that you want to go there. You delay the moment as much as possible, each step echoing in your head. It's empty, as if all thoughts have dried up.

The door opens, and your haggard gaze finds Gojo standing beside a short man in a shitty short suit. Surprisingly collected, you sit down in a chair and ask a question. The answer to which you already know.

But, do you have any real reason to refuse, other than personal animosity? He's the best, maybe not a partner, but an employee for sure, so what's your problem? Can you even suggest a reason for your disgusting attitude towards this young man? Just one, c'mon. Do you really feel like you two are crossing paths too often? Oh, gosh, you're in the same line of work and you used to live next door to each other. Now you even work for the same company, what's your problem? He's never once harassed you, not openly - or otherwise, it's all one solid coincidence and you can't claim otherwise. It's more like you're chasing him, as if you're trying to make up for lost time, to regain your lost dignity, but you're just getting deeper and deeper into this quagmire. He talks to you more than amiably, but he's never crossed that fine line between friendliness and intrusiveness. But you've never been nice to him. In fact, you've stooped to even partially insulting him, but he doesn't hold a grudge against you at all. How low can you sink when you try to assert yourself at the expense of this kind man? He never made a specific reference to you, you're just as much a colleague as anyone else behind that door, your name wasn't even mentioned in the conversation you overheard - you were chosen on your own merit, after selecting the personnel files of every eligible employee, do you really think you're unworthy? Are all your labors a waste of air? Are they of no value? Hey, then what's your motive? Personal relationships between employees should be handled outside the workplace, there's no room for childish grudges. You're just jealous of him. And you need to bury that shitty, low feeling you should bury deep inside yourself.

As you swallow the lump stuck in your throat, you realize that your polite smile is just cracking at the seams. You feel like crying at what you're feeling right now. Uncertainty is truly the shittiest thing you can experience. And by trying to hide it, by trying to blindly run away from the problem, you're only making it worse. To yourself and to everyone around you. It's always like that, you're just a pathetic creature who can't do anything right.

You try to formulate your answer as clearly as you can, but you can't stand it anymore, and you jump up from your chair, saying that you have to leave immediately. Your voice sounds pathetic, like a battered kitten's - a husky, squeaky tone that trails off into a whisper. They must have figured it out by now, or at least you saw them glance at each other, and just as Gojo opened his mouth, you slipped out the door, closing it quickly but gently behind you.

Your lips twitching with nerves and your chin quivering as you strode with wide strides to the nearest restroom, your head down and rubbing the sleeve of your blouse with trembling fingers. Crying is a public expression of weakness. You can't cry. Not here, not now. You have to be patient, because you can't afford to lose what's left of your self-respect.

You look in the mirror. You wince at your wrinkled appearance and decide that today is the day to take a little day off. A break from it all. Maybe eat something.

The next day, avoiding all the inquiries of curious colleagues, you calmly told your superiors that yesterday you were just too surprised by such a wonderful offer, and feeling emotional, could not give an answer immediately; and now, you have already humbly agreed to the new position. Assistant. You are now this man's helper, partner. You should get used to your new role.

Put a nice smile on your face and get him something to drink - make it look sincere, now you work together and you even remember what kind of soda he likes - he doesn't drink coffee.

Just put the papers on the table, he won't even notice your presence as he's always having an active monologue with himself - keep preparing the material and nod silently when he gets quiet - never longer than a few seconds

Suddenly the long pause makes you blink a couple times and raise your gaze to the man half-sitting on your desk. Does he really care about your opinion? The only-right opinion is his and suddenly he's asking you. About some trivial thing, true, but the fact that he's interested makes you wonder. Or not, the usual dramatic expression on his face is back on his graceful features. Looks like he's playing again. There's not even an audience here, it's a one-man theater. It's annoying.

Your voice is monotone, you're tense. A shiver of disgust runs through your body. Why are you so disgusted to be in the same room with him? Gojo notices it. Doesn't comment, but a couple seconds later, his jacket falls on your shoulders. Ah, yes, the window is open.

His scent instantly envelops you. It's almost suffocating, but also strangely soothing. You don't like this uncertainty, on the one hand, you shouldn't like it, but deep down something sticks. It's too unclear. You raise your eyes to him and he shrugs silently, pulling on a goofy grin.

You'd be happy to be home in a warm bed right now. You close your eyes and rub the bridge of your nose tiredly. Your head is throbbing, and you don't feel your best after everything that's happened. This pillar won't shut up, either. Lost in your own thoughts, you don't even notice him sneaking out the door.

You walk to the window, watching the balmy view. When it starts to breeze, you automatically grab your cloak. You don't move away from the window, but sigh irritably. You try again. The light breeze caresses your cheekbone - so nice. Relaxing. So much so that your eyes close on their own. Well, it's a little bit of everything.

Three knocks in a row get your attention. After a moment, a memory flashes through your mind. Come on, does he still have that habit? Even if the office is known to be empty, he always quickly runs three knuckles near the pen. Just in case.

Same goofy smile, same weird look. He quickly places a brown, glass jar in a clear bag and a bottle of iced tea on your desk. To your questioning look, he answers short and clear: "Painkillers." Not that you're going to take anything from him, but fatigue takes its toll, so you grab the tea. The lid comes off with a satisfying pop and you click your mouse, sending an email with all of Gojo's documents.

Subway. You walk with the vial in your hands and a small sticker attached to the package: "Don't forget <3". He wanted to walk you at least to the subway entrance, perfectly capturing your condition, but a stiff refusal made him leave you alone. You're too exhausted to be ceremonious with anyone today. Especially him. It's dark outside, it's about eight o'clock at night. By the time you get home, it'll be nine.

You fall into bed, almost exhausted, your lips pressed into a thin line. The last check of your phone and with a groan, you toss it aside, slowly pulling off your clothes. There's no more energy to go to the shower. As soon as your head touches the pillow, the bed feels so soft and cuddly. You dim the light and crawl under the covers, closing your eyes. Your legs are throbbing after a brisk walk, but this tiredness is nice-not the mess that's going on in your head.

The mess only helps you sleep, though, unlike the rustles walking around the apartment. Something's falling next door. Too loud, too close. But you're used to it, the walls here are really cardboard.

It's only the intrusive rustling outside the door that finally catches your attention enough to tense you up. But it's gone as suddenly as it started - isn't that what's catching it more?

You close your eyes. You start counting. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three… The patterns on your tired eyelids form a rhythm - a dance, a waltz, the rustle of dresses, the dim glow, the atmosphere as in a Victorian palace, and you dance too. You take off, drift away, your thoughts begin to empty and you give yourself completely to this miracle - one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three and then, someone's footsteps don't hit the beat… The sound becomes bolder, interrupts the others. Three deafening clicks in a row.

You wince, open your eyes. Blackness appears before you. Absolute and almost dead. You can't even see the glimmer of light on the walls, from the window directly behind you. You smell a heavy, woody cologne. A draft runs down your bare legs, and there's probably no point in hiding under the blankets, because hot breath tickles your ear and you shiver with an almost painful sensation of numbness. Fear makes you cover your eyes and take a slow breath.

When you open them again, the vision doesn't go away.

Your breathing hitches, and you sharply let all the air out of your lungs and clutched the blanket like a last barrier between you and what was happening around you. A shadow slides softly onto the bed - you turn sharply, gathering air into your lungs and preparing to let out a shriek as suddenly a hand covers your mouth while long fingers settle on your throat, rubbing the delicate skin and squeezing your throat, moving lower, probing your vocal cords, massaging gently, forcing you to exhale through your nose but not letting you inhale again.

"Shh… Sugar, you don't want to wake up the neighborhood, do you?" That voice sounds painfully familiar. Your stomach turns inside out and your eyes begin to blur from lack of oxygen when you finally meet the eyes. Azure blue. Clear as the sky. Cold as steel.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 15 @whumperless-whump-event - I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Characters - Asset 84 and Asset 83

Asset 84 masterlist

Complex 27 masterlist

The facilities assets stood in formation, posture rigid, eyes forward. The training yard was a stark expanse of concrete surrounded by high, razor-wire-topped fences, a constant reminder of their place. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and oil, the faint scent of disinfectant cutting through the more pungent odors. The distant hum of machinery underscored the harsh bark of the sargents commands, creating a symphony of control and obedience.

Asset 84s mantra echoed in their mind with each disciplined breath: "I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure." The day's training had been particularly grueling, a series of combat drills designed to push each asset to their limits. 84 had only returned from a mission that morning, only just having time for the debrief and to shower before training had begun. The water from the shower still clung to their long dark hair, now plastered against their scalp and neck, the damp strands occasionally falling into their grey eyes.

As more commands echoed through the yard, 84 felt their vision blur, the world around them becoming a tunnel. The mantra tried to hold them together, but the edges of their consciousness frayed. “I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure.” The phrase now felt more like a desperate plea than a statement of fact.

83 had been watching 84 from the corner of their eye. They noticed the slight tremors, the unfocused gaze. They had seen this before, in others, and in themselves. Training was brutal, and the facility pushed them to the brink, often past it.

As 84 began to fall, 83 moved without thinking. They caught 84 under the arms, supporting their weight. "Steady, 84," 83 whispered, their voice low and urgent. "Stay with me."

Moving out of formation like this was a risk, one that 83 was fairly certain would lead to punishment. They glanced up, noting that the sergeants were currently preoccupied at the far end of the line.

83 glanced at 85 and 82, seeking any sign of acknowledgment or support. Both assets remained immobile, faces blank, embodying the unyielding discipline drilled into them.

"84, focus," 83 urged, shaking the other asset slightly. "You need to get back into line."

84's eyes fluttered open, a faint flicker of awareness breaking through the fog of exhaustion. They struggled to focus on 83's face, the familiar blue eyes grounding them, however slightly, in the present.

"83?" 84 murmured. The mantra still echoed faintly in their mind, a distant drumbeat of survival.

83 tightened their grip, their eyes scanning the area. One of the sergeants was barking orders at on the assets in the group of 20s, but time was running out.

"Yes, it's me," 83 replied, a rare softness in their voice. "We need to sit down. Just for a moment. I've got you."

84's legs trembled as they tried to regain their footing, but their body refused to obey. The mantra had lost its power, and the edges of their vision darkened once more. 83 slowly lowered them both to the floor, crouching behind 84 and letting their semi-limp body lean against them. The rough texture of the concrete pressed into 83's knees, but they ignored it, focusing solely on

84's breaths were shallow and rapid, they felt the warmth of 83's body against their back, an unfamiliar but oddly comforting sensation. The firmness in 83's grip and the calm in their voice providing a strange reassurance.

"We will be in trouble for this," 84 muttered.

"I know," 83 whispered, eyes on the sergeants. They had broken formation, 83 had displayed humanity, and 84 weakness... Punishment was inevitable - likely solitary confinement or worse, especially for 84 who's handler has a reputation for being cruel.

One sergeant began to turn. 83 stood, pulling 84 up with them, snapping back into formation just in time. 84 swayed but remained upright, the mantra echoing weakly in their mind. The scent of sweat and oil seemed overpowering now, each breath a reminder of their struggle.

The sergeant's gaze swept over them, pausing briefly before moving on. Their moment of weakness had gone unnoticed, or at least unaddressed, for now.

84's heartbeat thundered in their ears, the world around them a blur of indistinct shapes and sounds. They felt the weight of 83's hand still subtly supporting them, a lifeline in a sea of chaos. The distant hum of machinery, the faint clanking of metal, and the muffled voices around them faded into the background as they focused on the steady presence of 83.

[noxxytocin]

Character Voice Tag ✧

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet 🫴✨

Oh heavens...it seems my quill lost track of the time.

My Line: "We’ve run out of gas/fuel."

Your Line: "Don't bother."

Tagging: @the-letterbox-archives @laserswordtraining @literaryvein-reblogs @moltenwrites @catjar91

1887, The Gaunt Manor Courtyard

Ominis settled onto the padded seat of the Thestraless carriage, the leather firm beneath him. Beside it, his brother Marvolo busied himself with unknown contraptions. Clinks and clanks bounced off his poor eardrums.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s decidedly smaller than our usual transport,” Ominis remarked, his hands tracing the pattern of the seat with skepticism. "Et il n'y a pas de toit..."

“Patience, mon coeur,” Marvolo reassured in his mellifluous voice. A faint slosh of liquid interrupted the mechanical racket, and Ominis sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling at the pungent odor.

“Is that petrol?”

“That keen nose of yours, always spoiling my surprises,” Marvolo teased. With firmness, he twisted a cap and cranked a metal handle of some kind, causing the carriage to tremble and roar.

Ominis jolted in his seat. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, his heart racing. Marvolo chuckled, sliding onto the seat beside him, dark eyes alight with anticipation.

“Why is it shaking?” Ominis panicked.

Marvolo grinned as he leaned forward, his hands deftly grasping a peculiar lever. With a jolt, the carriage sprang to life, darting forward with unexpected vigor.

Ominis clutched Marvolo’s arm in alarm, his eyes wide as the contraption hurtled forward, seemingly under its own power. No winged horses, no Thestrals.

Tongue-tied and bewildered, Ominis could do naught but cling to his brother, who was now chuckling with evident delight.

“Fret not. It is quite safe,” Marvolo reassured, his laughter carrying over the wind as he nudged the lever. The vehicle picked up speed, the breeze tousling Ominis’s hair. A hesitant smile crept across his face as he began to revel in the sensation.

“It’s powered...by petrol? Not magic?” Ominis’s voice trembled with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“That's right,” Marvolo confirmed, his grin widening.

“How in Merlin's name are you operating this...infernal machine?” Ominis’s grip on Marvolo’s arm relaxed, curiosity replacing his panic.

Marvolo halted the carriage, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He took Ominis’s hand and guided it to a thin rod. “This, my dear brother, is a steering rod. It directs the front wheel of the Motorwagen. And beneath my foot,” he tapped a pedal, “is what propels it forward. The racket you heard earlier was the crankshaft, which starts it. And as for the fuel source, well, I’m sure you’ve already deduced that it’s petrol, my keen-nosed serpent.”

Ominis, now more intrigued than fearful, ran his hands over the controls, marveling at the ingenuity of the device. “A Motorwagen, you say?”

“Indeed. I had it tailored just for you.” Marvolo declared with flourishing pride.

“For me?" A faint blush crept onto Ominis's cheeks. "but Ollie, I cannot possibly make use of it."

“Which is why I shall be your escort,” Marvolo gently guided Ominis’s hands back onto the gear lever. “Give it a try."

“I don't think that's a good id—” Ominis began, his protest cut short as Marvolo pressed down on the pedal with a devilish grin. The Motorwagen lurched forward, eliciting a yelp from Ominis, who clung to the gear lever as though it were his last hope of salvation. “Ollie!”

“Steady now. A touch to the right,” Marvolo advised, his tone full of playful encouragement. Ominis followed each instruction, his knuckles flushing white.

Sight? There was no need, except for Marvolo's. He was his brother's compass, steering him toward every wild whim his heart yearned for. Their map was trust.

Time whisked away in a blur of adrenaline, and soon, Ominis’s face transformed into a canvas of pure delight, painted with a radiant smile that outshined the sun. Marvolo couldn’t help but bask in the glow, observing his brother's expressions with fondness.

Their jubilant adventure came to an abrupt end as the Motorwagen coughed and spluttered to a halt. “Ah, it appears we’ve run out of fuel,” Marvolo remarked, inspecting the now-silent machine.

Ominis’s face fell, the sparkle of excitement in his eyes dimming. “Well...that was rather short-lived, wasn’t it?” It earned a tender laugh from Marvolo.

“Mon cher,” Marvolo affectionately tucked Ominis’s blonde hair behind his ear. “I’ve brought ample reserves of petrol."

Ominis, a twinkle of mischief now in his eye, gave a conspiratorial grin. “Does this mean we can outrun Aunt Mildred's frightful tea parties?”

“Absolutely,” Marvolo smirked, firing up the wagon once more.

[sierrasocks0]

How to Choose the Right Size and Fit for Diabetic Socks

Choosing the right socks is essential for everyone, but it becomes even more critical for those living with diabetes. Proper footwear and sock choices can help prevent complications like foot ulcers and infections. This guide will help you understand how to select the right size and fit for diabetic socks.

Why Diabetic Socks Matter

Diabetic socks are specially designed to provide comfort, support, and protection for sensitive feet. They often feature:

Non-binding tops: To avoid restricting circulation.

Seamless construction: To reduce the risk of friction and blisters.

Moisture-wicking materials: To keep feet dry and reduce the risk of fungal infections.

Cushioning: For added protection against impacts.

Key Considerations for Size and Fit

1. Measure Your Feet

To find the right size, start by measuring your feet. Here’s how:

Length: Stand barefoot on a piece of paper. Trace your foot, then measure from the heel to the longest toe.

Width: Measure the widest part of your foot.

Use these measurements to refer to the sizing chart provided by the sock manufacturer, as sizes can vary between brands.

2. Consider Sock Length

Diabetic socks come in various lengths, including:

Ankle: Good for everyday wear and activities.

Crew: Offers additional coverage, ideal for colder weather.

Knee-high: Provides extra warmth and support for those who require it.

Choose the length that suits your lifestyle and needs.

3. Choose the Right Fit

Fit is critical for comfort and protection. Here’s what to look for:

Snug but not tight: The sock should fit snugly without pinching. Check the top band; it shouldn’t leave marks on your skin.

No bunching: Ensure there is no excess fabric that can cause friction or discomfort.

Seamless design: Look for socks that are designed without seams or with flat seams to minimize irritation.

4. Look for Special Features

Consider socks with additional features beneficial for diabetics:

Compression: Some diabetic socks offer mild compression to improve circulation. Consult your healthcare provider before choosing these.

Temperature control: Socks made from breathable materials can help regulate foot temperature.

Antimicrobial properties: These can help prevent odor and fungal infections.

Additional Tips

Try Before You Buy: If possible, try the socks on before purchasing. Walk around to ensure they feel comfortable and secure.

Check for Quality: Invest in high-quality socks that can withstand regular wear without losing their shape or elasticity.

Consider Multiple Pairs: It’s beneficial to have a few pairs for different activities, such as exercise, work, or lounging at home.

Conclusion

Selecting the right size and fit for diabetic socks is vital for maintaining foot health. By measuring your feet accurately, considering sock length and fit, and looking for special features, you can find the perfect pair that provides comfort and protection. Always consult with your healthcare provider for personalized recommendations based on your specific needs. Taking these steps can help prevent complications and ensure your feet stay healthy and comfortable.

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand EXTRA - Unexpected

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist summary: It's been a few years, but that doesn't mean the adventure is over.

notes: I think I'll start writing Silk For Armor soon because MAN we need some good Din Djarin content now, my loves. Snow White is still coming along though so that should be uploaded soon. xoxo

The Mandalorian saunters through the crowd, letting his tall stature intimidate the people into parting a path for him.

In this dimly lit room, the overhead lights flicker a sickly yellow color and a sweaty odor permeates through the air; it’s a hive if he’s ever seen one, and he has seen many. He comes up behind someone with their feet propped on the table, totally unaware of his presence.

“I call,” she says, tossing some credits on the table. “Actually, now that I think about it? I’m all in.” She shoves even more.

Din crosses his arms, looking down at his partner, who has still failed to notice him.

“Hm.” The Mon Calamari in front of her scratches his head. He looks side to side, as if questioning what to do. She smirks.

“Tick-tock.” The Mon Calamari shakes his head and puts his cards down, folding. She sighs and tosses her hand, revealing… “Hah! I got nothing!” She lunges forward to grab the pot while the onlookers rant and rave.

“I told you to wait on the ship,” says Din.

Her eyes nearly pop out as she turns around, a guilty grin on her face. “Heeey, handsome.” She shovels the credits into her pockets. “Sorry about that, I just—” As soon as she starts to stand, her skin pales. She wobbles and nearly falls over if it isn’t for him catching her shoulders.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

“Mm? Mm! Yeah, I’m fine.” She shakes her head. “I was just dizzy. Must have stood up too quick. Anywho! Gentleman, it was a pleasure, but we must go!” The crowd hollers at her as Din holds her bicep, pulling her through the crowd. “Sorry, Din. Are you mad at me?”

“This is a dangerous place. You know that could have gone worse.”

“Of course I do. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a blaster in my face, you know that.” She takes her arm back, rubbing where he held her. “Did you get your guy?”

“Already in carbonite.”

“Thought so.”

When they reach the Razor Crest and Din is busy preparing the ship, she goes to Grogu’s pram and peeks in, his sleeping face bringing a soft smile to her face. She reaches in, petting his head before closing the cover and making her way back to the cockpit. Just as she crosses the threshold, she feels another wave of dizziness that makes her pause. One hand flies to the wall as the other rubs her head. “Mgh…”

Din turns around in the pilot seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m… I just feel a little queasy.” She plops into the nearby seat. “Might just be the smoke from the den.”

“...Yeah.” Din goes back to the controls. “Tell me if it gets worse.”

“I will. You don’t need to worry so much.” Oh, but how wonderful it is to have someone that worries about her. A few minutes pass and they’re already flying through space, watching the stars go past. The lingering sickness doesn’t go away anytime soon, despite having left the den a while ago now. She tries to think back on anything that she ate, but she had the same food as Din and Grogu. Something she drank? Unlikely, she refused to drink the swill from that den.

“I… I think I’ll go lie down,” she says, voice quiet.

Din slowly turns to her. “...Alright.” She stands up and takes one step back before she grips the chair. He darts to his feet as soon as she starts to lean over and lose her balance. Din shouts her name, catching her in his arms. Her skin is devoid of color and her eyes are hazy. Din curses under his breath, lifting her up and bringing her to the cabin.

This can’t be good.

---

The Mandalorian doesn’t pace inside Greef’s office, but he does lean against the wall, his arms tucked in with his foot slowly tapping. To an old friend, however, he may as well be pacing. The High Magistrate watches him with a smug expression. “Just relax, Mando,” he says with a light chuckle. “Your girl’s tougher than that, ain’t she?” No response. “Well I’m sure she’ll be out of the med bay soon.”

Grogu tilts his head up towards him, giving him a babble of incoherent words meant to sound encouraging.

Din starts running ideas through his head. If it’s an illness, then she’ll be just fine. If it’s anything more serious… well, he has the credits and a ship. He can take her anywhere, even Coruscant if that was what was needed.

The door slides open and she steps in, her expression tentative. Greef stands up. “Ah, you’re on your feet! That’s good. What did the medic say?”

“Uh…” She twiddles her thumbs and looks towards Din with a… guilty look? What does that mean? “Can… can we talk outside?”

Greef’s eyes dart back and forth between them. He senses the gravity of the situation, whatever that may be, and he immediately stand. “No need. I’ll step out.” He swiftly exits the office, but remains out the door… and calls over a droid to help him eavesdrop.

Din pushes himself of the wall and walks over. “Is everything okay?” He takes her hand. “What do we need to do?”

“Um. E-Everything is fine.” She lets out a small laugh. “No, I’m serious. I’m fine. It’s just… I’m…”

“...You’re…?” He can’t take the suspense.

She breathes out through her nose and drops her shoulders. “I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

“You’re—” Din’s hands fall to his side. He stares at her blankly, his mind devoid of any thought for a good minute. His visor tips down, facing the floor before turning to Grogu, who emits a curious sound. Pregnant? Pregnant? The word repeats over and over in his head. How did this happen — scratch that, he knows but his brain is having difficulty making the connection. Should he be surprised? They’ve been partners for at least a few years now; now he’s surprised that it didn’t happen sooner.

“I know,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “I thought I was careful. I guess I must have slipped up somewhere, I-I don’t know.” She sucks in her bottom lip. “D-Din? You haven’t said anything. You’re kind of scaring me.”

“I…” Pull yourself together. “I don’t know what to say.”

She laughs. “I guess that says it all. Okay.” She breathes. “If… this isn’t a path you want to take—”

“Wait.” He lifts his head. “I didn’t say that. No, that’s not what I…” He holds up his hand. “What is it that you want?”

“Well.” She straightens her back. “If it were all up to me, I’d be… super happy.” Then she smiles. “I’d be excited. I would give you and Grogu a big hug. And then freak out and figure out what to do.” He nods in agreement. “But this is kind of a two-person job, so I kinda need to know if you’re on the same page.”

Din shuffles in place. He knows he’s as lousy with words as he is with sabacc (even after all these years of tutoring). Thankfully, he has always been of the mindset that actions speak louder than words. He bends down and picks up Grogu from the pram. “What do you think, kid? Ready to be a big sibling?”

At that, a cough comes from the other side of the door. The clan of three whips their heads around to see Greef standing in the open doorway, his droid clanking as it scurries away. “Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Everything is okay, I hope? I didn’t hear… anything.”

She snorts into a laugh, hiding behind her hand.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Red Strings [Chapter Six] One Foot in the Grave [Satoru Gojo]

A/n: I appreciate you all for being patient with me. I'm doing my best to update the chapters. Thank you and please enjoy.

Warning(s): kidnapping, female reader insert, soulmate au, fighting, threats, blood and violence, death, Gojo being Gojo, implied use of drugs.

A headache wakes you from a light sleep, and once your consciousness clears, you realize that you are not in the alley that you once were. No. Instead, you are sitting hunched over in what appears to be an old wheelchair with your arms tied down to the rests on either side of you. 

What is going on? You panic a moment, jerking at the restraints until you recall that the Arima Clan had kidnapped you. But for what purpose? You are a–

"You don't catch flies without a little honey," the dark-haired man that you had harmed claimed.

He had been aiming for something bigger. And if you were the honey, then the Zen'in were the flies. It makes some sense. Your piece of shit clan had done something terrible to the Arima Clan, enough to warrant retaliation, and now you were paying the price. 

Better me than Mai or Maki. 

Though you doubt your uncle will send anyone to your aid. You aren't important enough, despite your somewhat useful innate technique. Once your kidnappers realize the quality of your worth, they will kill you. What confuses you the most is why the clan did not take your father. You don't wish this on him, despite him being a terrible person, but his life holds more weight than yours.

Where did he go? His cursed energy had vanished the moment you stepped foot in that alley. He wasn't there. It made no sense. And you know even he won't come for you. 

I've been forsaken.

No. It's fine. You have never had the support of the Zen'in. Your skill did not come easily; you had to embody the man-eater and control it on your own. 

It's on you whether you survive this or not. 

With a deep and uneasy sigh, you look around the room straining to get a sense of where you are, but all you can see is that you are in an abandoned warehouse of sorts. The only source of light is coming from a series of industrial windows in front of you and based on that it seems to be sometime in the afternoon, perhaps on the same day.

This helps a little. You can tell by the strong odor of grease and oil that you are in a warehouse that once or might still store car parts. If only you knew where. There had to be hundreds of automobile warehouses around Japan. You could be anywhere from Minato to Yokosuka depending on how long you had been out. 

I have to escape first and then– 

"It's good that you have finally woken up," an unfamiliar voice suddenly states. His tone is piercing; a curse in your opinion.

"I have a headache," you state. 

The sound of heavy footsteps is heard from behind you, then from the corner of your eye, you notice a man of average stature with broad shoulders. His short brown hair is slicked back with a few short tresses out of place. But what stands out the most is the weapon attached to his back; a large scythe with an L-shaped Damascus blade.

He must be the big cheese. 

This complicates things for you.

The man kneels, trailing his eyes over your body. He hums in thought.

"You don't look like much."

"Looks can be deceiving," you utter. 

It's a lie, but something about this man unsettles you. He laughs in response and stands. Reaching down, he rubs a finger over your hand in fondness. You shiver in disgust until you notice that he's touching your tattoo.

"Do you know what happens when a bond is broken?" He asks. 

You give him no reply so he continues.

"A series of intense emotions wash over you. It's almost stifling. Hard to recover from honestly. But there is a way."

He shakes his finger, walking from your sight. You hear him behind you before he appears on your other side.

"You have to replace that sadness with anger and disgust. It's the only way to keep on living."

He draws the scythe from the leather holster on his back and positions the blade around your shoulder. You shiver as the chill of the cutting blade presses against your neck. A sense of fear consumes you, but you know that he won't take off your head, at least not yet. 

"I pity the poor white-haired fool that you are bound to. Once your clan comes for you, he is going to be consumed by intense sadness once you die," he states. His eyes gleam in spite.  "But do not fret. Perhaps he will join you in hell soon after." 

Is he unfamiliar with Gojo? You had assumed all sorcerers knew of his clan. Though perhaps not. It's hard to say what the Arima Clan knows. They seem to only want revenge. 

"What did we take?" You utter.

The man narrows his eyes. 

"Everything."

By his statement regarding your tattoo, you are certain that someone had been taken from him. But why? What reason would the Zen'in Clan have to butcher the Arima Clan? You give him a sympathetic look.

"Don't give me that look, you fucking kleptoparasite," he hisses. The blade presses dangerously into your skin making you groan in pain. "You don't know compassion. The Zen'in are demons who would go to any length to ascend to the top, including robbery and–"

"Yuudai-sama!" A familiar voice shouts. You hear the sound of rushed footsteps approaching and from the corner of your eye, noticing the man you had stabbed standing beside you. His face is now covered in a large adhesive gauze pad. 

He apologizes for his interruption with a bow and faces Yuudai again. 

"Hiroki is missing. We can not find him. He was meant to keep a lookout on the roof but when I went to check on him he was gone."

Yuudai grins widely, a worse change from the irritated expression he had been sporting. 

"Keep an eye on her, Genki. Our honored guests might have arrived earlier than expected."

Genki glances at you and grins.

"I'll take good care of her."

You doubt this. Furthermore, you can not believe that someone from the Zen'in Clan is here to rescue you. They had indeed bought you back into the clan, but as far as this, you doubt it. 

Hearing the uncomfortable sound of metal against metal, you leave your thoughts, averting your eyes to Genki as he holds a set of throwing knives in his hands.

"How lucky am I? You have no idea how much I've wanted to see you."

A shiver runs down your spine. Of course, you would offend the unhinged one of the group. Though based on the brief moment you had with Takuma and Yuudai, this isn't saying much.

Genki raises a knife to your face and runs it across your cheek. 

"I don't think Yuudai-sama would mind if I took my pound of flesh. So long as you are still alive…"

You detach from the conversation once you notice someone outside one of the windows floating in the air. Your eyes widen as you recognize Gojo, who in turn waves at you. What is he doing here? And how is he floating? The said man leans forward and fogs the window with his breath and then draws a face with its tongue sticking out in the space.

Is he…out of his mind?

Tapping his knuckles against the glass, he draws Genki's attention, who leans away from you in shock. 

"Who in the fuck–"

Before he can finish his question, Gojo lifts his hand, and the windows around him suddenly shatter in an explosion of glass. You turn away from the destruction, sparing your face but some of the shards manage to cut the back of your hands.

When the debris clears, you feel a hand in your hair. Genki tightens his grip and yanks back your head, giving you a look at his injured face. Shards of glass protrude from his skin on the right side, leaving bloody cuts in their wake. 

Shoving a knife to your neck, a look of madness crosses his face.

"Make another move and–"

To your disbelief, Gojo appears beside you in the blink of an eye and tosses back his arm with his fist tightened, punching Genki in the face. The said man flies back and hits the ground with a thump, unmoving.  

"Are you guys even sorcerers?" Gojo asks with a confused hum. 

He runs his hand through his hair and then averts his eyes to you. 

"I can see you missed me." 

"Yes…but– How did you find me?" You ask in confusion. Your face heats up as you notice the grin on his face widen. 

Gojo raises his hand and shows you the centipede tattoo on his hand. 

"We're bonded, remember?"

That's right. He must have felt your emotions. 

"I didn't know it worked like a tracker," you state. 

"Neither did I," Gojo confesses. He leans down to free your arms from the restraints, remaining close as you stand. "But something led me to you."

Your legs tremble as you struggle to stay upright. Whatever they had drugged you with is still in your system it seems. 

"I'm grateful."

Gojo grins, but just as quickly it fades as the intense whip of the wind permeates the air. He pushes you onto the ground just as invisible blades tear up the concrete around him. His Innate Technique keeps the slashes from reaching him but something is off about it. He senses someone nearby and from the corner of his eye, a man with a scythe appears from the debris, swinging the blade at him. It misses, as Gojo steps to the side, but somehow it manages to slice through his uniform. 

"That's a nasty weapon."

Yuudai grins and rests the handle against his shoulder. 

"The Arima Clan has forged some of the greatest Cursed Tools in the Jujutsu Society, including this one."

Gojo groans in annoyance.

"Let me guess, it disturbs the effects of cursed techniques blah blah blah. If I can see the attack coming then I can evade its range, however, you make up for its weakness by using it in tandem with your Innate Technique. Am I right?" 

You widen your eyes. There's no way he had figured out Yuudai's techniques having seen them only once. But based on the enraged look on the man's face, it seems that Gojo is right. 

He's amazing. 

Your face heats up as you stare in awe at him. But the moment doesn't last as Yuudai activates his Innate Technique. The room is filled with gusts of wind charged with cursed energy that enhances in velocity as he clashes with Gojo; the latter evades the scythe, moving around the room in a teasing manner as though he is dancing.

You watch in shock until movement from across the room catches your attention. Takuma slowly approaches, spinning the blade of a kusarigama through the air. His deadpan smile brings goosebumps to your arms.

"Come and play little dog," he chants in a sing-song voice.

That eerie chatter he does with his teeth makes you want to puke. You stand with a grunt and face him, irritated with yourself because you aren't sure you can stand toe to toe against him.

I can't ask Gojo to protect me, not this time.

"I'm sorry for what it's worth…I've never used this on a living person before."

Activating your Innate Technique, you shutter as the pointed legs of the centipede materialize around you. The massive redheaded arthropod chitters as it looms over you, curling its body around you like a snake. 

Takuma howls, clearly unafraid of what he sees. You wish he would think this through, at least for your sake; you don't want to hurt him. But unfortunately, he doesn't seem to care.

You take an uneasy breath. Fine.

"Devour him."

The centipede scurries quickly across the floor toward Takuma, striking at him, but the light-footed man evades to the right and swings the blade of the kusarigama into the creature's side. A spray of purple blood hits him in the face but he ignores it and rushes at you.

Tightening your jaw, you watch as the centipede turns and strikes at him again, knocking him off balance. It crawls onto Takuma and bites into his arm, tearing out a bloody chunk. The man screams in response and tussles with the creature, slashing it with his blade. You fear it's over, but suddenly a wave of nausea washes over you. The centipede slumps over and vanishes to your horror.

What happened? Your eyes widen in fear as Takuma stands, glaring at you in hatred. The sound of static permeates your ears and for a moment you lose consciousness, waking up on the cold floor with pain in your head. You watch helplessly as the man walks toward you with his weapon drawn, ready to strike you down. 

I can't– where did it go? I need it…come back. I don't want to leave Gojo to drown in sadness.

The sound of hissing reaches your ears and before you, two smaller centipedes manifest. They ascend on Takuma in a frenzy and before your world goes dark, you watch them tear him into bloody pieces.

–

"Hello. Can you hear me? Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

You open your tired eyes with a groan, peering up at the face of Satoru Gojo as he hovers over you. It gives you such a fright that you flinch and toss your arm up, striking him in the nose. He groans in pain and thumps to the floor, leaving you shaken. 

Did I just–

You suck in air through your teeth and sit up, peering over the side of the bed to apologize, but Gojo is soon forgotten as you realize that you are no longer in the warehouse. 

"Where am I?" You utter.

The room you are in appears to be a small bedroom with a writing desk against the adjacent wall. Several pairs of dirty clothes are scattered around the floor, but otherwise, it looks comfortable.  

"My dorm at the school," Gojo answers, as he sits up with his legs beneath him. His nose is a bit red, but he looks fine.

Your face heats up. 

"Your room?"

Gojo hums in agreement.

"I thought we could use some alone time."

Is he serious? You feel like you might die of embarrassment, but to your relief, Gojo laughs. You groan in annoyance, hitting him with his pillow.

"Relax. I brought you here so someone could take a look at you," Gojo admits. "During the fight, you nearly exhausted your cursed energy. Those manifestations took a lot out of you, but I was surprised that you managed to create 3 of them."

You remember now. The first had vanished, but somehow you created two more.

"I killed him, didn't I?"

"You did," Gojo simply answers. "The one I knocked out ran away at some point and their leader is being branded as a curse user, though his fate is uncertain. But let's not dwell on that. You need to recover."

Easier said than done. But you suppose he's right. With a deep sigh, you glance around the room again.  

"Are you sure it's okay for me to stay here with you?"

"Are you asking if we are going to get into trouble? Maybe," Gojo states with a laugh.

Does he take anything seriously?

"You should try to rest a bit more. We can talk tomorrow about what happened if you want," Gojo states, leaning against the side of the bed.

You're still a bit tired. Losing so much of your cursed energy nearly killed you. With a yawn, you lie down, resting your head on the pillow again. It's soothing, how much the fabric smells like his shampoo. 

"Thank you, Gojo," you utter. 

He whines in response. 

"I thought we were past these formalities. We know one another better than that, don't we?"

You suppose. He is your soulmate after all. You hum in agreement. 

"Once more," Gojo suggests. "Like you mean it."

"Thank you, Satoru," you repeat with a laugh. 

Gojo grins.

There is a strong urge to reach out and run your fingers through his hair, but you ignore it, forcing your eyes closed. It isn't right to suddenly feel this way. And as much as you want him, you have to wonder if the bond is to blame.  

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2023

Day 07 - Noisome

"Why the hell did you allow her to come with us, A'viloh??", the Viera standing beside him quietly growled so that the goblin waddling in front of them couldn’t hear it. Rael had used his full name, which meant he possible was in trouble if he wasn't careful now.

A'viloh could see it in Rael‘s face that they were one badly chosen word away from loosing all self-control and strangling someone. Like a bomb thats fuse had been cut off an ilm before detonation, they would go off at whoever would be stupid enough to ignite it again. The Miqo'te strongly hoped that this person wouldn’t be him.

The two of them had been send to Brayflox Longstop to check on the goblin lady who was in charge of the place. It turned out she was up to her neck in problems and obviously A'viloh and Rael (but mostly A’viloh) had offered to help her. In the end the odorous delicacy Wheiskaet had requested was saved and they were ready to return to Costa del Sol when the goblin had offered to accompany them.

"It‘s not like we could have said no, right?", A'viloh asked carefully with an apologetic smile on his face.

Rael glowered at him. "No, of course not! You can never say no to anybody…"

"That’s mean...", the Miqo'te answered with sagged ears and a face that would have made everybody but Rael feel bad for what they just said. And he wasn’t wrong either. Bravely A‘viloh had mastered U’odh’s test, which had more felt like an attempt to bully him. Now the least the Viera could do was tolerate a few annoying goblins a little longer…

Rael’s furious expression softened for a moment as if they contemplated to admit their mistake but that wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

"I am not going to apologise for something that’s true! I know you mean well A'vi, but sometimes you gotta say no. It’s bad enough that I‘m never going to get that horrendous smell out of my clothes again but if that goblin opens her babbling mouth one more time I‘m going to forget myself."

Angrily Rael eyed Brayflox who was loading her goods on the little boat that was meant to take them to Costa del Sol. A'viloh had suggested to take the land route through Lower La Noscea but the goblin had justifiably insisted that it would be faster to take a boat. So he kind of had shot himself in his own foot with accepting her offer. Rael was probably right that he needed to say no more often…

In an attempt to pacify the situation A'viloh said: "Well, I like her stories."

The Viera shook their head. "You don’t understand half of the nonsense she‘s spouting!"

"But it sounds funny.", he shrugged.

"I can’t believe she was a part of the Company of Heroes!", Rael wondered. "You saw here fighting that drake! She was more a hindrance than any help."

A'viloh admittedly couldn’t remember any stories of the Company of Heroes in which Brayflox would have played a role but the idea amused him.

"I can vividly imagine Wheiskaet and the rest of them taking turns in babysitting her.", Rael added as if they read his thoughts. "I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going to get herself killed five minutes after we leave her alone…"

A'viloh doubted that but kept it to himself.

Suddenly they were distracted by a noisome smell that by now they knew better than they wished. Happily Brayflox waddled towards them planning to pass their wait time with more chatter. She carried a small wooden plate with pieces of that repulsive cheese on it.

"Goodly uplanders!", she called. "Here! Uplanders try tastyfresh gobbietreat as thanks for helping gobbieflock!"

A'viloh and Rael looked at each other with terror.

"I think I’m going to throw up." Rael whispered.

A'viloh nodded and answered: "I guess this is a good time to practice saying no…"