#For Why Does My Skin Itch After I Shower It

[sleepymarimo]

toji x reader // sfw!

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t remember the last time he was gifted something.

“you got me what?” he asks again, kicking his sandals off at your front door for what seems like the millionth time.

you rise from your couch, the wood creaking slightly as you do so. “just some stuff for you to keep here so you stop using mine,” you reply, the shrug of your shoulders indicating how little of a deal it is.

in the kitchen, you rinse out the glass you’d been using. toji’s footsteps are barely audible over the sound of running water.

“there’s a few pairs of sweats in the hall closet,” you tell him, setting the glass down to dry. “and some other stuff in the bathroom. shampoo, body wash, toothbrush…”

the assassin lets out a small huff, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. “you tellin’ me i reek or something?” he accuses, more so to brush off the odd feeling building in his gut.

“maybe.” comes your playful quip, your head tilting as you rest your weight on the counter and look at him. “but seriously, you just come around so often,��- his nose wrinkles at that, as he knows he crashes here much more than he should- “that i figured i’d just get you your own things. it’s not like it cost me an arm and a leg.”

with a yawn you stroll toward your room, lightly poking his chest as you pass him. “plus, you use up all of my stuff, dummy.”

he grunts, his eyes following you until you’re out of sight. “i don’t need fancy clothes or any of that crap,” he murmurs to himself, taking a few steps toward the hall closet.

his large hands wrap around the handles, sliding the doors open until he sees a pile of clothes resting on one of the shelves. three black tees stacked atop three pairs of sweats, some boxers and socks in a little box, all for him.

he picks up a shirt without hesitation, the fabric smooth against his calloused fingers. his brows furrow in concentration, maybe unease. this is for him, it’s his, and maybe that’s why this shirt is the softest one he’s ever felt.

with a gruff exhale, he snatches a pair of sweats and a clean pair of boxers, his steps unhurried as he heads for the bathroom.

the fan hums above him as the lock clicks into place, his eyes immediately darting to the shelves to see the new toiletries. his stuff.

inside the shower, toji’s shoulders sag.

it’s as if the water is washing away his defenses, the rugged, nonchalant exterior he wears now melting away in the comfort of your shower.

toji pops open one of the new shampoo bottles, taking in the scent and pouring it onto his palm. he wonders if this smell reminds you of him, if you put some thought into each item.

while he rubs it into his hair, he thinks about if he should pay you back. it’s not like he asked you to get him all this stuff, but still.

even when you’d first started letting him crash on your couch, you hadn’t demanded much in return.

“just don’t make a big mess and be decent, alright?” he remembers you saying.

and he was just fine with that. free room and board just for something so simple? he’d be a moron to decline.

it was only after around a week that he felt a familiar itch. he wouldn’t be in your debt, wouldn’t wait for the day when you’d inevitably ask for something.

so, he offered what he always did- himself. that’s what women usually wanted from him, anyway.

his idea didn’t exactly go as planned. if anything, it made him feel more conflicted, made him wonder why the hell you kept him around.

were you just lonely? did you enjoy his company?

“oh, no… i don’t do that,” you’d said, holding your hands up, flustered but adamant. “you don’t have to sell yourself to me or anything. who does that? like, what?”

the water patters on the tile floor, his body and mind feeling more clear and clean than they’ve been in a long time.

when the faucet squeaks shut, he steps out and snorts as he sees a new, fluffy black towel hanging beside yours behind the bathroom door. he grabs it, rubbing his scarred skin dry and running it through the damp strands of his hair.

the new clothes feel like heaven, truly.

in your room, engrossed by your phone, you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. toji’s steps are almost silent, his arms crossing over his chest as he watches you beneath the covers.

he’s amused as you snicker at some post, the dim screen lighting up your face in the otherwise dark room.

“let me crash here, yeah?” he suggests, though it’s more of an order.

you’re startled, rightfully so, hiding your phone against your chest while you sit up straighter. “oh, you scared me! new clothes and you think you’re all that, huh? too good for the couch?”

yet, even as you chide him, you’re peeling back the covers for him, grabbing the extra pillows and moving them out of the way.

a satisfied grunt leaves him as he spreads out on the mattress, careless of the space he takes up. he tugs the blankets over his person, settling in like a big cat.

he curls into you. you don’t mind.

while you scroll along with one hand, the other supports his head and absentmindedly strokes the skin of his cheek.

his eyes watch you, his breaths becoming more steady and even. he’d never admit how much it means to him that you’d gotten him new clothes, new toiletries, practically a new home.

it’s more than he deserves, but he finds himself wanting to take as much as he can get.

he’s yours, even if he doesn’t know it. and, as the days go by, he wonders if you can be his, too.

[masked-speaker88]

Shinji Hirako Head-cannons

These are some of my personal head-cannons for Shinji. This includes romantic and otherwise. Minors do not interact!

Shinji is a like a father figure to Momo. He is protective and even casually teasing to her. He knows how Aizen hurt her and wants to help her heal. He wants her to become the version of herself.

Shinji sees Hiyori as a little sister who drives him crazy, but cares about her at the end of the day. These two have that "not siblings, but should be" dynamic.

Shinji is self conscious about his appearance which is why he spends so much time on his hair and clothes. This can be noted within some of his fights with Hiyori. I personally think a lot of this stems from his inability to gain weight.

Shinji has his hair cut in a bob with the angled bangs because he feels like it accents his face and draws a little of attention to him that he may not receive otherwise.

Shinji knows he's weird as hell, and relishes in it. He knows he's unique and can turn heads without even trying when it comes to his personality.

Shinji has a love for jazz and dressing up. He gives off old man vibes without being old. Weird, old man vibes and yet he's still such a pretty boy~

Shinji is really good at reading people and their intentions. There is little to nothing that anyone can hide from him long.

He knows how to take charge and can give plenty of reasons as to why he's the leader.

Romantic and Spicy Head-Cannons Below

Hitting on his inability to gain weight, I personally think this man is in love with thick girls. Something about their nice thick thighs, big round asses, hip dips, and sexy curves get him hot and bothered. Its like he was prewired to lose his mind.

He loves make-out sessions that start out slow and sensual and lead into getting his tongue ring sucked on and gently bit. Anyone does this and you'll be begging for him to lose control.

Shinji loves spooning his partner. He loves the way their ass presses into his crotch nice and firm. He loves it even more when he can teasingly roll his hips up into them. He will pull their hair off their neck, sucking and kissing everywhere he can reach. Be prepared to look like a battlefield after one of his special moods.

Shinji has no problem using his tongue ring on all the pretty and sensitive parts that his partner has. Tits, thighs.. clit.. He'll make you wither under him and laugh about it.

Shinji is a switch. He loves to take control, but he also loves it when you ride him taking what you want from him. Riding him until you come around his nice slim long cock. He loves that the second you come, he gets to start thrusting up and over stimulating you until he fills you to the brim.

Shinji loves when his partner takes their hand pushing up the back of his neck slowly, before grabbing a fistful of his hair as he eats you out. He will loudly moan against your entrance, his hips that were already grinding into the mattress becoming more fervent.

Shinji will start an argument just to get you riled up enough to grab his tie and jerk him to your height. BUT be warned the second you do this, you're in for a long night.

Something else he LOVES is to be able to take a shower with his partner. It doesn't always have to end in sex for him. He just loves holding you in the shower with the hot water spraying around you. He contently hugs you tightly to his bare body, hands rubbing circles into your skin, and his face buried in your neck thanking you for loving him.

This man LOVES to slowly and sensually make love to you. He will pump his cock in you nice and slowly, mouth kissing anywhere he can get. He knows it drives you crazy, like an itch that's getting rubbed instead of scratched. But do be ensured that he will be making you come around him, your pleasure bursting after being so slowly built up. You will be so over stimulated and so content after this that you can't help but love it too.

Shinji will also bend you over the kitchen table and give you everything you've begged for by being such a brat. He knows when you get that bratty and mouthy that you're needy but too worked up to ask for it. "You've been bitchy all day, apparently you really need my fucking cock to rail it out of you!" He will proceed to grab your hair, and rail you over and over on the kitchen table with your tits pressed into the wood. He will go until neither of you can go anymore, and you've left tears and drool all over the surface.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 9

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s a blur. Lust-addled, desire-driven, madness-inducing. You can’t stop yourself from clawing, nipping, licking, and rutting. You’re mindless with the need to stop that plucking. Yet each time you scratch it, the itch gets worse. Until you’re delirious, until there is only a dazed dim all around you. 

You come to slowly. It’s not an awakening. You don’t think you’ve slept. You’re just finally still. 

You smell of sweat and feel grimy. You remember the scald of a shower but little good that did you. You shiver as a coldness seeps into your skin. You touch the icy weight across your stomach and follow the arm up to its owner. Him. Loki. Villain and... 

Your husband? 

You try to push him away. He grumbles and opens his eyes. You nearly scream at the red orbs. He blinks and they clear to green irises and dark pupils. You frown and sputter. 

“What the heck?” 

“Mmm,” he grumbles, “are you not done with me, pet?” 

“No, no more,” you continue to push on his arm. “Please, off.” 

“What is the hurry?” 

“What time is it?” You ignore his protest and glance around. 

“Our time. Husband and wife--” 

“Ah, let’s just hold on that,” your teeth chatter. “Why are you so... cold?” 

“Hm, perhaps us gods run a bit cooler,” he smirks. “How shall you have me then, darling?” He rolls onto his back and stretches, displaying his naked form shamelessly. “Would you like to be astride or shall I take the reins?” 

“Please,” you hold your hand up to block out his nakedness. “I need to--” You sit up and your head pulses, “think.” 

You turn your legs over the edge of the bed with all your effort. You bend over your lap and hold your head as you try to gather your senses. You groan and push yourself up. You stand but only for a second before you’re hurtling forward. 

You don’t hit the floor as Loki catches you and just as swiftly scoops you into his arms, “now, precious wife, don’t be so careless. You will hurt yourself. You must rest. Especially after three nights of consummation--” 

“Three-- Three nights!?” You cry out. “You’re lying.” 

“I am a trickster but in this I am honest. As I have vowed to be in our marriage--” 

“Where’s my phone?” You wriggle but don’t have the strength to break free. 

He rolls his eyes and carries you around. You’re nothing in his arms. That feeling makes jars you even more. He’s upended your whole life. You almost forgot about the damn green curtains. 

“Put me down,” you demand as he carries you into the front room. 

“Darling--” 

“Down,” he demands. 

“As you wish.” 

He sets you on your feet and lets you go. You lean and stagger. Oh god. Your insides hurt. You feel so hollow like you could fold in on yourself. You babble and grab onto his arm. 

“Christ, what did you do?” 

“Oof, keep your mortal gods’ names off my person,” he derides, “I did as a good husband does.” 

You frown and squeeze him, leaning even though you can barely stand to touch him. 

“Can you put some clothes on?” You hiss. 

“Speak for yourself.” 

You look down and squeak. Shoot. He sighs and flicks his hand. In an instant, you’re draped in green silk and sleek satin robes swathes around his lithe figure.  

“Happy, dear wife?” He taunts. 

“Not really,” you grit as you walk forward, keeping hold of him as your legs wobble. 

“Please, darling, sit,” he guides you to the chair. “As I said, you will need to recover. You mortals are rather adorably weak.” 

He sits you down and turns with a cluck. He strides across the room and scoops up your phone, “ah, here it is. I did have to silence it. Rather pesky devices.” 

He hands it over and you take it. You croak at the date below the time. He’s really not lying. Three days. Of fucking? With him?! 

“Oh gosh,” you slump over as you bend your arm on the chair and lean on it. 

“Gosh indeed,” he snickers. 

“Stop,” you beg. 

“Stop? As worn out as you may be, darling, I must commend you. It was... delicious. I do enjoy it rather much.” He comes to perch on the other side of the chair and pets your shoulder. “Most unexpected, I must add. To say, when I first laid eyes upon you, I didn’t think you had it in you though I could see myself in you.” 

Without thinking, you hit his knee. You sit up and scowl, “do you have to be so gross?” 

“Gross? Where I’m from, sex is not so shameful. It is a past time. We enjoy it, a lot. Myself especially. And if I must stay on this cursed planet, I may as well have some delight.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Hm, from all the research I’ve done of your people, I was led to believe you would be ecstatic to be married.” 

“Ehhhh, never really was a goal of mine personally. Too much... work. And weddings are a lot.” 

“Oh, I agree. My last wedding was awful,” he agrees. 

“You’re last--” 

“Annulled, mind you. She slept with someone else...” his lip curls. “It is an acceptable reason to void if your bride lays with your brother, you see?” 

You look up at him, “Thor?” 

“Mm, yes,” he flicks his eyes up. “Eons ago. Suppose it should be forgotten.” 

“Wow, I’m... sorry.” 

“Sorry? It wasn’t you. How peculiar. You midgardians apologise for things beyond your realm.” 

“Well, I’m sorry it happened. Isn’t very nice to be cheated on,” you say. “And even if it was a long time ago, it still happened.” 

“You sound wise in these matters,” he says. 

You shrug, “not really.” 

You try to stand again and he stops you with a gentle pat, “darling, whatever you need, I will fetch it. I insist that you let your body rest.” 

You huff and fall back. You don’t have much choice. Just like every other step of your acquaintance, you are helpless. 

“Nothing, I’m just... thinking.” 

“I can make tea. Without extra sweetener this time,” he offers. You consider him warily. He shows his palms. “I’ll make it in front of you, should you wish. I do prefer a living wife over a dead one though and another dose...” 

“Another dose what?” You exclaim. 

“Well, I don’t really know how much a Midgardian can handle of that specific leaf--” 

“Just go,” you shoo him with your finger and close your eyes. “I can’t handle any more.” 

[fattummyt]

Broly/Gender Neutral Reader - Scent

Summary: There were few things Broly was unable to part with-- Bah's ear, being one of them. Most things he took his time easing himself into like citrus fruits and showers, but others were much more difficult to bear-- one of those being the removal of his shock collar.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, implied relationships, gender-neutral pronouns, sleep, domestic, not canon compliant

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Torture/Violence, Minor Injuries, Injury Recovery, Anxiety, Phantom Pains, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Author's Notes: Y/N - Your name

Read it on AO3 here!

"Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime." Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

The red rash stretching around the base of Broly's neck was growing worse every night. When Bulma's father arrived to inspect it, after one look he gave you a diagnosis.

"This is no rash. These are self inflicted scratches."

"Scratches?" You asked. "How?"

Dr. Briefs inspected the massive hand resting in Broly's lap, standing intrusively close to the now uncomfortable Broly before waving you over to join him. You also looked, only to find his nails bitten down on each finger.

Broly, speaking for the first time since Dr. Briefs arrived, interrupted.

"What does… self inflicted mean?"

Dr. Brief paused, straightening his posture, as if just now recognizing Broly's presence. "That means you've got a nasty little habit there, son."

Broly didn't react, just blinking at the smaller man unamused and admittedly, even more confused than he was before.

Dr. Briefs turned to you, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "He's been scratching himself in his sleep. It's really not all that uncommon, although, the location is fairly odd. Wait right here, I'll return with my tried and true method for curing this little problem."

The older man quietly exited the room and when he was far enough away you glanced over to find Broly, quietly biting at his thumb. You smoothed your fingers over the tender flesh of his neck, making him flinch at the sudden contact.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

"No." He didn't look at you when he spoke.

You brushed his hair from his neck, revealing the full collar-like length of his scratches. His voice interrupted your worried thoughts, "I can still feel the shocks, sometimes. When I sleep. Sometimes when I wake up, I can still feel it tingling in my skin."

Guilt sat heavy in your belly as you recalled pushing him to remove the collar, before you could voice your concerns, in walked Dr. Briefs.

"I have some good news, son. For being such a good patient you get two prizes." He pulled two objects from behind his back. "A scarf and a pair of mittens."

You both looked equally as puzzled, before you interjected. "Did you take that from my hallway closet?"

He approached Broly, taking the fuzzy infinity scarf and wrapping it around Broly's broad neck and chin.

Upon inhaling, Broly was quickly overcome by your familiar scent.

Dr. Briefs tossed you the pair of familiar knit mittens.

"There. Now that scarf should distract you from the itching and the mittens will keep you from biting and scratching while you snooze."

"Wait, that's all?" You insisted.

Dr. Briefs chuckled. "Well, no sense in buying new fancy stuff when the old stuff works just as well."

As he turned toward Broly he took on a tense expression.

"Listen here, son. You kick that habit or else. Ladies don't like men with bad fingernails, or at least that's what Mrs. Briefs tells me--" "--Goodbye Dr. Briefs." You replied with urged movements.

He clasped his hands behind his back, turning to offer you a kind smile before heading to the door.

"Let me know how that works for him, Y/N. I am one Capsule Corp call away!"

As he left, you couldn't help but feel concerned for your other private belongings, but pushed that idea out your head as you soon noticed Broly seemingly deep in thought, completely oblivious. He wasn't biting his nails or fidgeting with his hands as he so often did when his mind was unoccupied. Instead the hyperaware man sat silent, eyelids heavy, seemingly lost in thought.

"Looks like it's already working. For being a bit peculiar, Dr. Briefs does know a thing or two after all." You didn't appreciate him volunteering your stuff, but far be it from you to take away something that makes Broly happy.

"I'm gonna go make myself some lunch, do you want anything?"

Broly didn't respond, instead letting his eyes fall shut, and his back hit the bed. You took that as your cue to leave, tossing the mittens on his bare chest. You smiled to yourself as you shut the door behind you, your departing footsteps barely audible over the thump of Broly's heart.

He wasn't sure how long he'd laid there like that, but it wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep.

You were almost overjoyed when you saw Broly the following week after. The flushed red scratch marks across his skin were now just a memory. No surprise, considering he's a Saiyan. 

"I haven't woken up at night at all." Utter amazement in his voice as he spoke. Before this he hadn't had a full night's rest since the collar was gone.

"I'm so happy for you, Broly!" A warmth tingled in his cheeks which he quickly tucked away behind your scarf after hearing that. You broke into a huge smile, a smile you only reserved for when you had a great idea. "Let's celebrate! I'll make some snow cones!"

"Snow? Cones?" Broly didn't follow.

"You've never eaten snow cones before?" "Why would I eat snow?" A pain welled deep within your stomach as you recalled the delicious frozen desserts of futures passed. "I'm gonna make you the BEST snow cone-- you'll love them! Vampa is perfect for it. I'll get some snow from outside."

In a sudden haste, you rose from the kitchen table and quickly got dressed, pulling on your coat and boots as Broly watched in confused silence.

"It could be dangerous outside, I should go with you." "I'll be fine. I won't be going too far anyway." It wasn't until now that you noticed your scarf still tied around his neck. "Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime."

Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

You pulled the now significantly warmer scarf around your neck as you turned out the door. "I'll be right back."

Broly didn't answer as you left, too overwhelmed-- too hyper aware of everything, every tick of the heater, every gust of wind that would rattle the front door. He didn't have it in him to deny you your scarf but he was quickly realizing he wasn't going to be able to adjust so quickly.

"Broly." Your voice echoed in the hallway leading up to his room but there was no answer. You sniffled as you approached his bedroom door. "Broly?" You knocked gently, earning no response.

Sure, Broly was no stranger to your struggle meals, but you worked so hard on those snow cones, you just had to see his reaction to it.

Being a worrywart that you are, you let your anxiety get the best of you, cracking open his door to find his room inexplicably empty. Just as fear trickled up your spine, you heard what sounded like a thud from your room, down the hall. 

Quietly you opened the door, peering around to find Broly splayed across your bed, what looked to be child sized mittens tugged over his fingers as he laid face deep in your pillows, fast asleep. As far as you know Broly had never even seen the inside of your room, let alone laid in your bed. You wanted to be mad and annoyed, but the sight of his body causing your bed frame to creak with such agony almost made you want to laugh. You breathed a sigh of relief, tip toeing, albeit pointlessly, across the room to toss your blanket over him.

I guess I could sleep in his bed for tonight.

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[malk1ns]

march 11 v golden knights, 3-2 OT win

i had absolutely nothing for this one. a combination of i've been sleeping like shit and nearing the end of the season i think—i need to think about one of my other longer fic ideas for a little as a palate cleanser and hopefully that will help me through this final push so i don't struggle so hard with coming up with stuff. thank you to @beggingwolf for coming up with this idea for me.

Even for Sid, four goals in two games is pretty good. Those goals getting capped off with wins is even better, and he doesn’t bother to try and contain his smile as they troop off the ice.

He has to linger in the hall for a while to take his spin as second star, and that was apparently long enough for Geno to decide he’s done with two legs for the day.

“Babe,” Sid sighs, pausing in front of his stall and staring down at the little gray cat blinking innocently up at him from the nest he’s made out of Sid’s sweatshirt. “Again?”

Geno meows at him, flicks his tail, and turns his back on Sid and the room at large in favor of kneading at the hood.

“Awww,” Kris says, pausing at Sid’s side. “Feeling okay, G?”

Geno, focused on his task, ignores Kris entirely. When Karl crouches down and baby-talks at him, Geno permits a gentle stroke over his head before hissing in warning.

Sid glances over at the door. The media is due in at any second, and he can’t have a cat in his stall, no matter how cute Geno is like this.

Luckily, Geno leaps from the bench and makes his way over to the door leading to the dry change room, pausing to wind through Jarry’s legs with loud purrs before he slips out of sight.

“He’s so cute,” Jarry sighs, watching Geno go. “I wish we could get a cat, but Hannah’s so allergic and I think the dogs would eat a kitten.”

“He’s annoying,” Sid mutters, brushing futilely at the cat hair embedded in his hoodie. He’s going to sneeze the entire way home now.

Generally, Geno only shifts when he’s in his own home out of deference to Sid’s allergies; he can take a Claritin and hang out for a few hours without too many problems, but Sid likes to keep his own house as cat hair free as possible. There’s a lint roller in the mud room, and Sid pretty much strips down right there and throws his clothes straight into the washer when he gets back from being at Geno’s to avoid tracking it into the house.

Sid doesn’t have any meds on him, though, and it’s still too chilly for him to go outside in just his t-shirt, even if it’s just to his car.

His arms start itching halfway through his media time, and he has to clench his fists to stop from scratching at himself. It will only make it worse, and he doesn’t need anyone asking questions about why he’s suddenly attempting to tear off his own skin.

The shower helps a little, and Sid does his best to avoid touching his eyes, but he’s still sniffling when he finishes getting dressed.

“G?” he calls, opening his bag, and smiles when a little ball of fur streaks across the room from Karl’s stall and leaps in. “Hey, buddy, you ready to go home?”

Geno meows impatiently at him, and Sid carefully swings the bag strap over his shoulder.

Normally, Geno only shifts after bad games. He’s been on a roll since the tournament though, and he got the primary assist on Karl’s game-winner tonight, so Sid spends the drive home wracking his brain for what could have triggered this.

Geno curls up into a ball in the passenger seat for the ride, and it only takes a few minutes after Sid taps on the seat-heater for him to fall asleep. Sid’s a grown man, so he manages to resist cooing out loud at the tiny little snores Geno makes, but he does snap a few pictures at red lights.

Geno wakes up and yawns ferociously when Sid pulls up to the gate, standing on his hind legs to peer out the window as Sid navigates the long road back to Geno’s house. Sid doesn’t bother to try and stop him when he streaks out of the driver door as soon as it opens; Geno’s said that while he doesn’t quite have his own mind when he’s shifted he’s still enough himself to overrule any dangerous cat instincts, and that includes any desire to run away or lay waste to the local fauna.

Sid shakes some cat food into the little bowls Geno keeps in the kitchen, but he also pulls out a double portion of Geno’s meal service; he doesn’t know when Geno plans on shifting back, but he’ll have to eat either way.

He shovels his half into his mouth without tasting much of anything. The second half of this season has flown by, game after game and so much travel with the tournament added in that Sid doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going most days. He’s too tired to even feel hungry most evenings, but he knows he needs to eat or he’ll regret it in the morning.

Geno as a cat is a much messier eater than Geno as a person, but he’s also significantly cuter about it, so when he leaps into Sid’s lap after devouring his food, Sid lets him butt his crumb-covered face against Sid’s shirt without complaining.

The house is quiet. They’ve been spending more time apart than Sid would like recently, too tired from the grind of the season and the stress of leading a team that’s going nowhere fast, but Sid’s not used to being in Geno’s house for so long without Geno’s voice. Normally after a bad game it’s just a few hours until Geno’s ready to come back to himself, but the night stretches on and Geno’s still a cat.

Logically, Sid knows Geno would be fine if he left. He’s a person, after all, and if he gets hungry or thirsty all he needs to do is change back and he can take care of himself.

Geno’s so small like this, though, so light and vulnerable when Sid picks him up, and when Sid looks towards the mudroom Geno meows so loudly and so plaintively that Sid abandons his thought of going home even though Geno hasn’t changed back.

“Guess I’m sleeping over, bud,” Sid informs Geno, who blinks at him, then licks his paw. Sid frowns—he doesn’t know if cats can actually look smug, but Geno’s certainly managing. 

Sid left a toothbrush and his face lotion at Geno’s ages ago, and it doesn’t take much digging to pull out his own pajamas from the bottom drawer of the dresser. He doubled up on Benadryl right after dinner, and by the time he’s settling into bed he’s already feeling a little dizzy and floaty.

He’ll feel like crap in the morning, hungover and headachey, but it’s worth it when Geno leaps up onto the bed and settles himself against Sid’s chest, purring so hard he’s vibrating.

Sid digs his fingers into the soft fur of Geno’s neck and falls asleep.

—

Geno’s half-sprawled on top of Sid and snoring into his ear when Sid blinks awake the next morning. It’s much less cute when he’s human.

“Get off,” he groans, heaving at Geno’s body until Geno rolls off him with an angry little sound that’s still half-feline. “You okay? You don’t normally do that after wins.”

Geno stays quiet for long enough that Sid opens his eyes to see if he fell back to sleep. “Miss you,” he says finally. “Long season, like, you’re not invite me over lots, think maybe you’re…what’s PO say, try to ghost? Let me down easy. So I’m think you’re stay and spend time this way.”

Sid feels terrible. “No, baby,” he says, scooting closer until he can get his hand in Geno’s hair, thinner than his fur as a cat but just as soft. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You know how crazy the season has been, and then I had the tourney, I haven’t had a second to breathe this whole year. But I’m not trying to ghost you, I promise.”

“Stupid,” Geno mutters, pressing into Sid’s touch. “I know this, like, you’re not do. Know you’re so tired too, and hurt. I just feel bad, maybe, and then you’re like to stay when I’m Mav, so I just…do. And then it’s easy to stay when I’m small.”

Mav. Taylor Haase caught Sid looking at a picture of Geno as a cat on his phone and he had to make up a story about a kitten he adopted the year before. Maverick, he’d told her the name was, the first thing he came up with after he and Geno watched the new Top Gun the weekend before. It’s become a little joke of theirs, calling Geno’s cat-self Mav. He doesn’t like the idea that Geno thinks Sid prefers the cat.

“I like to stay when you’re you more,” Sid says, tucking his calf between Geno’s legs. “Mav is cute but you’re cuter, and I like talking to you. Next time just tell me you want me to come over, okay? Or—” Sid sneezes. His meds are wearing off. “—just come over to my place, maybe. When the hell is the last time you vacuumed in here?”

[whumperstorm]

Suppressing Fire - Part 1

Content: Vampire whumper, human whumpee, defiant whumpee, kidnapping, bad blood drinking etiquette

Hi!!! I've finally edited the first few chapters of @whumpsday and I's RP!! It features Kane with a different, more spicy victim instead of Jim. My OC Keegan!

Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keegan jogs her way down the dimly lit street of her neighborhood. It’s her third time around the block tonight and her restlessness is still not abating. Running used to be one of her favorite hobbies, but ever since she became Lohitha’s guardian, anything other than work feels like a waste of time. Unfortunately, her coworkers practically forced her out the door to take the night off.

She already tried calling her hunting partner twice. The first time she talked Keegan down by saying how important it is to ‘rest your body and mind’. The second time she basically told Keegan to fuck off, as this was also her night off, though she said it in a much kinder way. So now Keegan is stuck here, finishing another lap and trying desperately to relax.

After another ten minutes or so, Keegan comes to a halt at an empty bus stop. Her hands itch for her missing hunting gear. She pulls out a cigarette instead. ‘I’ll have to take a shower when I get home,’ she thinks as she lights it. Otherwise her sister, Lohitha, will yell at her again when she smells the smoke clinging to her skin. Keegan leans back against the rain cover and takes a long drag, watching the moths fluttering around the lamp post.

---

That one.

She looks young enough to last a long time, but still fully-grown, full of all the blood an adult human should have. She smells absolutely delicious. And she's just standing there, all alone.

Kane crinkles his nose at the smell of that thing emitting smoke at her mouth. He'd heard of humans doing that, but he'd never seen it in person. But it won't be a concern once she's his. Running fast enough to catch her off guard in lieu of his missing persuasion, Kane snatches the human girl, holding her tight in his arms as he dashes back to where he parked his car.

---

It happens so fast that for a moment Keegan doesn't even register what is going on. The world is a disorienting blur around her. Then, she recognizes the speed, and the strength of the arms that have grabbed her.

Fuck. Now of all times?

She lets out a shout of surprise and rage and kicks wildly against the monster's hold on her. This fucker chose the wrong human.

The human's kicks are weak, as expected. Kane is definitely glad he took the car, though: dealing with this the whole way back would be incredibly annoying.

"Stop fussing," he snaps as he tosses her into his backseat, quickly grabbing the rope he brought with him.

Keegan whirls around instantly when she hits the seat and aims a kick to his face. 

"Fucking leech!" She snarls.

She won't win a wrestling match with a vampire, not even close, but anything to make him flinch will give her the chance to grab her weapon. A small stake, hidden away in her boots. She may be off duty, but no way in hell does she ever leave the house without one. For this reason exactly.

Kane isn't really hurt, but he is stunned for a moment, long enough for the human to get out the stake she was apparently hiding.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath. He grabs her wrist as fast as he can, holding it tight. "Drop it," he orders.

Keegan is surprised that no persuasion follows the order. It's a blessing that she's been able to fight back at all so far. She doesn't have time to wonder why. She yanks her arm with a growl, but the vampire has an iron grip on her wrist. He grabbed her before she could even attempt a strike. Still, she does not drop the stake.

Kane snatches the stake with his other hand and tosses it from the car, then holds her down with a knee to the abdomen so he can use his hands to tie her up.

"Stop struggling!" he orders, frustrated. It's supposed to be easier than this.

Keegan watches helplessly as the vampire tosses away her only weapon. 

"Fuck you!" She spits, fighting with all her might against the knee on her stomach. 

Her struggles are practically useless. She sees him reach for a coil of rope and her stomach sinks as she begins to realize how fucked she is. She's trapped and alone with no backup. Where are her fellow hunters??

Any moment now this thing is going to get sick of tussling and hypnotize her. She freezes, staring into the vampires angry, red eyes. She's not going to win this fight. Her only hope now is to stall him until someone takes notice. So, she grits her teeth, swallows her pride, and shouts for help.

"HELP! VAMPIRE! HELP ME!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Kane drops the rope and grabs the duct tape instead, hastily plastering some over the human's mouth. He then gets set, tying her up for the car ride home, looking around frantically as he does so, even though he feels a little pathetic for it. They're just humans.

When he has the human all tied up, he slams the door and gets in the front seat, beginning the drive home.

The vampire silences her with the tape and Keegan screams in rage, which morphs into fear as she's restrained and the door shuts on her. She kicks at the door but can't get a good angle the way she's been tied. She feels the engine rev to life under her and the car starts to move. Her heart beats a mile a minute and she swirls her head around hoping to find something, anything that can help her. But there's nothing.

It all happened so fast that it didn't matter if people were nearby. No one came in time. She's restrained and she's lost her stake. There's nothing she can do. She's being taken. Frustrated, fearful tears well up in her eyes. She stares at the back of the Vampire's head as he drives. Where is he taking her? The blood farms? Why didn't he hypnotize her? Does he want her lucid?

……Is he going to drain her like the one who took her mother?

---

Kane’s irritation fades into giddiness as he drives away. He's done it, he's caught a human of his very own!

It's about an hour's drive back home. He plays classical piano on the car radio, a wonderful invention.

He parks in his driveway, opening the car door to retrieve his prize. "No more struggling," he orders, hefting the human up and taking her inside.

Keegan's panicked thoughts turn to Lohitha as she's stolen away from home. Who knows what's in store for her, but her sister? She'll be all alone. She's only 12… Too young to fend for herself. God, what if she goes back to their dad? anything would be better than that. She prays that her friends will help her out. Her hunting partner always liked Lohitha, maybe she'll take her in?

Her worries are interrupted when the Vampire stops the car and returns to grab her. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead the moment the door opened. She glares daggers into him but remains still as ordered. She's not getting anywhere tied up like this. Her best bet is to save her strength. Still, she can't stop shaking.

‘Perfect,’ Kane thinks. She was probably just lashing out because it was so sudden, and now that she's had some time to calm down, she'll behave.

Kane carries her into the house and immediately into the human quarters, setting her down on the bed. “I am Kane de Sang, seventh-born of Aldrich de Sang. From this day forth, you will serve as my source of human blood.” He rips the duct tape off. “I presume you have questions.”

Keegan is relieved at least, to arrive at a house. Being a personal bloodbag is probably the better option… Of a terrible selection of outcomes. She immediately takes note of the path from the front door as she's taken deeper into the building.

The vampire's name is apparently Kane. Good for him. She'd much rather call him Dickhead.

Keegan has many questions. The smart thing to do would be to lay low; feel out her situation and start planning an escape accordingly.

Instead, she spits in his face the moment the tape is removed.

"Ugh!" Kane wipes his eye, immediately pissed, and grabs her tightly by the chin. "You little shit! You are going to learn some respect, or you will regret it," he warns. "Do you understand me?"

Oh, Keegan does not Like him touching her face. He could snap her neck easily with just a flick of his wrist. Her only solace is that he'd probably have done that already if that was his plan. If she's to be his food source, then he'll want to keep her alive. She glowers at him. 

"You kidnapped the wrong person if you're looking for respect." She growls. "Why haven't you hypnotized me?"

Kane barely restrains himself from violence. It's her first day. He's better than her juvenile retorts.

“I do not require such rudimentary tricks in order to keep one measly human in line," he huffs instead, not looking her in the eye. "You will behave, human."

He lets go of her, pointing to the two other doors as he speaks. "Kitchen, bathroom. There's a notepad in the kitchen where you can write down anything you need. Your sustenance is my sustenance." He starts to untie her. "I will come in here to feed from you once per night."

Keegan picks up on the defensiveness immediately. She decides that she's probably pushed her luck enough for now and doesn't comment, instead filing the information away for later.

She remains still as Kane unties her. Bolting for the door immediately will get her nowhere. "That's all?" She asks, unable to hide her nervousness. "Just the feeding?" 

She's dealt with plenty of vampires before and has her fair share of scars. She can handle a little bite. As long as this vampire isn't some kind of sadist, she'll be fine.

"Yes. That is your purpose," Kane confirms matter-of-factly. "You will provide me with blood, and you will behave while doing so. No more spitting. I won't hesitate to discipline you if I have to."

discipline. Like a misbehaving child. Keegan scowls at the phrasing.

Kane gathers the rope. "Do you have any actual questions?"

"No. You eat and I waste away in a windowless room for the rest of my life. Seems self-explanatory." Keegan says sarcastically. Doesn't matter, she won't be here for long.

"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow evening." And with that, Kane leaves her to her devices.

The moment the vampire is out the door, Keegan is up and searching the rooms for anything that could be used as a weapon. The kitchen is stocked with quality knives, not fatal to a vampire, but they'll hurt just the same. She also checks for anything that she could possibly whittle down into a stake. Wooden cooking spoons, a broom handle, even a table leg would do.

She grows increasingly more frustrated as her search turns up nothing. It makes logical sense, but it pisses her off anyway. She kicks the wall next to her in anger. The knives are much more risky, but if she can slice up his ankles or knees then he'll be incapacitated. Hell, cutting up his throat would choke him out, though this all depends on if she can avoid his iron grip.

Keegan flops back down on the bed and holds her head in her hands. She roughly wipes away a few tears that have gathered in her eyes. She is not gonna cry. She needs to be strong. Stay focused and get out.

For now though, she needs to try and get some rest. She’s exhausted. She lies down on top of the covers, not bothering to change her clothes.

----

Kane comes back the next night, full of excitement. He finally has his own human, just like he's supposed to! Sure, she's a bit feisty, but he's sure she'll mellow out with time, once she learns her place. He feels a little bitter that he can't just make her behave with persuasion, but he'll show that he doesn't need it. He'll show them all.

"Good evening, human," he greets as he enters the human quarters the next night.

"My name is Keegan." Keegan says from her place on the bed. She sits up with a huff. She didn't get a wink of sleep. Her head feels foggy. No escape attempts tonight.

“You presume too highly of your status if you believe we are on a first-name basis,” He condescends. This isn't something vampires with persuasion need to deal with. He'd be mortified if his family ever saw his human conversing with him in this way. “Speaking of which, you will refer to me as either Master or Sir.”

‘Oh, absolutely not.’ The idea alone sours her stomach. "You presume too highly of yourself," She mocks, "to think I'll be doing that, vampire."

Kane rolls his eyes and lets it go for now. There will be plenty of time for minor details like that: it's time for the actual important part. "Whatever. I'm hungry." He approaches his human. "Move your head to the side," he orders.

Keegan sighs and strips off her outer shirt, not wanting to risk it getting bloody. Her scars are now on full display. She has a few more than is usual for a hunter, as she tends to take more... active approach to hunting. Her coworkers might call it reckless, she calls it efficient. 

There's a handful of scratches down her arms and a bite around her wrist, but the most prominent one is a trio of deep gouges into her left shoulder. That one needed a lot of stitches.

"Does it really have to be the neck?" She asks. "The arm would work just as well." She holds her right one out.

Kane lowers her arm back down for her. "Yes," he insists.

He suddenly realizes he's not quite sure how to approach this. He never received lessons, like most nobles would. He tests out a few different angles before giving up on trying to figure it out and just biting down on his human's neck.

Keegan watches warily as the vampire scrutinizes her neck. She would much rather he bite her arm, the throat is so... vulnerable.  She focuses on keeping her breathing steady and tenses up when Kane seems to find what he's looking for. She cries out in pain at the bite. It’s so much worse than she expected.

He's not doing it correctly. He's not quite sucking blood so much as catching the blood that's coming out of her neck and into his mouth, too fast for him to swallow it all. Some blood spills down onto her collarbone.

Keegan’s eyes widen in alarm when she feels hot blood pouring down her neck. Fuck, he's going to kill her! She shoves against his shoulders in a panic, trying to pry him off. "Stop- Fuck, STOP!"

The shoving is bad, it's making everything worse. Kane rips his fangs out to speak. "Stay still!"

Normal vampires don't have to deal with this, a human who screams and fights back. It only sours his mood more. But- “That wasn’t right. It’s not supposed to go like that,” he mutters to himself.

Keegan scrambles back as soon as he lets go, covering her gushing wound. Kane's face is stained red and for a moment, all Keegan sees is the monster... It looms menacingly over her, eyes glowing. It's maw glistening with the blood of her mother who lies motionless behind it-

It takes significant effort to push past the memory. She blinks hard, focusing on the pain to keep her grounded in the present. "N-no shit!' She sputters.

Kane grimaces, frustrated with himself and his human alike. "Respect," he snaps, reminding her.

He dashes over and removes her hand from her neck, leaning in again.

The vampire has already torn open her throat, and now he's coming back for more. Keegan screams and tries to block him with her arms. "No! Don't touch me, you're going to kill me!"

"You idiot." Kane yanks her arms out of the way, then swipes his tongue across her wound. The blood quickly clots, stopping the bleeding. "Stop being so prone to panic. We're done for tonight." 

Keegan relaxes somewhat when Kane only closes the wound. She feels woozy from blood loss but at least she won't lose anymore. She slumps back against the wall.

" You tore a damn hole in my throat!" She says. "Haven't you done this before??"

“I… have not,” Kane admits begrudgingly, frustrated. "So you're simply going to have to be patient while I figure it out."

Keegan stares at him incredulously. "Wh- seriously? I'm the first?" Maybe that’s a good thing. If he's an amateur then he won't be expecting any serious resistance. But only if he doesn't kill her by accident.

"Well, here's a tip. Maybe avoid the artery next time." She says sarcastically.

Kane glares at her. "Watch the tone. We'll try again tomorrow." He sighs, shaking his head, agitated. "Do you have a list?"

One aspect of having a human with no persuasion that's actually good is that they can pick out their own food. A human would know best what a human eats, and if they eat well, so will he.

Right, the grocery list. Keegan was so caught up in her search for a weapon and general distress that she completely forgot that little detail. She remembers seeing a strange assortment of foods in the cupboards during her search. Keegan doesn't think she can make much out of just those ingredients, this isn't an episode of Chopped. She grimaces. "Right, uh. Give it here and I'll write some shit down real fast."

Kane's glare deepens. "Tone. This is your final warning. You do not give me orders, human. I give the orders, and you listen." He points to the kitchen. "Your notepad is in there. Write down your list and don't keep me waiting."

Keegan rolls her eyes. "Was less of an order and more of a suggestion. You just spilled my blood everywhere and now I'm lightheaded. But fine, since it's such an inconvenience for you.”

She snatches up the notepad and writes a short list of the first things that come to mind. Milk, cheese, rice, some vegetables, etc. After a moment of thought she adds hard cider, mostly out of curiosity to see if he'll get it. She tears off the paper, fold it in half, and hands it to Kane as she walks back into the bedroom.

Kane takes the note without looking at it, surely full of human foods he won't recognize anyway.

He doesn't like the way his human talks to him. "You will come to understand that you are the prey and I am the predator. You will do as I say and you will treat me with respect while you do it. Do not test me."

He leaves her, for now.

‘I've killed more of your kind than you have fingers on your hands,’ Keegan thinks. He'll realize who he's dealing with soon enough.

She takes a quick shower to rinse herself of blood and changes into one of the plain outfits provided for her. The pants are too small and don’t cover her ankles. She sighs in irritation. Then she rummages around in the kitchen to actually eat something, as that is probably a significant reason for her dizziness. She didn't exactly have an appetite yesterday after being kidnapped. Her neck aches fiercely all throughout.

After getting herself settled and fed, she lays out all her potential weapons on the counter. Time to make a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @whumpsday @not-a-space-alien @anomalys-taxonomy

Lmk if u wanna be tagged!

[homoeroticjunoincident]

walk until your feet blister. for miles and miles and miles until the air catches in your throat. this is necessary, and you know that. it still feels a little like repenting for something that no one could forgive you for. like your host. every motion is deliberate - if you fall, you’re not sure if you can get back up. you should be sure you can get back up. right? you have practice. so much practice. yet your body is a badly taped together glass on the verge of spilling its pieces. your hands are shaking. hunger. mistaken hunger, because you shouldn’t need to eat, but it still seeps into your legs and mocks you. your body is always mocking you. you were always the weakest, after all. you need heart’s help too often. he does it, sure. most of the time without commenting on it, sure. but you still hate it. you don’t like needing heart. your head pounds in time with the clock you fixed to your face all those days ago - one two three one two three all the numbers are blurring together with the rest of the pain. why does your body betray you so? you should have finished the job. heart was right. you’re a coward. you reach up and still the hands. it’s eerily silent without the ticking. without noticing, you kneel. once again you are reminded of your host. praying to something that doesn’t exist. praying - and for what? surely he knows that no one is coming to save him. surely he knows. surely he knows you’re the closest thing he has to a savior, and clearly even you, even you are faulty. if you are faulty, then everything else is faulty. if you are faulty everything else is fucking breaking apart. surely he knows how silly it is to scorn the two of you, to bat your hand away, and then come crawling back. please save me. soul’s adept at begging without words. practice does not make perfect, but it certainly does help. surely he knows how stupid all of this is.

you lie down, the usual ‘i’m getting my body dirty, i can feel the grass on my skin, i’m going to have to take a shower, it’s getting into my hair-‘ somehow not stopping you, you’re just that exhausted. it’s dirty. it’s dirty and your skin itches because of it.

you close your eyes.

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: Artery by paxlux

fandom: Supernatural

pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

word count: 11k

Is it explicit: no

Bottom line: how to annoy your brother into making out with you: a step-by-step guide

You can tell when a prose writer has a background in poetry because it informs their choices on so many levels. paxlux opens this fic with a Richard Siken epigraph which—sure i can’t throw a rock at ao3 dot org without hitting 10 fics titled after Siken poems—but what you gotta remember is that when one of Siken’s lines lands, you feel utterly seen. Peeled open like an orange. That’s how Dean (and the reader) feels in the climactic scene of this fic. Cannot recommend it highly enough.

It’s set during a nebulous early-season time period, and on the most surface level it’s a gleeful supercut of the boys needling each other, the way only two people who’ve known each other their entire lives can. They cruise around Anywhere, USA; they eat greasy food; they’re at most 30% awake; the content of their conversations approximates the nutritional content of iceberg lettuce. This is how Dean wakes Sam up in the morning:

“Sam. Sammy. Sammeh. Sammich. Samantha. Sammalammadingdong. DICKFACE.”

You know that feeling when you’ve been cooped up in the car too long with your sibling(s) and they’re infuriating like an itch under your skin? paxlux captures that feeling, and harnesses it as the motor of the story, which has zero plot elements to otherwise move it.

Sam describes it at one point as an “I’m-not-touching-you kind of fight,” and that’s exactly it. He also describes their routine as “they trade showers like other people trade umbrellas,” and for some reason that detail hit me very hard. The level of physical and psychic intimacy these boys have with each other is frightening—I slobber over UST as much as the next fan, but fundamentally Dean and Sam are on the same wavelength. They’re so simpatico that if they were girls their periods would be synced up. Here’s a highlight reel:

touching everything like he’s going to claim it stupidly: both beds, the lamp, the TV, the remote, the table, Sam’s laptop, Sam’s duffel, Sam’s toothbrush, the towels, and he leaves messes in his wake everywhere he goes.

muttering, “Dunno how you expect me to function without caffeine, why did I get such a crappy brother, wait ‘till you fall asleep I’ll just leave you in a truck stop, serve you right,”

“A plaque. On this spot, on this date, Sam Winchester killed his brother for being a jackass and saved us all a lot of trouble. He’s a real hero, that Sam Winchester.”

Dean flicks Sam’s hair and says, “Hey, watch this, Sam, watch, watch, lookit, you watching?” Then he proceeds to stuff his face, chipmunk-full, with Swiss Cake Rolls.

The thing is, Dean drives Sam insane even on a good day. He is, whatever, fill-in-the-blank, and that’s enough to push Sam over the edge most of the time, the absolute propulsion of Dean’s existence, it blows through Sam like a jet engine.

Fact: Dean’s mere existence is enough to drive Sam out of his mind. You heard it here first. It’s some strange alchemy generated by the boys’ proximity. What paxlux does here is harness that manic energy and channel it imperceptibly into physical attraction. They aren’t just brothers, the roles they fill for each other could fill the Yellow Pages of a phonebook (“well he’s my coworker my drinking buddy also my mom”).

It’s only logical that all this immaturity culminates in an impromptu field trip to the fairgrounds where they shoot for prizes with a nerf gun. I repeat, our fearsome deadly hunters who keep more firepower in the trunk of their car than some small countries can lay claim to in their entire national arsenal ….are shooting…. toy guns. I am absolutely losing it at the irony:

He’s shooting, knocking over the targets, easy as a breeze, until he gets to shot number five, then Sam leans in and whispers, “The biggest pair of tits just walked by,” and shit, Dean misses … He doesn’t know whether to blame the tits or Sam until he realizes it’s all Sam, the gigantic goofball telling lies through his teeth, and the vendor chooses that inopportune moment, when Dean has some choice words to say, to hand him a small green teddy bear, “Here ya go, mister, nice shootin’.” Sam rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, nice shootin’, Tex. Too bad you missed that last one. Damn shame.”

Anyway Sam names the teddy bear Dean Jr and hangs onto it for the remainder of the night. While the two of them go around systematically demolishing the fairground's gaming booths. They are so gone on each other. The juxtaposition between childish things and the lives of mortal peril they live now is what gives this story its heft and it is imo 11k of perfection.

[lilmissasap]

all right u obscene fucks some of you don't have a skincare-obsessed sister and it shows

alright so anyone who shaves their no no square is going to know what im talking about so just bare with me. some of us are too broke to afford a wax (i have eight dollars in my spending account rn), so here's what ur gonna do. everyone whos shaved that area has most definitely experienced irritation, ingrowns, bumps, and itchiness. this is not good, especially for those of us with a history of sh. that alone has triggered multiple relapses for me, cus why does my body itch? and then my brain spirals from there

if its been a while since u've shaved? no worries stink i didn't use to be regular either. if its been a while and you have a bit more hair, make sure to trim the area carefully, with a sanitized pair of scissors.

dry brush the area, you can get a dry brush at target, i got mine for five dollars

gently exfoliate the area, i use a home made one w sugar, oil, and dr bronners unscented soap. i use unscented because i have keratosis pilaris, eczema, and sensitive skin. use unscented soap, not no Japanese cherry blossom ass shit from bath and body works. do you want a yeast infection? unscented is the way to go.

get clean razor, i switch mine out every month or so. i use harrys because they're marketed towards men so a closer shave w more blades. before u do anything w the razor, run it under warm water, if the pressure in your showerhead changes switch it to the highest pressure and rinse the blade to get any gunk out of there

drop the shaving cream, the conditioner, whatever u use. drop it. switch for coconut oil instead, unscented as to not irritate the area.

at first go with the direction of hair growth, stopping to rinse the razor and the area every few strokes. then go side to side, and up and down.

as soon as ur finished rinse the area with freezing water as to close/tighten the pores!!

when ur out of the shower use either after shave, or witch hazel. i like to use aqua velva after shave, it smells nice, and also marketed towards a male audience so it actually fucking works. pour a little bit on a cotton round, wash rag, or toilet paper and apply it to the area. it'll sting a little bit, but that's the tightening and toning of the area, don't worry. for those of my afab friends do not put it in there. only on the skin outside of it!! no one wants a yeast infection, or a uti, we don't do that here. (however if you do get a uti or yeast infection, boric acid suppositories at target, azo cranberry tablets and apple cider vinegar tablets. do what you will with that. miasaurus on youtube has great videos on these topics, an ex-stripper and also incredibly funny) tend skin is also a great option but really expensive, when my parents were together my mom got my bald-headed ass daddy a big thing of tend skin for his birthday.

moisturize with unscented lotion, i use cetaphil on that area and coco butter everywhere else

in the showers following ur shave down there, use a salicylic acid face wash on that area. i use cerave because i got it cheap with ulta points, i would recommend cerave because it's formulated with ceramides to keep your skin barrier healthy as well as being unscented. salicylic acid is an acne medication that also helps prevent ingrown hair and itchiness.

moisturize moisturize moisturize!

repeat as necessary friends! go fuck that person bald down there. or don't, whatever floats ur boat. if you wanna be smooth down there (cus its fucking comforting), go be smooth if you wanna!

my mom or my older sister did not teach me this, so i had to figure out what works too embarrassed to ask for help.

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 1 excerpt — shigadabi heart to heart + dabi's final move read full story here

December

For the past two weeks, Shigaraki hasn’t said anything about the League’s newest recruit. It makes Dabi's skin itch. 

Shigaraki doesn’t trust Keigo. Dabi can tell by the way red bloodshot eyes constantly observe the — undercover — hero. He wonders if Shigaraki knows. 

Even though Shigaraki thinks so, he and Dabi are not cut from the same cloth — his leader was raised, practically groomed, by the biggest villain of all time. He was told what to do and how to do it. Dabi was rarely raised, especially not after his mother was sent away. His life has been on the line his entire life, demanding him to learn when to trust his gut and how to keep himself alive. 

Still, they both haven’t gotten this far by being naive. 

When Keigo left for the night, “I should get going, have patrol tomorrow. Do you wanna… come over?” and Dabi shook his head no, Shigaraki had beckoned his lieutenant to his room with a silent tilt of his chin.

He hasn’t really let himself be alone with Keigo after introducing the hero to the League, to Shigaraki. Dabi doesn’t quite know what to do with Keigo’s newly found possessive attitude. It was so easy, in the privacy of Dabi’s apartment, away from both their realities and other people, tucked in his little cocoon of dreams and heat. Outside that, though, Dabi realizes how fucking complicated he’s made things by letting Keigo kiss him that first night. By continuing to kiss him all those following nights. 

Which leads him here. In this great big mess. 

They’re in Shigaraki’s new room. It’s big, bigger than any of the hideouts the League previously would hole up in, and it’s spacious, decorated with quality furniture — a king-sized bed and a black-and-gold-trimmed divan sofa. 

Shigaraki had sat on his bed, and Dabi had a guilty suspicion that he wanted Dabi to sit next to him, so the patchwork man made sure to sit on the divan across from him, just to avoid any potential situations.

Shigaraki looks tired, more so than usual under these dim overhead lights. His eye bags are puffier than usual, the area surrounded by irritatedly-red scratch marks. Dabi knows his leader had recently taken a shower because his shaggy white hair is frizzier than usual, wild without a few days worth of oil and stress. His mouth looks ashen, lips probably dry from soap and forgetting to use the chapstick Compress had bought for him. Dabi can’t help but remember how they felt pressed against his own. 

Being conventionally hideous himself, Dabi learned how to find beauty in destroyed things.

He thinks Shigaraki is beautiful. He thinks it’s a form of the kind of ‘beautiful’ that reflects in Keigo’s eyes when they lie in Dabi’s bed and the bird won’t stop staring.  

Shigaraki’s voice is grating, though Dabi thinks it could be classified as having its own charm, “How do you know you can trust Hawks?”

‘Shit,’ Dabi forgot why he was here. He never really prepared an answer to this question. Very poor planning on his part, he knows. 

He overlooks the truth of Keigo’s intentions and thinks about what he’s often thought about since Keigo started frequenting his apartment. About the kind of stories Keigo shares, his frustrations and his hurt, about the things Keigo has said that makes something in Dabi want to try and persuade the hero to join the League’s side for real.

He’s honest when he answers, “Just like he’s told the other members, he thinks this society’s shit. Corrupt. Seems like he has a bone to pick.” Shigaraki’s eyes roll and, ‘yeah,’ Dabi knows his answer was pretty bad. While trying to maintain his facade of nonchalance, Dabi hastily adds, “He did kill that hero. Best Jeanist,” He shrugs his stiff shoulders and hopes it looks normal, “That counts for something in my books.”

Shigaraki, of course, still thinks it's all a crock of shit. 

“Are you serious, Dabi?” He sneers, “What does the Number Two Hero understand at all about us? About the way this society has treated us when he looks like that?”

Dabi gets it. He still gaslights, “Hey, now, Shiggy. Don’t judge a book by its cover, ‘n all that.”

Shigaraki starts to itch his neck, and Dabi feels so fucking guilty.

“You never take anything seriously. This is fuckin’ dangerous, and so fuckin’ stupid, and you’re just making jokes!” 

Shigaraki is itching so hard that Dabi can hear it, the gritty scritch scritch scritch, from where he sits, two meters away.

Usually, the members know it’s best to just let their leader scratch whatever stresses out — but the pained grimace, and the actual fall of skin flakes, and the o verwhelming fucking guilt of basically helping the Number Two Hero infiltrate their sacred space makes Dabi move. 

He grabs the small hotel lotion from Shigaraki’s dresser and sits next to the man, grabbing his wrist with a soft, “Stop.”

He thinks the shock of his actions is what causes Shigaraki to obey. 

He squirts a small amount of lotion on his fingers, “D’you mind?”

Red eyes open in vulnerability, and Shigaraki looks mildly scared. Dabi mentally curses and is about to hand over the bottle of lotion to the leader, ‘probably more comfortable with doing it himself, what was I thinkin’, just touching him like that,’ before Shigaraki’s eyes soften back to their trademark squint, and he tilts his neck in offering.  

Silently, Dabi uses the lotion-less hand to move Shigaraki’s curtain of hair out of the way to apply the cream to cracked skin. 

Shigaraki lets out a soft hiss, and Dabi murmurs an apology. As he works the lotion into the skin, he says, “I know this is your thing, Handjob, but itchin’ yourself to death isn’t gonna win us the war.”

Shigaraki grumbles, “Fuck off. Letting in a traitor won’t help us win, either.” 

Dabi chuckles lightly, “Don’t worry about the pigeon. I’ll keep him in check,” which is, at least, half a lie. A white lie, if Dabi wants to go as far as to lie to himself. 

“What if he ruins us?” and the softness in Shigaraki's voice is not at all what Dabi expected. It’s almost a whisper, and it feels like there’s a double meaning weaved in there, and Dabi feels so fucking guilty. 

Because if Keigo goes through with it, if he betrays Dabi, it won’t be the Number Two Hero that leads the League to their ruin, it will be Dabi. 

The lotion is fully absorbed — has been for some time now. Dabi may have heated his fingers a bit to distract Shigaraki from any itching sensations, and he thinks it worked. The leader seems calm, so Dabi pulls his hand away. 

“Take precautions,” Dabi finds himself saying, “Compress is dependable and doesn’t like to talk shop much anyways. Lunatic’s halfway in her own world, but she knows how to keep secrets. I don’t think she trusts new people that much, no matter how much she likes them. Same with the Lizard. He’s almost stupidly loyal to you. Two-Face, though, he likes to talk, so don’t tell him the really important stuff ahead of time. And don’t tell me.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrow, “Really? The leader of my Vanguard Squad can’t keep his mouth shut?”

“Precautions, man,” Dabi shrugs honestly, “Who knows, maybe the Bird has a friend with a truth quirk and they jump me.”

Shigaraki nods, and Dabi hands out the bottle of lotion to him. He takes it, “This stuff smells like shitty flowers.”

“Better than itching all your skin off. Take it from me, y’wanna keep as much of it as you can.”

He winks, and Shigaraki crinkles his nose in disgust. 

When Dabi thinks about it, Shigaraki makes sense for him, they make sense for each other. ‘What on Earth am I doing with Keigo?’ Keigo knows Dabi’s story, sure, and has a few horror stories of his own, but does he feel Dabi’s conviction with the same burning passion Shigaraki does?

Shigaraki looks at Dabi like he’s waiting for Dabi, like he wants to burn the world down with Dabi and be his partner in crime. Keigo looks at Dabi like he’s savoring Dabi, like he wants to take Dabi away from the world and be the hero that Touya spent countless nights waiting for.  

It’s so confusing. What does Dabi want? 

‘The death of one man,’ he tells himself, over and over again, until it erases every other thought.

*

The guilt makes him lose his mind a little, in the end. 

So, Dabi let himself have one last Christmas. He lets himself go out with the memory of Toga’s attempt at caroling and Twice’s excitement at finally having a ‘family photo’ where he can reveal his face. Gives himself the mercy of seeing Shigaraki’s cheeks flush at the anonymous present of a soft grey-fleece pajama-set, and hearing Spinner’s cackles grow louder with each sip of eggnog. 

At the last second of his death, Dabi will summon the soft memory of Keigo’s smile pressed against his lips when a mischievous red feather floated above their heads carrying mistletoe, the way his lined eyes lidded to the point Dabi could see all three of his eyelids and his warm taloned hand made a home at the scarless curve of Dabi’s waist, wishing him a, “Very Merry Christmas, Hot Stuff.”    

He doesn’t say goodbye, only leaves with a soft, “Goodnight.”

It takes about a week to get his affairs in order. He doesn’t have much, but the little he does is spread evenly amongst the League and Keigo — his first-ever switchblade to Toga, all of his favorite movies to Twice, his Stain-inspired works and poems to Spinner, his favorite medical-grade all-natural moisturizers to Shigaraki, and the secret stash of his most cherished childhood photos to Keigo. He likes to think the Bird would want to remember him in this way, too — not only a rotten and damaged man, but once a smiling and loving brother with fat cheeks and pinked skin. 

He writes up a makeshift will to arrive at Giran’s doorstep after the announcement of his death, along with the tapes he pre-recorded revealing his identity and outlining all of Todoroki Enji’s crimes, with the inclusion of all the dirt he’s managed to scrape up on top heroes over the last decade and recently, with the oddly-eager bits of much-too-important information Keigo has been slipping into his hands since the hero found out his real name.

Dabi breathes slowly. 

Today is the day. 

“Todoroki Enji!” He calls out.

Dabi memorized the patrol schedule Keigo had given him a few months ago, and knows exactly which city Endeavor is going to be lurking around. 

“Come ‘n face me, you fuckin’ coward!” 

Blue fire surrounds the streets, and it’s enough warning to make every single citizen in the area run away, as far as they can. Terrified screams fill the area and it’s still not enough to draw the Number One Hero out. 

The heat is already so suffocating. 

Anger rips through him, and he uses it to make his location known, clapping his hand above him and shooting a giant line of blue fire towards the sky, a swirling vortex that would have made his father’s eyes gleam with pride a lifetime ago.   

Red fire glints in the sky above him like a comet.

‘Finally.’

That red fire races down to swirl around the pillar Dabi has created, and he almost thinks it looks glorious. 

A second later, the fire is gone and the ground rumbles under Dabi’s feet. He lets go of his own fire, and stares down his father. 

“Have you come with another Nomu?” Enji asks, his flaming face practically radiating with familiar fury.

Dabi’s laugh is so manic, he feels at least three staples pop, “It’s just you ‘n me, old man.”

The skin of his hands scream in agony, but for the first time in his life, Dabi welcomes the pain, embraces the consequences his body sets upon him as he will be damned if he dies in self-hatred. 

“I do not understand your goal here, Villain, but you will not succeed.”

Dabi hears the faint sounds of others approaching, and knows he cannot waste anymore time. 

“Oh really?” Dabi moves forward, slowly, with the grace of a cat circling its prey, and Endeavor’s stance begins to shift, “Is the great Todoroki Enji going to kill me…” His grin stretches wider and blood starts to streak down his chin and drip from his neck, “Again?” 

From the corner of his eye, two smaller bodies have joined Endeavor, slightly behind him, as if waiting for the hero’s que. 

Endeavor’s expression minutely shifts, “Again?” and his tone becomes indignant, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but who are you to use my name so freely!”

Blue fire begins to lick up his arms, and Dabi registers his body start to shake, “Really… Even up this close — you can’t even recognize me? You did this to me!” 

He’s in the air before he knows it, blue fire propelling his feet to push towards the hero at infinite speed, hands out and aiming for his father’s face. 

His father catches his burning hands with his own, an obviously pained wince that gives Dabi a sick amount of joy. His fire has always been hotter than his father’s, and unlike Dabi, Enji has never had the training to handle it. 

For the first time, it is Enji who cries out in pain. 

 A heinous laughter rips through Dabi’s throat, and he’s nose-to-nose with his father, his eyes so wide that the staples strain and blood trails his cheeks, “Aren’t you so proud of me, Daddy? Look how strong I’ve become!” 

Dabi sees the exact moment Enji recognizes him. The horror across his face is both immensely euphoric and horribly painful. 

“To...uya…?” 

The smell of burning flesh fills his nose. His skin feels like it’s bubbling, blisters forming, and his seams are melting apart. 

Blue eyes much like his own frantically move across Dabi’s face, desperately flicking from his eyes to his eyebrows to his forehead.

Dabi never got around to dying his white roots.

There is no red fire anymore, yet the large hands that grasp his own tighten. 

“Touya.”

All of Dabi’s self control snaps, and blue fire erupts everywhere, completely engulfing father and son. Dabi is going to burn them to ash and send them straight to Hell.

read full story here

my other works

[sgtcalhouns]

My Man

take my hand, wreck my plans, that's my man

uhhh hey! sorry it's been a while. I've been trying to get back into the swing of things by rereading some of my old fics, and while reading The Man, I remembered that I had always had a vague idea of what the aftermath of that fic would look like in the back of my mind. I decided to try and flesh it out into a fic of its own, which is um. very nsfw. I hope you enjoy!

This must be heaven. It had to be, because there was no earthly explanation for the pampering Felix was receiving. For the warm glow of candles illuminating the room, for Tamora’s soft hands massaging soothing oil into his tired muscles. He’d been confused when he arrived home and was immediately ushered into the shower, and he’d made a poor show of hiding his disappointment when she declined to join him. After her surprise visit to him at work, he’d been itching to make love to her again.

While he was sulking in the shower, she was transforming their bedroom into a peaceful haven, lighting vanilla-scented candles and covering their bedspread with fluffy towels. He was overwhelmed with love for her as she settled him on his stomach and straddled his lower back. She had stripped down to her bra and underwear to protect her clothes from the massage oil she was gently working into his skin. The massage was intimate, but not inherently sexual; he swore he could feel the love emanating from her palms as she showered him with attention. Her thumbs met on either side of his spine and he hummed as she worked the tense muscles.

“Does that feel good?” she asked.

“Mmhmm,” he sighed.

His eyes were closed, but he heard her chuckle above him.

“Good.”

“Y’know, I’ve never had a massage before,” he said.

“I don’t know if this counts,” she mused. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“Mm, this is so much better than any professional massage,” he replied.

“And why is that?”

He opened his eyes, and she leaned to the side to meet his gaze.

“Because I’m in love with the masseuse.”

Often, she would tease him for such a cheesy comment, but the events of the day had softened her heart too much to make light of it. Instead, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, eliciting a giggle when the ends of her short hair tickled his nose.

“I love you, too.”

They fell into a companionable silence as her hands branched out toward his shoulders. Her touch became more gentle as her fingertips brushed over the pink marks her nails had left behind earlier. He sighed blissfully as he soaked up her attention.

“Relaxed?” Tamora asked.

“This is amazing,” Felix nodded. “When you mentioned a massage, I didn’t realize you were gonna do all this. I feel so special.”

“Well, you deserve a little special treatment,” she replied. “You work hard, and you had a big day.”

“I’ll say,” he mumbled with a smile, cheeks flushed pink at the memory.

Her fingertips ran a featherlight path over the scratch marks on his shoulders, making him shiver. From her place on his back, she could see his hands twitch, could feel him shift slightly beneath her. She smiled to herself; his desire was clear. Pumping more oil into her hand, she focused her attention on his left bicep, her slender fingers gently working the tight muscle. The more time she spent doting on him, the more she came to appreciate everything that Felix—this body, these muscles, these callused, gentle hands—did for her on a daily basis.

“You’re always doing little things to make me feel appreciated,” she said. “After I came by to see you today, I realized it’s been a while since I did something like that for you.”

“Tammy, you know you don’t have to do anything for me,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m already the happiest man on earth because I get to come home to you.”

His words quirked her lips up into a smile before she had a moment to resist. At times like this, she struggled to believe someone like Felix could exist; he was simply too good for this world. Switching to his right arm, Tamora gathered her thoughts. There was an ulterior motive to this surprise, and now seemed like the right moment to discuss it.

“Well,” she began with a smile, “we’ll need to make sure you’re in top shape if you’re gonna be building us a house.”

It took a moment before he registered her meaning. His eyes snapped open, and he attempted to push himself up and twist around to look at her.

“Lay back down, I’m not done!” she said with a laugh, gripping his shoulders to remain upright.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked, eyes bursting with excitement. “You’ll let me build you a house?”

Her gaze softened as he spoke. It was unbelievable to her that he was so excited about the prospect of completing such an enormous task, but that was her Felix.

“There’s a lot to consider,” she said, “but I think we should definitely look into it.”

He twisted further, and she recognized the silent plea in his eyes and leaned down to kiss him before he could pull a muscle and ruin all her hard work. This seemed to appease him, and he moved his body back toward the mattress.

“You won’t regret it, Tammy Jean,” he said, smiling so wide it threatened to split his cheeks. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

“I know you will,” she said with a fond smile. “Now, relax.”

He settled back down and closed his eyes, but nothing could wipe the smile off his face. As she smoothed her hands over his back, he tried his best to relax once more, but he was so thrilled he knew the effort was futile.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I’d never really thought about it before,” she answered. “I have everything I need here, and I never bothered to imagine anything else. But hearing you talk about what our future could look like, I could envision it so clearly.”

There was a moment of pause as Tamora reflected, and Felix waited patiently for her to continue.

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized you were right. It would be nice to have a place that we could make our own,” she continued. “Something that belongs to us.”

She was grateful that he couldn’t easily see her face as she spoke. While she had come a long way in terms of voicing her feelings to him, it was sometimes overwhelming to do so to his face. The love that burned in his eyes could be so bright at times that it felt like staring into the sun.

“And, with you in charge, I know I won’t have to worry about the quality of the construction,” she said, smiling along with him. She sat up on her knees. “Turn over for me.”

“Don't you worry, I'll make sure everything is perfect,” he said as he rolled onto his back. She could practically see hearts in his eyes as she settled back down on top of him. “The finest materials, the best construction, the most trustworthy crew. You can even come by and help me supervise if you want.”

“I think I’d rather put your handiwork to the test like we did today,” she said suggestively, reveling in the way his cheeks flushed at the comment.

“You’re in a bit of a precarious position to be bringin’ that up,” he replied, glancing down to where she was seated on his pelvis. “Unless you’re plannin’ to act on it.”

The glimmer of hope in his eyes made her laugh as she reached for the massage oil and squeezed more into her palm.

“Nice try,” she smirked. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

She ran her hands up the length of his torso, stopping once they reached the curve of his neck.

“This feels so nice,” he sighed, “but it’s startin’ to feel like you’re teasing me on purpose.”

Her hands glided across his chest and down his arms until their fingers were interlinked.

“Maybe I just want to see you all oiled up,” she replied with a quirk of her brow. “Ever consider that?”

He glanced away, bashful in the face of such a comment. She took a moment to admire him; the vivid blush darkening his cheeks made his eyes that much more striking. His round nose and soft jawline made him appear somewhat boyish, but the tough hands that enveloped hers were undoubtedly that of a man—strong, sturdy, and unwaveringly supportive.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he said. He was trying to keep up with her teasing, but she could hear the slight breathlessness in his voice. “All this attention might start goin’ to my head.”

She smiled down at him.

“Good.”

Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his in a heated kiss and felt him exhale deeply against her. His hands quickly became restless in her grasp as he finally allowed himself to embrace the desire that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach for the better part of the day. He shifted his hips against hers and she chuckled.

“Someone’s eager,” she teased.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, craning his neck to kiss her again.

Tamora released his hands, gently pushing him down by the shoulders until he was pressed back against the mattress.

“Me too,” she replied. “But after the way I put you to work earlier, I want you to relax.”

She pressed a few soft, slow kisses along his jaw.

“So why don’t you take it easy and let me take care of you?”

Felix shuddered, eyes fluttering shut. He nodded in response to her query, and immediately he felt her soft lips on his neck. It was unusual for him to be the sole recipient of so much attention—his primary focus was always his wife’s pleasure—but she had worked him into such a state of relaxed euphoria that he couldn’t resist. His hands slipped down by his sides until they found purchase in the soft skin on her thighs, fingers pressing into her flesh as her kiss became more aggressive. He huffed in disappointment when she eased off.

“Leave a mark,” he uttered, voice wavering slightly with desire.

“You won’t be able to hide it if you keep taking your shirt off at work,” she replied.

“I don’t want it hidden,” he shot back.

“Is that so?”

“It’s no secret that I belong to you,” he said. “And the fellas at work already saw the scratches you left behind earlier."

"Oops," she chuckled.

Her lips returned to his neck, and he hummed with pleasure as she sucked at his skin. A shockwave of excitement ran up his spine as her teeth sank into his flesh, and a satisfied smile eased its way onto his lips as she tended to the spot with her tongue. Without looking, he could already tell that there would be an impressive mark left behind beneath his shirt collar.

Any attempt to continue the massage was long forgotten as they both allowed their hands to roam. His hands smoothed up her back until they reached the clasp of her bra. Before he could ask her permission to remove it, she captured his lips in a passionate kiss and shrugged her shoulders out of the straps. Taking this as his cue to continue, he unclasped her bra and helped her discard it. She pressed her chest against his, and he relished the skin-to-skin contact. When she lifted herself up enough for him to touch her, he noticed that some of the massage oil had rubbed off on her, and he delighted in the way her breasts slipped in and out of his grasp.

Tamora hummed, leaning into his touch as his callused palms glided over her nipples. She pressed down on his lap, gently rocking her hips against his and taking great satisfaction in the way his hands briefly froze against her as he gasped. He was already hard, she could feel his erection between her legs as she moved, and knowing that he had likely been fighting to keep his arousal under control for hours turned her on more than she cared to admit. 

Despite his arousal, Felix was in no rush to move things along. Her visit to him at work had been exciting, the sort of risk that kept things interesting. Those moments made him feel like a teenager riding the thrill of desire without a second thought. He’d never experienced that sort of desperation in his youth, and it was refreshing to throw caution to the wind when the opportunity presented itself. 

But he and Tamora weren’t teenagers sneaking around, they were husband and wife. They knew one another fully, and the love he carried for her stretched to the farthest corners of his heart. What he cherished more than anything were these moments, when they shut out the rest of the world and simply enjoyed being together. As far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in existence, and they had all the time in the world. His fingers tangled in her hair as he gently pulled her in for a deep kiss, his free hand smoothing down her back and allowing his fingertips to slip just below the waistband of her underwear.

“I thought I might have worn you out earlier,” she murmured, grinning against his lips. “Glad to see I was wrong.”

“Mm, Tammy, I’ve been buzzin’ since the minute you left,” he replied. His fingers shifted further beneath the fabric, pressing into her soft flesh. “I haven’t stopped thinkin about how it felt when you pounced on me at work.”

“Tell me.”

“I just felt so…wanted,” he explained. “I know you want me. You’ve never made me doubt it. But today you didn’t care about anything else that was going on, you just wanted me right then and there…”

He struggled to gather his thoughts as she pressed heated kisses along his jawline.

“And the way you talked to me… I didn’t know a few simple words could light me up like that,” he admitted. 

“Yeah? You like hearing what a big, strong man you are?” she purred in his ear.

“I like hearin’ you say that I’m your man.”

His honesty gave her a moment of pause. It went without saying that he was her man; they were married, and they had been for several years. However, she quickly realized that his sentiment shouldn’t have surprised her. She remembered quite clearly how thrilled he had been to be referred to as her husband in the months following their wedding. While the formality of these titles had never mattered to Tamora, they were clearly a source of pride for Felix. It made perfect sense that the right title would rile him up in bed.

She planned to have some fun with this discovery.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all day?” 

He shivered as she spoke, her lips pressed against his ear.

“How good it felt when my man picked me up and fucked me against the wall.” 

The words drew an involuntary moan from his lips; they rarely used such coarse language with one another, and the shock alone was nearly enough to push him over the edge. He couldn’t explain the surge of energy that began pulsing through his veins, quieting every thought in his head until there was nothing left but desire. His hand began gently tugging at the waistband of her underwear, and Tamora grinned. She loved Felix and his polite and considerate nature, but it was always exciting when he stopped resisting the urge to take. He could take whatever he wanted from her; there was no one she trusted more.

After slipping out of her own underwear, Tamora pulled off Felix’s boxers. A renewed sense of hunger lit up her eyes as his cock sprang to life before her; she simply couldn’t help herself as her oiled hand wrapped itself around his girth and began pumping. Although she hadn’t let it show, all this waiting had been driving her mad. She felt her walls clench involuntarily as his erection pulsed in her grip, signaling her need. 

Unable to wait any longer, he reached for her hips and pulled her forward until she was poised above him, and a thrill ran down her spine at his display of impatience. Finally, she put an end to their suffering and guided his tip to her entrance. Without hesitation, he shifted his hips and buried himself deep inside her. They both sighed in relief as they settled into a slow rhythm together.

“Is this what you wanted?” she spoke low in his ear.

He released a shuddering breath and nodded.

“Good,” she replied. “My man deserves a treat after a long day at work.”

“Tammy,” he sighed, winding his arms around her. “You’re so good to me.”

It overwhelmed him then, the events of the day, how seen and known and loved he felt because of her. He had spent all day fantasizing about this moment, coming home and making love with his wife, and somehow the reality was better than anything he could’ve imagined.

He craned his neck to kiss her, and Tamora met him halfway for a moment of passion. Though an almost desperate desire fueled their actions, they maintained a steady, controlled pace, allowing themselves to relax into their intimacy instead of rushing through it. There was something romantic about making love this way—holding each other close, appreciating every little sound and touch, and Felix cherished these occasions more than anything. 

Before long, he felt the unmistakable twinge of pleasure in his abdomen that told him he was approaching his orgasm. An upward glance at Tamora’s face revealed that she was on the same path. The slow buildup was as delicious as it was tortuous, embers slowly building into flames that licked their insides in all the best ways. Every needy sound that escaped their lips was more desperate than the last, yet they didn’t give in to the urge to speed up their ascent. 

His hands slid down her body to grab her backside and she gasped as he used his grip on her to guide her hips more firmly against his. The push and pull of his hands was gentle but insistent, and soon his own thrusts deepened, hitting her just right and causing her to cry out in pleasure. The sound was nearly enough to undo him as he struggled to maintain the unhurried pace that had come so naturally just a moment ago. 

“Oh, Tammy…” he stammered, his grip weakening as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she growled.

“Yes ma’am.”

His voice was breathless, both with desire and reverence. Her command renewed his sense of control, at least enough to make sure that his wife was fully satisfied. His hands squeezed and groped at her supple flesh as he helped her grind against him. She was so beautiful, and her body was so perfect in his arms, writhing on top of him, it was all he could do not to burst. No doubt she could feel his struggle as his cock pulsed inside her; any second now, he would lose control of himself, he was sure of it. 

Suddenly, he felt her hips jerk out of rhythm with his, and he looked up to watch as pleasure overtook her. The sound of her moans was so sweet, and her walls clenched around him just right, he was defenseless as she pushed him over the edge along with her. Neither of them held back their sounds of ecstasy as they rode the high together, finally releasing the pent-up tension they had both spent the afternoon keeping at bay. They held one another close as they slowly worked their way back down, still panting noisily as they slowed to a stop. 

Felix reached up to spoon a bit of hair behind Tamora’s ear so that he could press an exhausted but content kiss to her lips. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he closed his eyes and soaked in the moment as his body began to calm. She was a few seconds ahead of him, and he smiled as he felt her fingertips brush through his hair. 

“Relaxed?” 

“Mmhmm.” His smile grew as he heard her chuckle. “Now you might’ve worn me out for the day.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve earned it,” she replied. “So long as you can stay awake long enough to have a slice of the pie that’s cooling on the counter.”

His eyes slid open, looking up at her face to gauge the sincerity of her words. She smiled down at him without a trace of teasing, and an incredulous laugh escaped him before he could stop himself.

“You mean to tell me that on top of all of this,” he gestured to the candles adorning the room and the massage oil on the nightstand, “you made me a pie today?”

Tamora nodded, and the look of pride on her face made him fall even more deeply in love with her—a feat he hadn’t even thought possible prior to this moment.

“I really am the luckiest man on the planet,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I love you.”

It was almost enough to make her laugh. Felix was building them a house, but a few thoughtful acts had him convinced that he was the lucky one. She knew it would be pointless to argue with him, however. The fact that she was present in his life at all appeared to be some sort of miracle to him, and she had learned a long time ago that he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Deep down, she held him in the same regard, and while she couldn’t express it as easily as he could, at times like this, she hoped he could feel it. 

“I love you, too.”

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 20: To Sow, To Reap (Part 1)

Davina sits motionless on the back porch, much as she has for the last hour since dawn broke over the withered garden. Her shoulders hunch the knit blanket still wrapped around her—Lucie’s only concession to her early morning vigil. Her blue eyes fall on her as soon as Lucie steps out, closing the door gently behind her, but she can tell she doesn’t really see her. Sometime in the middle of the sleepless night, the sobbing had abated and been replaced by a cold despondency. It brings with it a helplessness that Lucie isn’t sure how to deal with.

So she does the only thing she knows to do; she stands by and offers her a mug of tea. Pressing the ceramic into Davina’s hands, she doesn’t dare let go until her pale fingers grip the handle. Davina doesn’t drink, doesn’t do anything but stare at it like it’s a foreign object. Not that Lucie expected anything else. At least maybe the warmth will keep the chill at bay.

Lucie turns from the girl to rifle through a nearby storage bin, triumphantly fishing out some worn work gloves and a trowel after some difficulty. She spares Davina one more assessing look and, satisfied that she’s done all she can for her for the time being; she moves to a patch of dead vines, settles on the flagstones, and gets to work. 

Overgrown thistles prick at her fingers through the fabric of her gloves. The crabgrass makes her skin itch, and the effort of bending over the dead foliage makes her backaches. It’s exactly why she’d resigned herself to the endeavor. The effort keeps her body busy and her mind occupied, diverted from any thoughts of last night’s disaster.

She isn’t sure how long she works, mostly in silence, with the odd comment to Davina that gets no response, only that the sun is just starting to light the garden in earnest when she hears a faint rustling behind her. Lucie brushes the sweat from her brow and glances over her shoulder to find Davina slowly making her way towards her, the blanket still enveloping her like a shield. Her steps are hesitant, an almost automatic quality to them, like her body is responding to something her mind isn’t yet aware of. 

Lucie scoots, patting a stack of bricks beside her. Compliant as a little doll, Davina sinks down onto the makeshift. As Lucie retrieves the trowel and returns to her task, she feels her eyes on her, watching with detached curiosity as she works. Casually, she leaves a spare spade beside her, within arm’s reach.

“I never knew so many weeds could exist,” Davina huffs an hour later, rubbing the back of a gloved hand across her brow. Dirt streaks her flushed cheeks, and she leans back on her heels to survey the growing pile of dead thistles beside her. Slowly, as they’ve worked side by side, Lucie’s watched some life return to her and it brings a faint smile to her lips.

“No kidding,” she replies through clenched teeth, giving a victorious snort when the root she’s been struggling with finally comes free in a shower of dirt. 

“This place is a mess. Why are we bothering again?” Davina asks, curiosity belying her exasperation.

“Because dirt and sunshine are good for you,” Lucie says simply, brushing her palms against her pants. “At least that’s what my aunt used to tell us when she woke us up at the ass crack of dawn to help out here.”

“Sounds like she just wanted free labor,” Davina mutters, unimpressed. The signs of grief still hang heavy around her frame, but she’s more alert than she’s been since Rebekah brought her here. 

Lucie thanks whatever power is listening for small victories and chuckles, leaning back onto her wrists. “You have no idea.”

For a while, they fall into a companionable silence, the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the occasional bird chirping from the nearby trees. Lucie had nearly forgotten how peaceful the garden can be, the subtle, comforting energy that thrums from every corner.

“I like it here,” Davina eventually declares, mirroring Lucie’s own thoughts. Her voice is soft, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “This place is full of good magic. I can feel it—it feel warm…safe.”

Lucie turns to look at her, masking the sudden swirl of emotions springing up from within. 

Safe.

When was the last time Davina had felt safe? Was it hidden away in the attic at St. Ann’s? Before the Harvest? 

She bites the inside of her lip, swallowing down the familiar fury that surges whenever she thinks about the Elders and their warped sense of justice. Davina should be out with friends, worrying about missed curfews, not hiding away in some dead witch’s garden, mourning a friend. 

With no one left to hold to account, Lucie channels the impotent rage into ripping out a stubborn patch of crabgrass with renewed fervor, the roots giving way under her merciless onslaught.

“Hey, Lucie,” Davina says quietly. Something in her voice draws Lucie’s attention, halts her ministrations. There’s a softness there, uncharacteristic uncertainty that makes her inexplicably nervous.

“What is it?” she asks carefully, setting down her trowel and turning to face Davina fully. Then, in a half-hearted attempt to defray the tension, she adds with a weak smile, “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“It’s…well…it’s about your magic,” Davina begins, and Lucie immediately freezes. “When you were helping me in the attic, I felt something…off.”

“You know I’m cut off from the Ancestral Well,” Lucie says levelly and a little guarded. “Strange how?”

“I don’t really know how to describe it,” she admits, her brow furrowing in thought. “At first, I thought maybe it was just me, but it was there again the other night when you helped me with Cami. And I was thinking…maybe I could try something if you let me?”

Unbidden, Lucie’s heart skips a beat. She isn’t sure why the offer sets her mind racing. She knows what she’ll find—the severed link and the atrophied, withered pieces of the magic that’s still left to her. It feels vulnerable, accompanied by a reluctance to be so exposed. But there’s a determination in Davina’s eyes, a fire that she hasn’t seen since Tim gasped his last breath.

And so she asks, resigned, “What do you want to try?”

Davina hesitates, clearly sensing Lucie’s apprehension. “I want to see if there’s something more to your magic, to feel out the severed tied to the Ancestors. Call it an experiment.”

“Okay,” Lucie finally says, her voice steady despite her growing anxiety. “Let’s try it.”

They rise to their feet, Davina leading her to a quieter part of the garden assuming a spot on the stones before the empty fountain. Lucie sits across from her as she takes her hands in her own. The touch is warm and the skin of her palms is soft. 

There’s a shift in the air as Davina’s eyes drift closed and Lucie shuts her own eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, the chill of the autumn breeze, the earth beneath them. 

For a moment, she feels nothing else. Then, slowly, she notices a strange sensation beneath her, a humming, gentle energy pulsing below the surface, growing like a building fire in a hearth. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but there.

“Do you feel that?” Davina asks, somewhat breathless. There’s an exhilarated quality to her tone and she delves deeper.

The sound of distant knocking cuts through the stupor, shattering the fragile intensity of the moment as the wards make Lucie’s skin tingle.

Eyes snapping open, they lock on Davina’s alarmed stare. 

“Who could that be?” Davina whispers, apprehensive.

Lucie shakes her head, pushing herself up from the ground. “I don’t know. Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

Lucie wrenches the door open just after the thunderous knocking picks up again only to find an unwelcome sight standing amongst the chipped columns of the front porch.

“Hello,” Klaus Mikaelson says, lips curving into an amused smirk as he peers down at her.

Immediately, she moves to close the door, but he catches the edge before she can slam it in his face.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m not here for you,” he says casually, wedging a foot as close as he can to the threshold without crossing the barrier. “I thought Davina and I could have a little chat. Is she in?”

Here to force her onto your side with more murder?” Lucie replies, “That worked so well for you last time.”

Some of the amusement fades from his eyes and Lucie takes a step back, careful to stay on the safe side of the entrance.

“Call me old fashioned.” He steps closer, hand resting on the door frame. “ but I recall it’s impolite to leave a guest standing out in the cold. Now, be a dear and invite me in.”

“Guest implies that you’re welcome—which you’re not.”

Any trace of his grin vanishes, replaced by something far colder, and his eyes narrow.

The sound of a car door slamming breaks their standoff. Lucie peers around Klaus to find Elijah crossing the lawn with Hayley on his heels.

“Good morning, Lucretia,” he says, ascending the porch steps. “Niklaus.”

“What are you doing here, Elijah?” Klaus snaps, pushing away from the door to glare at his brother, then noticing Hayley, “And you, you’re not supposed to leave the compound.”

Hayley bristles, shooting him a look that can only be described as derisive. Elijah steps between the pair. “It happens I have a matter of some importance to discuss with Lucretia and Miss Clare, if you don’t mind.”

“Get in line, brother. I have my own business with the little witch. In fact,” his smile widens, “Maybe I’ll just pop round back and find her myself.”

“You try to set foot in the garden and the wards will melt the skin off your face before you can say ‘sorry, love,’” Lucie hisses, but the threat in undercut by the sound of a phone buzzing.

Niklaus doesn’t react, fishing the phone out of his pocket as the others watch on. The others watch on as his fingers tap away at the screen.

“I’m sorry,” Elijah says dryly, arching a brow. “Are we interrupting something?”

“That was Sophie Deveraux,” he says finally, putting the device away and looking at his brother. “You seem to forget, Elijah, that you’re not the only one with a witch in their pocket. And mine has just let me know that she’s taken care of the wards.”

As if on cue, an enraged scream cuts through the tension. Lucie, Hayley, and Elijah exchange glances. Meanwhile, Klaus watches them with satisfaction.

Then Lucie’s running for the backdoor, Elijah and Hayley on her heels. The hinges groan when she wrenches it open.

“Go. Away,” Davina cries.

Lucie skids to a stop on the front porch just in time to watch Marcel Girard sail through the air and crash against the back fence with bone-rattling force.

A chuckle to her left tells her Klaus has gone around the side and already beat her there. She would be amused if it were anyone else. But it’s Klaus and he’s still solidly on her shit list. All she feels is a flicker of annoyance, shooting him a look before turning back to the situation at hand.

“Davina,” Marcel pants, struggling to his feet in a cloud of dust. “Come on. You’ve gotta talk to me. I haven’t heard a word since—”

“Since your best friend killed my best friend?” Davina stands in the center of the garden, hands curled into claws and eyes blazing with fury.

Her arms raise, but before she can knock him back again, he raises a palm in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to this kid Tim—”

“I’m sorry you don’t hate Klaus for what he did,” she fires back, “and that you don’t want to make him pay.”

All Lucie can do is watch on, until, a pressure on her shoulder diverts her attention away from the scene. She looks up to find Elijah staring down at her.

“It seems Miss Clare has the situation well in hand. Can we speak inside?” he asks and then, “Perhaps Davina can join us when she’s less…occupied.”

She gives the unfolding scene on last, long look and, satisfied that Davina is alright—that she and Elijah are in earshot should something happen— she follows him inside.

“I must apologize for showing up unannounced,” he starts when they’re situated in the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, Lucie fights a smile because it’s just…such an Elijah thing to say.

“You know you’re welcome here, Elijah,” She doesn’t mention that on her list of today’s annoying drop-ins, he doesn’t even rank.

He smiles softly, but it’s strained at the edges. “Not long ago, Hayley and I made an…unsettling discovery.”

He reaches inside his suit jacket, retrieving a folded stack of papers. With a jerk of his head, he ushers her towards the living room. She pads after him, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself as she watches him lay each one out on the coffee table with precision.

“Elijah, I don’t…,” she says and then stops because the arrangement clearly makes up a woman’s face. Once she’s seen before. Lucie shakes her head in disbelief. “Is that—”

“Celeste? Yes, a splitting image,” he says gravely, stepping back to inspect his work. His eyes dart to Lucie. “These were retrieved from amongst Miss Clare’s belongings. According to Marcel, she’s been drawing her for months. I had hoped to ask her about them in person.”

At the mention of Celeste’s name, Lucie hears movement nearby. Turning her head toward it, she finds Hayley hovering in the doorway, radiating discomfort.

She opens her mouth to speak when the back door swings wide. Davina spills into the kitchen, Marcel stuck at the door, with their argument playing out in the space between.

“Davina, come on! Can someone invite me in, dammit?” He calls through the open door, hand slamming against the frame hard enough that Lucie hears the wood splinter.

She winces, giving Elijah an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” she says, backing towards the noise. “I should step in before they level the house.” When he nods in understanding, she turns and races for the backdoor. “Hey—don’t break my fucking door.”

Elijah turns in the opposite direction, letting himself out into the shady recess of the front porch, scanning the sunlit world beyond with apprehension. A crash sounds from somewhere inside.

“Well, that’s going well,” Klaus says, appearing at his side.

Elijah hums in response. “If you were trying to win the girl’s trust, perhaps poisoning her one true love wasn’t the most splendid idea.”

“Oh, are there any more inopportune deaths you’d like to wave in my face?” Klaus asks mockingly, but Elijah knows him well enough to hear the uncertainty behind his tone. If he’s looking for absolution for all that’s passed between them in the past months, he’s not ready to give it.

He gives him a steely look, voice tinged with sarcasm as he replies, “Give me a month. I’ll get you a list.”

He had intended to come out here to clear his head, to make sense of the drawings and their implications while he waited for events to settle down enough to carry on the conversation with Lucie. Now, unwilling to spend another moment wallowing in brotherly discord, he steps back inside, leaving an uninvited Klaus to his thoughts.

Hayley, it would seem has been waiting for him.

“Hey, Elijah,” she says, at his elbow the second he enters. There’s something in her voice that gives him pause, an urgency that has him diverting all his attention to her at once. “There’s something I need to tell you—“

“Davina!” Marcel cries, echoed by Lucie, their voices full of such alarm that he and Hayley both turn to the sound.

Through the doorway from the living room, he spies the girl doubled over, Marcel and Lucie huddled around her. Elijah is with them in an instant, standing a few paces back as not to crowd Davina, but close enough to glimpse what has them so frantic.

Davina is slouched over, shoulders shuddering. She coughs, once and again, each more violent than the last. She groans, a little whimper and that’s when he sees it—the dirt escaping from her mouth and littering the tiles.

He has all of a second to step out of the way because Lucie is whispering something urgent to Marcel and then he has Davina in his arms, sweeping through the doorway and depositing her onto the couch in the living room. Elijah watches him crouch at her side, brushing the hair away from her damp forehead while Lucie makes quick work on her shoes.

“Easy, D,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be all right. Deep breaths, okay?”

“What’s all the racket?” Klaus demands from outside. “If someone doesn’t invite me in this bloody instant, I’m going to tear the place apart board by board.”

Lucie looks up from Davina to scowl at him through the screen. “Fine, come in, Klaus. But don’t forget there’s enough magic in this room to rip you apart if you step a toe out of line.”

He smirks in satisfaction, letting himself in. By the time he reaches the living room, his good mood is gone. His eyes flick to the pile of dirt at Davina’s feet, the remnants on her chin. “Bloody hell.”

“Lucie, what’s happening?” Hayley asks, keeping a safe distance.

Lucie shakes her head helplessly. “I have no idea.” She squeezes Davina’s leg, rising to her feet. “I’m going to get you some water.”

But she’s only taken a single step when the house begins to shake. Frames rattle on the walls, the floorboards groan. It’s as if the foundations themselves are quaking.

Lucie staggers to the side as the ground shifts beneath them. Elijah flashes across the room, catching her about the elbow and holding her steady.

It’s then that the last member of the Mikaelson family makes her appearance.

“What the hell is going on here?” Rebekah demands, appearing at the other side of the living room.

Her breath hitches when she sees the somber tableau; Davina stretched out on the couch, face contorted in pain, Marcel kneeling at her side while the rest watch on in trepidation.

Klaus steps forward, features grim. “Davina.”

No one dares speak. Not until Davina is situated in Lucie’s room, tucked soundly between the covers. The soft hum of voices floats down the hall, Rebekah keeping her company while the rest gather in the living room.

“This is madness,” Klaus hisses, assuming a place beside the fireplace. “How can a 16-year-old girl shake the entire Garden District?”

Marcel standing just inside the doorway, situated near the hall, presumably to reach Davina should she need him, shifts anxiously on his feet. “I’ve seen her rock the church, but I’ve never seen anything like this?”

“How did you control her when she was in the attic?” Klaus asks, earning him a pointed look from Marcel.

“I didn’t have to. But then, I never killed her boyfriend.”

“Yes, yes. We’ve been over this part already,” he waves him off, turning to address the room at large. “The point is, in her present state she’s useless as a tool against the witches.”

Lucie rounds on him with a huff of disbelief.

Marcel beats her to it. “She’s not a tool.”

“Something is wrong with her.”

Beside her, Elijah shifts. She watches him cross the room, retrieving his coat and moving for the door with a singular focus.

“Where are you going?”

“This business impacts us all,” he says simply. “I think we should bring in every resource at our disposal. I’d like a word with Sophie Deveraux.”

And with that, he lets himself out the front door. Lucie gives Hayley a questioning look when moves to follow him, but she only gets a little shake of her head in response before she joins him out on the porch, whispering to him in a tone too low for Lucie to understand.

Hayley reaches out for him, but he tugs his arm out of reach and murmurs something to her, jaw tight before marching off, leaving her alone on the porch.

“What was that?” Lucie whispers in a low tone when Hayley resumes a spot at her side.

Hayley swallows hard, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I fucked up, Lucie. I really, really fucked up.”

Barely half an hour passes when Elijah returns with Sophie Deveraux in tow.

From her place against the far wall, Lucie watches with increasing dread as Sophie explains her plans for Celeste DuBois, grave robbing and all.

“So you’ve stolen the remains of the very person that Davina’s been drawing for months,” Elijah says when they’ve settled into the living room with the others and filled them in on both the drawings and the consecration attempts. “Would you care to explain this starling coincidence?”

Sophie’s eyes dark nervously about the room, into a sea of faces ranging from suspicious to overtly hostile. “I can’t. I didn’t even know who Celeste Dubois was until I—“

The windows rattle, glass threatening to shatter as another earthquake cuts their conversation short.

“Was that Davina?” she asks in a stunned whisper when the ground settles.

“Charming little habit she’s developed,” Klaus replies.

“And the earthquake I felt today?”

This time Rebekah answers, returning from the back bedroom, “Also Davina. And, she’s taken to vomiting dirt.”

Lucie watches Sophie closely, noting the way her eyes go round as saucers and her posture stiffens as she says, “Oh, we have a huge problem. I thought we had more time, but we need to complete the Harvest now.”

Klaus snorts. “Said the desperate witch, conveniently.”

“I’m serious!” Sophie insists, all the while anger roils in Lucie’s belly. “That earthquake you just felt is a preview of the disaster movie that is about to hit us.”

For once, Lucie is on Klaus’ side. And before another word can be said, she’s rounding on Sophie, tone loaded with vitriol. “You so much as lay a finger on Davina and I’ll make you regret it.”

“Give it a rest, Lucie,” she retorts coming to her feet. “You’ve met Davina, you know her story. For months now, she’s been holding all the power of the three girls sacrificed in the Harvest ritual. A force that was meant to flow through her and back into the earth. One person was never meant to hold that much power. It’s tearing her apart, and it will take us down with it.”

For a moment, no one says a word. Lucie stares down Sophie in barely concealed disdain. Marcel radiates malice from his spot near the window, and Klaus and Rebekah exchange a meaningful look.

Then, Elijah steps forward from the fringes of the living room, expression impassive though his eyes are cold.

“You may have convinced my siblings. But you have yet you convince us,” he says, gesturing towards Lucie and Marcel in turn.”

Sophie huffs in exasperation. “We don’t have time to waste. The first sign’s already come and gone—“

“So fix her!” Marcel snaps, voice razored by desperation.”

“I told you; she can’t be fixed.”

Moments later, the ground rumbles once more, violent as if an outside for plucked the Earth between its hands and shook it with maximum force.

“I’ll check on her,” Rebekah says with a sigh, excusing herself and disappearing down the hallway.

“Convinced now?” Sophie rounds on them, the moment everything stabilizes.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Klaus says, eyes following Elijah as he paces the length of the room. “Davina must be sacrificed. The sooner the better. There’s no need to let her blow the roof off our heads in the meantime.”

“No way.” In an instant, Marcel is in his face, teeth bared. “You’re not touching her!”

There’s a flurry of motion, a flash of color too quick to catch. The sound of bone colliding with bone erupts and Klaus reels back, eyes blazing and a spectacular red mark on his jaw.

He rubs at the spot gingerly, annoyed. “Given the circumstances, I’ll let you have that one.”

“Marcel,” Elijah begins, ceasing his vigil to face him. “No one wishes to see Davina come to harm less than I, but there is no scenario here in which we simply wait this out.” His expression softens, then, “She’s going to die.”

Lucie, who had been staring down at the wood grain, lost in the whirl of her thoughts, snaps up to look at him, incredulous.

Then Marcel challenges, “According to Sophie, the witch who screwed over everybody here.”

“The Harvest was working before it was stopped,” Elijah explains evenly. “If a nonbeliever like Sophie can come to have faith that these girls will be resurrected, then I, also am a believer.”

Lucie’s ears are ringing now and she doesn’t miss the pointed way in which he avoids her eyes.

“I saved Davina from the Harvest, and now you want me to just hand her over?”

“Do you think I’m happy about this?” Klaus cuts in. “If the witches complete the Harvest, not only do they regain their power, we lose our weapon against them. The earthquake I was willing to chalk up to hideous coincidence, but these winds? If Davina is not sacrificed, then every inch of earth that shook, everything blowing about now will soon be drenched in water and consumed by fire—“

“Oh, now you care about this city.” Marcel’s posture straightens, squaring up to the Mikaelson brothers.

The room spins, making Lucie dizzy as she watches them argue amongst themselves. Suddenly she’s a scared girl of eighteen, sitting in the vestibule of the Lycee as she waits for the Elders to decide how they’re going to get rid of her.

“We ought to,” Elijah counters. “We built it.”

All at once, Lucie pushes away from the wall, interjecting before she has to listen to another word of this. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this. I expected this from Klaus, but the rest of you?”

Marcel trembles with barely concealed rage, visibly restraining himself from attacking Klaus again. Rebekah shuffles uncomfortably from her spot on the couch, and Elijah—Elijah just stares at her with something pained in his eyes.

Sophie, visibly frustrated, is the first to respond. “We don’t have a choice. If we don’t complete the Harvest, Davina will die anyway, and she’ll take the rest of us with her.”

Lucie’s jaw tightens, swallowing the hot coal in an attempt to find her voice. “You talk about her like she’s a problem that needs fixing, Sophie. She’s not a threat to be neutralized—she’s sixteen, for fucks sake A child who’s been let down by the people who were supposed to protect her, over and over. And now, you’re all ready to do it again?”

Rebekah took a step forward, trying to soften the blow. “Lucie, this isn’t about convenience. It’s about survival—hers, ours, the entire city’s. If we don’t act, the power inside Davina will destroy her and everything around her.”

“You were there in the Garden,” she rounds on Rebekah. “She trusts you. Are you ready to look her in the eye and tell her she has to die because a witch from the coven that killed her friends in front of her decided she’s expendable?”

Her eyes land on each of them in turn, some hardened, others conflicted, but each filled with grim resolution. She doesn’t wait for a response, stealing from the room before anyone can say another word.

She hears the front door slam seconds later and knows Marcel has made his own exit.

Lucie doesn’t seek out the refuge of the garden nor the back bedroom where Davina now dozes, sleeping through the sedative coursing through her system. Instead, she makes for the first door on the right, shutting it behind her with finality—as if she might be able to shut out the problem at hand.

Even under a layer of dust, Violette’s room is familiar as an extension of herself. From the ancient headboard of the bed, carved with flowers, to the heavy curtains framing the windows, the space is like a balm to her aching chest. It’s no wonder she sought this space out, reaching out for the comfort of her aunt’s presence on instinct.

She closes her eyes, sinking down onto the patterned quilt stretched over the mattress, and marvels at the way the little bedroom still smells like her. Lucie remembers being a girl, and only recently come to live with Violette. She doesn’t recall the reason, but she can vividly picture burying her face in her aunt’s gray-streaked curls, the hair soft and red as a fox. The way it smelled of rosemary and wisteria—the way the room smells now.

The creak of the door opening pulls her from her thoughts. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lucie doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

“Lucretia,” Elijah says softly. When a minute passes with no answer, he pleads, “Lucie, look at me.”

And, reluctantly, she does. He’s hovering near the door, carefully closed behind him. His posture is straight, his steps smooth as he draws near, but she doesn’t mix the conflict written plain across his face.

“Did they send you in here to convince me?” she says, eyes fixed on the worn quilt as she picks at a loose thread. “Last I knew, no one of you needed my permission.”

The bitterness in her voice is apparent, even to her. From the other side of the room, she hears him sigh.

“Is it so hard to believe that I came to check on you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, he crosses over to her and in an instant, drops down to crouch in front of her, making it impossible to do anything but meet his serious expression.

“Think of all you know of me, all we’ve been through,” he implores. “If there was any other way, don’t you think I would see it done?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. All the while, she feels his stare against her skin and does her best to ignore it. But when she finally looks up, his eyes are imploring and so earnest, she feels herself soften—if only a fraction.

“I can’t bury someone else in that cemetery,” she whispers fiercely, her hands balling up at her side. “I can’t. “

Despite her best efforts, a tear escapes, rolling down her cheek.

There’s a rustling of fabric and in an instant, she’s guided to her feet. His palms are warm as they cradle her face, urging it up to look at him. She feels the fan of his breath, can smell the spiced notes of his cologne. When another tear falls, following the trail of the last, Elijah interrupts its journey with a swipe of his thumb.

“I don’t begrudge you your convictions, Lucie,” he says, so softly it makes her chest ache and she fights the urge to look away. “In fact, they’re a part of why I… admire you so greatly.” His lips curve into the ghost smile, though his eyes are sad. “But right now, we’re backed into a corner with two impossible choices left to us. It’s our responsibility to make the one that spares the most innocent lives, no matter how reprehensible we may find it.”

She exhales, a shuddering, tremulous noise. Barely trusting her voice, she whispers, “Don’t ask me to be okay with this.”

“I’d ask nothing of you, Lucie, except that if you trust nothing else, trust me.”

---

Elijah parts with Lucie with reluctance sometime later. The house is quiet, though tension still lingers in the air, potent as a loaded gun. Usually unaffected by the moods of others, even he finds himself eager to create some distance from the turmoil.

“I was just on my way out,” Niklaus says by way of greeting, falling into step beside him on the way to the door. “Figured I ought to warn a couple of prominent faction members in case the weather gets out of hand. If you fancy yourself as a plus diplomatique, perhaps you’d like to come along?”

Elijah looks at his brother, even in his weariness, he recognizes the olive branch. He smiles softly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Not this time. Soon Sophie Deveraux shall be consecrating Celeste’s remains, and though her actions are abominable, still I should pay me respects.”

Something like understanding flickers in Klaus’ eyes, and they part with a nod.

But before Elijah can make his own exit, Hayley catches his stare.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.

He blinks at her, torn between anger and understanding until the former wins out. “Just on my way out.”

---

“You don’t have to be here for this,” Sabine says softly, coming to stand at Elijah’s side. All the while, he watches on as Sophie arranges the bones in preparation for the consecration—the bones of a woman he once loved. “It’s going to take Sophie some time to finish preparations.”

He breaks his silent vigil long enough to glance at her and then, with a resolute shake of his head, he replies, “I have time. I owe her this.”

His ears are keen enough to catch the little hitch in her breath and imagines the surprised look that must be on her face. “Care to explain why?”

Sophie is still hard at work and under Elijah’s watchful gaze, showing the utmost care and respect for her charge. Reluctantly, he turns away with a sigh and meets Sabine’s eyes. “Have you ever experienced something so profound and wonderful that when it was taken from you, your life felt unbearable?”

She considers a moment, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Yes, I’ve felt that. And I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

He scans her face, the planes and curves of her handsome features, perhaps surprised to find a kindred spirit—at least in this. Maybe that’s why he says, “I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return, you’re uniquely vulnerable. They have a power to hurt you that’s like nothing else.”

Unbidden, he thinks of the pain in Lucie’s eyes when he’d sided against her earlier today, the feel of her skin beneath his hands. Before he can examine the thought further, his phone rings.

He excuses himself with a nod of his head, stepping away from the witches. “Rebekah.”

“He’s taken the girl,” she says in a harried rush.

His brow furrows. “Who has?”

“Bloody, bloody Marcel!”

There’s another voice in the background, one he immediately identifies as belonging to Niklaus. “And you wanted to run off and start a life with this backstabber.”

“Says the man who was shacking up with him not two seconds before this all went down.” Elijah sighs, waiting for his siblings to finish their bickering so they can get back to the issue at hand. Finally, Rebekah says, “Okay. We need to divide and conquer if we’re going to stand a chance. He could have gone anywhere.”

“Well, I’m here with Sabine.” He feels her gaze on him at the mention of her name. “We could try a locator spell.”

“Lucie already tried one,” Rebekah says. “But I suppose another couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll talk to the priest,” Klaus offers. “They might even be at the church. It’s the last place we’d think to look for them, right?”

“Okay, you check the church. I’ll check…everywhere else.” Rebekah sighs in annoyance and the two return to their squabbling as Elijah hangs up the phone.

When he returns, Sophie is done with her preparations and already engaged in the ritual. He watches with morbid curiosity as she picks up Celeste’s skull and holds it to the sky.

“I consecrate these bones to the earth,” she cries. “Ancestors hear me.”

The words stir a hazy sort of recollection within Elijah and when she repeats them, he recognizes them as the same one Lucie had told him about the night she’d accepted his deal. And though he struggles to understand why, a vague uneasiness washes over him.

With one last look at Sophie, he turns and heads for where he had seen Sabine disappear into the mausoleum. To his great relief, she’s gracious enough to accept his request for help without much convincing. And soon, he’s watching on anxiously as she scries over a map, deep in the concentration of a locator spell.

“This isn’t working,” she says finally, eyes fluttering open.

He arches a brow. “She’s nowhere to be found?”

“No, it’s more like she’s everywhere. She’s hemorrhaging magic. Which means we have less time than we thought.” Her voice wavers with frustration as she sets down the scrying crystal. “I have no clue where she is.”

He grasps her hand, imploring. “Please concentrate. Try again.”

The crypt descends into silence and Elijah isn’t sure how long he watches her focused features but after a time, she pulls out of it with a relieved smile.

“Okay. Okay. She’s somewhere near the river. I can’t be more specific.”

“It’s something,” he assures her. “It’s a start.”

But before he can leave to join the search, Sophie appears in the doorway, framed in the moonlight and looking panicked.

“It didn’t work,” she says without preamble. “I tried to consecrate her and absorb her magic, but there’s nothing there.”

“I don’t understand,” he replies with a shake of his head. “A witch’s magic is infused in her bones until consecrated.”

“Well, then someone’s already taken it because there’s nothing there.”

His thoughts turn again to Lucie, to the implications that are starting to press in on him from all sides, and he insists, “There has to be some other way.”

Sabine’s expression is calm, belied by a tick in her jaw. “There is no other way.”

Sophie rakes a hand through her hair, strands sticking up like she’s repeated the action a million times. “Unless you know of some super-powerful dead witch whose bones were never consecrated, it’s over.”

Elijah goes rigid, face a carefully guarded mask even as he says, “No. I’m sorry. I know of no one else.”

He turns his back and sweeps out of the mausoleum, missing the calculating look from Sabine as he goes.

“What do we do, Sabine?” Sophie groans, eyes pleading, when Elijah is long gone. “Do we try again?”

“No, I think I might know where we can find someone else,” she says slowly. “Sophie, do you still have those photocopies Hayley gave you from Elijah’s journal?”

---

Beyond the beating of the rain against the roof, the compound is utterly bereft of all life. Hayley lingers in the courtyard, her back turned to the stairs as she packs the last of the canned food on the table into a cardboard box.

The material is rough beneath her hands and they move mechanically, led by muscle memory and tactile sense. Meanwhile, her mind is far away. Her stomach has been doing sick little flip-flops under her ribcage since she and Klaus left Lucie’s—since Elijah brushed her off. She pictures the hurt on his face when she’d told him what she’d done, the betrayal written plain as day, and knows the rebuff was well deserved.

She bites down on her lower lips, trying to stifle the fresh wave of tears. Despite her best efforts, a sniffle escapes. Angry, she bats the droplet away with her sleeve just as footsteps echo behind her.

“What are you doing?” Klaus asks, coming to stand at her shoulder. His tone is soft and she knows he must have noticed her moment of weakness.

She stiffens, wiping away the last remnants of her tears and disguising it as clearing off some of the dust from beneath her nose. If Klaus picks up on it, he pretends not to notice. “I was gonna take these to the—“

“If you say, ‘Bayou,’ I will find a nice comfy dungeon and throw you in it,” he interrupts, irritation curbed by the underlying concern in his tone. “This is not the night to be out there—“

“—For anyone,” Hayley cuts in. Since the original outbreak of earthquakes, the situation in the city has only grown more dire. Sheets of rain crash over the buildings with the force of tidal waves while hurricane-force winds threaten to shatter windows and bring with it a miserable chill. All she’s been able to think about since is the werewolves —her people— left to the elements somewhere in the wilderness. It drives her to add, “Some people don’t have a choice.”

To her surprise, Klaus pauses, watching with a strange look that tells her he might actually be weighing her words. His expression softens and without another word, he bends down a plucks up the box she’d just folded closed.

“Right,” he sighed, resigned but resolute. “Grab that lot and come with me.”

Hayley can only balk, blinking at him in surprise. And then, she scrambles to grab the nearest box and follows him out of the courtyard.

It’s only a short while later that they make it through the gauntlet of soaked streets to the quiet corner where St. Ann’s rests. The dim lights inside cast long shadows over the crowded space, but it’s a blessing to be out of the rain. Hayley isn’t the only one to think so, judging by the people milled about. Some huddle together in pew, and others form lines to receive food. The atmosphere is full of energy, but one of relief.

They find Father Kieran near the pulpit, speaking to a refugee in soft tones. The conversation comes to an abrupt end when he spots Klaus and Hayley near the doorway, making his excuses and rushing to meet them.

“We still haven’t gone through all that you’ve already provided, Klaus,” Kieran says.

Klaus smiles, ignoring the baffled look from Hayley, save a fleeting glance. “Well, this newest bit isn’t from me.”

Father Kieran’s placid gaze rakes over her face, leaving Hayley feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Oh? That’s very kind of you…?”

“Hayley,” she supplies, hiding her shyness behind a polite smile and diverting her eyes to look around the church. “And these people are…?”

“I asked Father Kieran to give them shelter,” Klaus says with a hint of pride and a crooked smile. “He suffers from an incessant desire to do good. But now, I need you to be useful,” he turns to the priest, all business, “Marcel and Davina have disappeared. I assume from the stupefied look on your face they haven’t sought refuge in your attic.”

Kieran only shakes his head. “No. Those days are gone.”

“Elijah is seeking out a locator spell. But you must energize your resources,” Klaus orders, not missing a beat. “I don’t need to remind you how important it is they be found.”

The priest nods grimly, excusing himself to make some calls and leaving Hayley to turn her attention back to the people in the church. Finally, realization dawns.

“These people…they’re werewolves,” she whispers, unable to keep the confused awe out of her voice. Her eyes dart to Klaus. “And the priest, he said you donated the food. You’re helping them?”

Her head is spinning, disbelief a tangible thing. Yet Klaus only tilts his head, giving her a knowing smile. “They’re not your werewolves. They’re my clan. From very far back. They’ve fallen upon hard times, and their plight has brought out the philanthropist in me. What can I say? Must be Elijah’s influence.”

He shrugs, but Hayley swears she catches a glimmer of self-consciousness in his blue eyes. “What do you mean your clan?”

He shifts his weight, arms crossing over his chest. “The blood that runs in their veins runs in mine. And in our child’s.”

Hayley’s breath hitches, the enormity of what he’s saying crashing over her like the rain outside and she mutters, “This family gets more complicated by the second.”

Klaus draws closer and she can feel his eyes on her face. “Listen, Hayley. A word of advice when dealing with Elijah?” His voice was gentle, almost familial in its sincerity. “Don’t do as I do. Just apologize. He’s accomplished in many things, but he is a master of forgiveness.”

---

It’s a small miracle the glass hasn’t shattered yet. Beneath the fury of the mounting storm, the windows groan and the shutters slam against the side of the LeMarche home as if possessed. From her spot on the couch, Lucie watches sheets of rain explode against the pavement, threatening to wash away the world outside until nothing remains. The fire will come soon and then there will be little they can do.

Her eyes are heavy, puffy from crying, the salt leaving the skin on her cheeks raw. She hates the helpless, hollow feeling in her stomach, the gnawing dread that took hold from the second Sophie proposed completing the Harvest and has only grown tenfold in the tense hours since Marcel disappeared with Davina.

A fire crackles in the hearth. The warmth does little to ease the chill in her bones and the inviting orange glow seems wrong to her in the face of all that’s happened—all that still has to happen.

The floorboards creak and she knows the movements are exaggerated for her benefit, to avoid startling her. Seconds later, Rebekah appears at her side, face pale with worry and eyes resolute.

“Lucie,” she says with a sharpness that tells her that it’s not the first time Rebekah called her name. “Lucie, we have to go. Now.”

The intensity jolts something in her, like a crossing of wires that urges her back to the realm of the living. “What? What’s going on?”

“Davina’s at the docks. Marcel says she’s asking for you.”

There’s no time for questions, no time to process much of anything. She grabs her coat and follows Rebekah out into the storm, cold rain soaking them through almost instantly as they raced out onto the darkened streets.

The air at the docks is thick with petrichor and tension from the moment they arrive. The atmosphere crackles, a surge not unlike static electricity that makes Lucie’s hair on end. Something inside her responds, reaching out to it with invisible hands and she gives a watching Rebekah a grim nod. Davina is here.

She senses her even as they step inside and make their way noiselessly down the hall where voices carry to them from the other end.

“If I can just wait it out a few more weeks,” she hears Davina’s voice say, rough from exhaustion. “Marcel, help me. Please?”

“I will,” Marcel’s voice replies and Lucie doesn’t miss the underlying strain. “And when it’s over, I’ll do what I should have done—get you out of town.”

They round the corner, where the hallway opens up into a wide, open warehouse. Davina is settled against a cot, skin colorless and sweating beading on her forehead. “I had a dream that Tim wasn’t dead,” she murmurs, voice carrying to where Rebekah and Lucie stand unnoticed in the doorway. “He played a song and he kissed me, and we were just normal.”

Lucie glances at Rebekah, ignoring her constricting chest as she watches her step out into the open. “That sounds like a beautiful dream.”

Marcel’s eyes are sharp, angry as they narrow on her. “What are you doing here?”

Rebekah ignores him, her gaze soft where it falls on Davina. “But it was just a dream, wasn’t it darling?”

Lucie’s head snaps towards her, wondering what exactly she’s trying to do. Marcel beats her to it.

“Get out!” he bellows, rising to his feet. Every inch of him radiates with an unspoken threat.

“This is killing her, Marcel,” Rebekah says, undeterred. Though they’re biologically not far off in age, right now she’s every bit the eight hundred years his senior. “Your stubbornness will mean her death.”

The truth of it is apparent. Still, it smarts and Lucie still licks tenderly at the wounds of the group's earlier argument.

Marcel’s jaw ticks. “I promised I’d fight for her. I’m not breaking that promise.”

“No one is asking you not to fight,” Rebekah says for both is benefit and Lucie’s, her expression softening. She turns to Marcel, “But you’re the only family this girl has left. You owe it her to fight for her to live.”

Lucie watches the exchange, observes the ensuing standoff. All the while, she wonders exactly where she falls on the battle lines. It still feels like a gamble, betting Davina’s life on the word of the witches. But she remembers Elijah’s gentle voice, the earnestness in his gaze as he held her face and begged him to trust her. She eases a little. She may not trust Sophie, but she can trust Elijah. And Rebekah.

A rustling noise breaks the stalemate and three sets of eyes watch Davina force herself into a seated position with great effort. Marcel is beside her in an instant, adjusting the pillows to support her. “Take it easy, D. You need to rest.”

She only shakes her head, tendrils of lank hair rippling around her shoulders. “No,” she rasps and her eyes lock on Lucie. “I asked you here. There’s something important. Something you have to know.”

Lucie releases her hold on the door frame, coming closer to Davina despite the knot in her gut. There’s a seriousness in her blue eyes, it almost gives them an unearthly luminosity in the shadowed room.

She waits until Lucie settles on the edge of the cot before she speaks. “When I did the spell in the garden earlier, I confirmed something I suspected back in the attic. Lucie,” she takes Lucie’s hand between her palms, “Your connection to the Ancestral Well was never severed. I felt it. It was faint, but definitely still there. Like music through a wall.”

Each word lands like a physical blow, forcing all the air from Lucie’s lungs until she can only manage a breathless, “I…I don’t understand. I felt it. I felt it disappear when Violette performed the rite.”

Davina’s face crumples with sympathy, her grip tightening. “Violette lied to you. She performed a spell, but not one that severed you from the Ancestors. Lucie, she put a block on your magic.”

[atimeofyourlife]

Hiding my past from my future

day 23 | rated: t | wc: 1372 | prompts: FORCED CHOICE | Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you." ALT prompt: Secrets Revealed | cw: past self harm | ao3 Buck only wears long-sleeved uniforms after joining the fire department, after getting splashed with an unknown substance the team find out why.

Buck knew it would get picked up on eventually. He'd managed to evade it through the academy without anyone noticing, only a handful of comments about his insistence of only wearing long sleeves. Long sleeved workout gear, long sleeved uniform shirts. Most people just assumed he had a bunch of tattoos on his forearms that he had to keep covered as per LAFD policy.

Once he'd received his assignment to the 118, he fought to keep it a secret. Ignoring the comments on his choice of uniform, and any mention of him being quick to shower and change without anyone seeing. He just did not want to deal with the awkward and uncomfortable questions that he knew would be sent his way.

It was a couple of months into his probationary year. A medical scene that was the aftermath of a dispute that the police had already cleared. Buck didn't have much to do as there was only one patient, so he was mostly grabbing anything that Hen and Chimney asked for.

As they were preparing to move the patient, Buck noticed a man approaching them.

"Sir, I need to give us space so we can do our job." He did his best to block the mans way to the patient.

"That bitch needs to get whats coming to her." The guy shouted and lunged forward.

"Cap." Buck yelled, jumping back in front of the guy. He felt something splash on him, hitting him on the neck and chest, quickly soaking through his shirt.

The remaining police on the scene were quick to react, tackling the guy to the ground. Bobby and Chimney were close behind, grabbing Buck and guiding him to the engine.

"We need to get this shirt off." Chimney said, but Buck wasn't quite registering what had happened until Chimney was ripping Buck's shirt open, then grabbing scissors for his undershirt.

"What are you doing, stop." Buck pushed Chimney away, panicking at the thought of anyone seeing him shirtless.

"Buck, we need to get your shirts off so we can flush the area. We don't know what you were splashed with. We need to follow protocol." Bobby replied, resting his hand on Buck's shoulder on the side that hadn't been hit with the unknown liquid.

"I. I can wait until we're back at the station. I'll shower it off and change there." Buck was close to begging at this point.

"No can do. It's to limit contact. If it's corrosive, or whatever, the longer it stays on the skin, the more damage it can do." Bobby explained.

Buck didn't respond and just hung his head as Chimney started to cut his undershirt.

"You know, pretty boy like you, I thought you'd always be wanting to show off your muscle. Never expected you to be so shy." Chimney said as he'd cut the shirt through and moved to push it off of Buck's arms.

Buck couldn't rise to the bait, fearing what would come next. He didn't react to the twin gasps of shock as his shirts were removed.

"Let-lets start to flush the area." Chimney said quietly, not coming up with a joke for once.

"Yeah. It's going to be okay, Buck." Bobby added, then both were dousing him with bottled water. It was cold against his skin, but Buck couldn't bring himself to care. Too worried about how they were looking at the fine silvery-white scars that covered both of his arms.

"There's no obvious skin reaction." Chimney murmured, shining his penlight over where it had hit. "No redness, no blistering, no swelling. Feels to be the same temperature as the surrounding skin. Does it feel sore, or does it itch at all, Buck?"

"No." Buck mumbled, unable to meet their eyes. "It's fine."

"Here." Bobby tucked a blanket around Buck's shoulders. "We've been cleared to head back to the station, just need to keep an eye on you to make sure there's nothing that comes of it. An officer will be by to grab your statement."

Buck just nodded, and pulled the blanket tighter around him. Not wanting anyone else to look at him. He moved to pull himself into his seat in the engine, still worried about what would come of it back at the station.

"It's okay, Buck." Chimney murmured, taking the seat next to him.

--

Back at the station, Buck hopped out of the engine and made his way straight to the showers, grabbing a clean uniform on the way. He stayed under the spray for way longer than he usually would, wanting to put off facing his team.

"Buck?" Chimney's voice came from the door to the men's showers. "Cap sent me in to check on you. And to tell you to hurry up, because an officer is here for your statement."

"Yeah. I'm fine." Buck replied, turning the shower off and grabbing his towel. "I'll be out in a minute. Just let me get dressed."

"Not so fast on that one, Buckaroo. He also wants me to take another look at you. Make sure you're not having a reaction." He could hear Chimney's footsteps coming closer to his stall.

Buck groaned and wrapped his towel around his waist and stepped out of the stall, fighting to resist the urge to hunch in on himself and hide.

"There's a little redness." Chimney commented, his fingers ghosting over Buck's skin. "But I'm guessing that's because you've scrubbed pretty hard to get rid of whatever that was."

"Uh-huh. Can I put my clothes on now?" Buck asked, a slight whine in his voice. He felt exposed and wanted to cover up as quickly as possible.

"Buck." Chimney grabbed his shoulder. "You- you know we're not going to judge you for this, right? It doesn't change how we think about you or anything."

Buck scoffed, he'd heard it before that people wouldn't judge for his history of self harming, but they always did.

"I mean it. We've all got our own shit. This job weighs on all of us. None of us are going to judge someone for how they coped with the shit they were dealing with."

Buck nodded and turned to go and get dressed.

--

After he'd given his statement to the police officer, Buck slowly made his way up to the loft, feeling like everyone was looking at him.

"They have any idea what it was that guy threw over you?" Hen called over the back of the couch.

"He said it was piss." Buck replied, thankful they weren't going for the difficult part of the conversation

"Gross." Hen wrinkled her nose. "But at least it was only disgusting and not dangerous."

Buck managed to crack a slight smile at her reaction, and took a seat in one of the chairs. He tried to ignore it, but he could feel Hen, Bobby and Chimney sneaking glances at him.

"I can feel you all looking at me. Just get it over with." Buck sighed.

"We're just concerned about you, Buck." Hen said softly.

"I'm fine." Buck insisted. "It's been ages. And this is why I hid it. Because people get weird about it."

"How long?" Bobby asked.

"Does it matter? It's not like I still do it." Buck was getting defensive, hating that he was being question about such a private part of himself.

"Either you answer our questions, or I'll have to remove you from active duty until you have had a psychiatric evaluation to determine your fitness for duty." Bobby's tone left no room for argument.

"I'm not fucking crazy." Buck burst out.

"No one thinks you're crazy, Buck. We want you to be at your best." Hen moved to his side and took his hand. "But we have seen how badly someone cutting themselves can turn out."

"It's been over two years. It was worst when I was kid." Buck admitted, hoping the little bit of information would satisfy them.

"Okay. If you ever get to that point again, can you just come to one of us? Talk it out and let us help you." Hen offered.

"I'll try."

"That's all we ask for, Buck." Bobby said. "And I'm sorry that this had to be revealed in such a brutal way."

[avester70]

I fear someone seeing me at my most vulnerable. The mundane tasks I don’t have to dress up for, the moments I talk myself through. Something can always see through the preened facade, right into my window, my room, myself. When I was a child there were eyes in the bathroom vent watching me in the shower. How do they always know when i’m naked? All knowing and forever peering from a shadow or a crack in the door.

i feel the eyes on me- in me. piercing past the skin to the delicate center. picking apart my brain, pulling back the twisting dendrites glaring straight into the hanging gardens of my synapses. They are under my skin prodding, poking, pleading for my primal form. Relieving me of my costume and laying me bare.

It’s tangible: this itch I cannot scratch. This costume I cannot burn. These eyes I cannot blind.

I never became my age. Taller now but short in temperment. Double what I was but half as able to convince. To coax the watcher in the vent.

It sees every tear that burns my eye. It knows I still sob like a child. It visits all my privacies. Moments in company that somehow still feel lonesome. A constant vermin in my garden that i’d like to walk alone.

One day I might open the curtains. Soon I might draw the blinds and let all the eyes in to gaze at me. Maybe i’ll meet the glare with my own. I’ll stare back terrifically bare, unadorned of frills and embellishments. My garden is no myth, walk it with me. There is no shame in my humanity. After all, every eye is at the mercy of a brain and a body. You are not blind and neither am I.

“do you ever feel ashamed for letting someone know you”

“why should I?”

“You’re giving them the power to walk away with a part of you.”

“Then they will walk away loved. And if you ever need to talk I want you to know there’s nothing I can’t love you through.”

A tear burned my eye

“People are much too concerned with themselves to obsess over your insecurities anyway”

“But I feel watched. I feel like prey to something that is exclusively concerned with me. My insecurities especially.”

it has no mouth to answer my prayers, but somehow i know its laughing.

in truth it does not need to speak, i see myself with the same eyes

or in truth it does not need to speak i see myself the same way it sees me

in truth it needs no mouth at all the eyes do all the speaking

in truth it has no need for a mouth the eyes do all the speaking.

[love-skincareroutine]

Why Does My Skin Itch After I Shower

New Post has been published on https://skin-care-routine.com/skin-care-routine/why-does-my-skin-itch-after-i-shower/

Why Does My Skin Itch After I Shower

A. Why Does My Skin Itch After Taking A Shower?

Some people like to shower because they feel clean and refreshed. For others, however, bathing brings persistent and irritating itching. Although it is uncommon for some, itching after a bath or shower is really common. There are several conditions that can cause itching after a hot shower. Most of them are benign, while others can be dangerous.

1. Xerosis cutis

Dry skin affects people of all ages, but it is more common in the elderly. Cutis xerosis simply means that your skin is very dry. Xerosis is also known as winter itching because it usually occurs during the dry and cold winter months, due to repeated sauces and drying without moisturizer. Wetting the water for a long period of time removes the natural oil from the skin and irritates the skin that already lacks hydration. Itching usually occurs on the feet and legs, as these are the parts that have a lot of contact with water.

2. Colinergic urticaria

This is a form of hives caused by increased body temperature. The increase in body temperature can be caused by hot baths, exercises, spicy food and even strong emotions. The hives resemble a mosquito bite and usually group into larger hives over time. Like most other forms of hives, oral antihistamines can be used to treat it.

3. Aquatic urticaria

This is a rare form of hives that occurs when water comes in contact with the skin. People with aquagenic urticaria suffer just minutes after their skin is exposed to water, regardless of their temperature.

4. Idiopathic aquagenic prurite

It is a rare condition that causes itching without a rash after skin contact with water. As a result, you start to feel an itchy feeling after a shower. IAP is probably caused by the activation of the nervous system, with various chemicals being released by the nerves that are in the skin after contact with water.

5. Soap sensitivity

It is also possible that the soap you use can dry your skin while cleaning. Soaps that are aggressive to the skin may not cause or leave a noticeable rash, but they can leave a persistent itch after bathing. If the soap is not completely washed, soap residue can remain on the skin, which can cause itching and discomfort.

6. Hodgkin lymphoma

Hodgkin’s lymphoma is a cancer of the lymph nodes. People with this condition have enlarged lymph nodes in the neck, armpits, groin or chest. In addition to enlarged lymph nodes, it also causes symptoms throughout the body, such as weight loss, fever, night sweats and itching.

7. Itic prevention

Here are some ways and tips you can use to prevent or treat itching, if it does:

Moisturize your skin while it is still moist to block the moisture in your skin barrier

Use hypoallergenic soaps, moisturizers and even clothes

Take shorter showers that are not too hot

Dry the skin instead of rubbing it with a towel

Use anti-itch creams and sodas recommended by the doctor, such as menthol or calamine lotion in the itchy areas

Consider using essential oils, but check with your dermatologist first if you have any specific allergies to essential oils

To stay hydrated, drink 8 glasses or more of water a day

  B. 6 Reasons Why You Itch After Taking a Shower

We all saw it. After a long hot bath in the cold winter months, your skin itches slightly after drying and dressing. For most of us, this symptom is mild, lasts a few minutes, and is related to dry skin caused by cold, dry air and long, hot showers.

For some people, itching after bathing can be chronic, intense and even debilitating. There are several conditions that can cause itching after hot baths – most are benign, while others can be dangerous.

Anyone with unexplained itching, especially after a hot shower, should see their doctor for a thorough examination, as some conditions that cause this symptom can be dangerous and even fatal.

1. Xerose

Dry skin affects people of all ages, but it is particularly common in the elderly. Dry, irritated and itchy skin is the hallmark of a number of skin conditions collectively known as eczema. Xerosis, also known as winter itchiness, is more common in the dry and cold winter months, when repeatedly wet and dry without a moisturizer. Symptoms include dry, itchy, scaly, red skin with painful cracks in the hands and feet.

2. Polycythemia Vera

Polycythemia vera (PV) is a bone marrow disease in which red blood cells are overproduced. People with PV have “thicker” blood as a result of this disease process. The symptoms of PV are headache, dizziness, blurred vision, chest pain, bleeding, blood clots, enlarged liver and spleen and “reddish” skin (redness of the face). This condition can be excluded by means of a simple blood count.

3. Hodgkin’s lymphoma

Hodgkin’s lymphoma is a cancer of the lymph nodes. People with this type of cancer have enlarged lymph nodes in the neck, armpits, groin or chest. In addition to enlarged lymph nodes, Hodgkin’s lymphoma can cause symptoms throughout the body, including weight loss, fever, night sweats and itching Hodgkin’s lymphoma can be checked for enlarged lymph nodes by x-rays or by biopsy of an enlarged lymph node.

4. Cholinergic urticaria

Cholinergic urticaria is a form of hives caused by increased body temperature. The increase in body temperature may be due to hot baths, exercise, spicy food or excessive blankets in bed at night. Strong emotions can also cause hives in people with cholinergic urticaria. Hives for cholinergic urticaria are classically accurate and smaller than a mosquito bite. Over time, they can come together to form larger hives or grow together. Occasionally, cholinergic urticaria can be associated with more severe symptoms, including symptoms of asthma and low blood pressure.

5. Aquagenic urticaria

Aquagenic urticaria is a very rare form of urticaria, caused by water contact with the skin.5 People affected by it develop hives within minutes of contact with water on the skin, regardless of the water temperature. It is not known why this happens, although some researchers believe that water allows a certain skin protein to dissolve in water and that the dissolved protein can reach deeper layers of the skin, where an allergic reaction occurs.

The diagnosis of aquagenic urticaria consists of simply placing a drop of water at room temperature on the skin and observing the formation of a hive in a few minutes. Aquagenic urticaria, like most other forms of urticaria, can be easily treated with oral antihistamines.

6. Idiopathic aquagenic pruritus

Idiopathic aquagenic pruritus (IPA) is a rare condition that causes itching without a rash after a person’s skin comes into contact with water.6 IPA is probably caused by the activation of the nervous system, in which various chemicals are released by the nerves of the skin after contact with water.

  C. Itching After a Shower: Why It Happens and How to Treat It

For some people, bathing has an unpleasant side effect: irritating and persistent itching.

Itching after a bath or shower is not uncommon. It can be caused by dry skin or other skin conditions. Read on to find out why your skin itches after a shower.

1. What causes itchy skin after bathing?

There are several culprits that can be the cause of itchy skin after bathing. Some are more common than others.

a. Xerose cutis

“Xerose cutis” simply means that your skin is very dry. Dipping your skin in hot water for long periods of time can rid your skin of its natural oils and irritate skin that already lacks moisture. This sometimes causes itching after a shower. Most of the time, itching can appear on the feet or legs because these parts of the body are in close contact with water.

b. Soap sensitivities

It is possible that the soap you use will dry your skin while you clean it. The rough soap does not always leave a rash on the skin, but it can cause a persistent itch after bathing. Failure to wash all soap residue from the skin after bathing can also cause itching and discomfort.

c. Aquagenic itch

With this condition, the nervous system can be activated by water on the skin. As a result, itches after a shower. This condition is rare and, if you have it, you probably already know it. Aquagene Itching causes severe itching after any contact with water, including washing your hands and entering the pool.

2. Itching after bath treatment

If the itching persists after bathing, consider using a home remedy for treatment. Here are some ways to prevent or treat itching, if it does:

Dry instead of wiping. Rubbing the skin with a towel after bathing can remove moisture from the skin. Do not try to remove all drops of water from your skin. Instead, dry the skin with the towel after washing it.

Moisturize your skin while it is still moist. Applying a moisturizer to your slightly damp skin will help block moisture in the skin barrier. Opt for a fragrance-free hypoallergenic moisturizer. If you have acne-prone skin, consider using one that is “oil-free”. For an added cooling benefit, store the moisturizer in the refrigerator before applying it.

Change your soaps. If after a bath you have repeated itching without rashes, it may be time to change the soap. Look for a soap with mild, hypoallergenic ingredients. Moisturizing soap has been found to have a beneficial effect in reducing symptoms of dry skin.

Change your bathing routine. If you take long, steaming baths, your skin may become dry. Taking shorter showers, which are not very hot and decrease quickly to a warm temperature, can make your skin healthier and less itchy.

Try a soda after a shower. The American Academy of Dermatologists recommends using menthol or calamine lotion in the area of ​​itching and irritation.

Anti-itch creams that contain lactic acid can be used to relieve itchy dry skin and to keep moisture in the skin. Pramoxin hydrochloride is another promising ingredient that Trusted Source has been shown to reduce itching caused by dry skin. Note that over-the-counter creams used to relieve inflammation-related itching symptoms, such as topical corticosteroids, generally do not work against itchiness caused only by dry skin.

Consider essential oils as part of your bathing routine. You can use essential oils to prevent or treat itching.

Dilute the essential oil you have chosen. The oil should be diluted with a soothing carrier oil, such as sweet almond oil or jojoba oil, before being applied to irritated skin. Peppermint, chamomile, tea tree and pink geranium have potential benefits to soothe dry and itchy skin.

Drink more water. Dehydration can cause dry skin. In general, be sure to drink eight cups of water (or more!) Daily to keep your body properly hydrated.

3. Summary

Itching after a shower is not uncommon. Fortunately, simple changes to the bathing routine can often correct the underlying problems that cause itching. However, if the itching symptoms do not subside within an hour or two after showering, or if you continue to experience itching even after trying home remedies, consult your doctor. There are rare cases where itching can be an indication of a serious health problem, such as liver disease or Hodgkin’s lymphoma. So don’t ignore the symptoms of persistent itching.

[howdoesagrapewrites]

You should do one where reader just wants to spend time alone by themselves(whether it be the afternoon or morning) but hobie and pavitr won’t let them

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙨

Cw: reader x lovesick!Hobie Brown x lovesick!Pavitr Prabhakar, overlooking toxic behavior, touching with dubious consent, oblivious reader, anxious attachment (Pavitr), suggestive, aged-up characters, reader's gender neutral but it is kinda fem aligned, reader knows about the multiverse but it's not clarified if they're a spider person, I already warned this but just want to say that just because the toxic behavior here isn't portrayed as negatively as my others fics doesn't mean I condone it.

Notes: while I was writing the first paragraph I was like "damn I should do this too" and started deep cleaning around my house. This triggered an episode and that's the reason I haven't been posting as much, I was cleaning. I'm actually on a break from cleaning /srs

You prepared everything to have some alone time this afternoon, you cooked your favorite meal, did an everything shower with your favorite products, you cleaned up everything yesterday so you didn't have to do anything today, and after putting on comfy pajamas, you sat on the couch with snacks and a face mask to watch a comfort show.

It was halfway through the fourth episode when you heard noise coming from your room, and see your boyfriends appearing into your living room, even though you told them you wanted to be alone today. You try and give them the benefit of the doubt, and imagine maybe the mission today was extra rough and they needed comfort, or they forgot about your petition, Pavitr had university, being spiderman, reporting to the spider society, Hobie was, well, trying to bash the president's head with a guitar plus the spider society stuff, so yeah, they had busy lives.

"Hello there, looking lovely" Hobie chuckled with his hands on his pockets, probably laughing at your face mask, Pavitr came in for a hug, you accepted, "ohh, self care day? Do you have any extra masks, I can buy us snacks? Wait- mumbattan currency doesn't work here, I forgot, anyways, is there any room left for us?" You moved quietly and smiled to let your boyfriends sit beside you.

It's not like you want them to go, but they do take too much space. Talking about the couch, of course... And maybe about your life a little bit, you loved them, but when you started your long distance relationship (between universes) you thought you'd have just a tad more time to yourself.

You can't concentrate in the show quite as well, thinking about what could make them forget about your you-day and still want to come, why did they always forget? They both seem to have pretty good memory, the zone off for a minutes, fortunately for you, it's the fifth time you watch this episode. Your phone rings and before you can grab it, Hobie picks it up, notices is not a call and hands it to you, it's the timer for your face mask, how kind of him to even set off the alarm to you since it's your day off.

You take the sticky sheet off your face and massage the serum into your skin as you start to walk to the living room, wanting to scratch the itch and address the subject you've had in your mind, you decide to soft launch it.

"Did any of you, read the chat yesterday?"

"Yes, I always do, Hobie does too, why?" Pavitr lies on Hobie's chest and mindlessly scroll through his phone while he answers you

"Then maybe you forgot that today I kinda wanted to be alone, you know, me-time? You also forgot last week, and the week before that..."

Hobie spoke "Sorry 'bout that, 'have bad memory, a flaw of mine, we can leave if we're a bother" it saddened you he saw himself as a bother, he just forgot, we all make mistakes

"Oh, I didn't forget, I just don't want to leave you alone" Pavitr responded with normality, he didn't like having Hobie speak for him, he regularly contradicted him in stuff like this. Hobie laughs and pata his shoulder, he laughed like a joke, so then it was probably a joke, even though you three were dating, they had their own things, so this must be one of them.

You sat down, you were on the right arm of the couch, and Hobie was in the left one, Pavitr was between you both, he didn't seem at all displeased.

You laughed at the show a few times, and a couple minutes in, you feel Pav's hair ticking you, he's sniffing around your neck.

"You smell good, like your regular scent but better, did you tried the body wash I gave you?" You nod and smile at his sweet antics "And your skin, you look radiant, jaanu" he kisses you cheek, then makes a face, scrunching up his nose at the taste, you giggle. "It's supposed to be good for my skin, not be tasty" you say in airy laugh, he pouts, "But I wanted to kiss you", "my lips have no serum" he looks like a kid on Christmas morning and puts dives right into your lips, you expect a quick kiss before going back to your binge-watching (that you'd been looking forward to all week) but he crashes his lips into yours with need, you try to pull away two times before patting his shoulder, Hobie sees this, and now manspreading on the coffee table instead of the couch, he grabs Pavitr's hair and lightly pulls, "give 'em a break, sweetheart" he obediently looks at him, dilated pupils and breath hitched, Hobie's hands traveled to Pavitr's cheek and he nuzzled on it like a cat, "We don't want them to pass out, now, do we?" Hobie's tone is firm, but still has that certain rogueness he always speaks with. Even though Pavitr's mouth isn't on you, he's still mostly on top of you, and his hands don't stop wandering in your sides, pinching playfully at the fat, kneading on your waist, you really wishes you could keep watching your show and then read the book you always say you should read, or organize that messy shelf that keeps stressing you out, but hey, is not like you dislike this, right? "You won't-?" Pavitr asks in a whisper, when Hobie takes his fingers off his mouth "I'll watch for now" his smile makes you bite your lip in excitement, it seems to have a similar effect on Pavitr, who grips your waist harder, and slowly goes to grab your hips, "Keep going?" Hobie asks, deep black eyes set on yours, it makes you flustered. He's asking for consent, he's very nice, and Pavitr did have your consent earlier, it's just he was a little... Excited, it's okay, because he's nice.

You have two very nice boyfriends, even though they're forgetful.