#Men's Cycling Caps

[bicycleboothsblog]

[anmolsmsblog]

ZaySoo Winter Gloves Outdoor Keep Warm Touch Screen Riding Motorcycle Cycling Gloves Suede Windproof Cold Gloves Full Finger Gloves (Black)

Price: (as of – Details) Product Description 👌 Enhanced seam stitch for better fit and long hour wear.👌 Reusable & Washable Gloves for Protection.👌 Best Suited for protecting hand/palm to get dirty when outdoors. Can be washed and reused many a times.👌 Basic hand protection from dirt, dust and other impurities. Ideal for material handling, light maintenance.👌 Phone/Mobile Touchscreen can be…

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 

Knows what can hunt you. 

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 

Turn back. 

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed. 

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 

The Ghost. 

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 

Eyes like a burial mound. 

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 

But the Ghost isn’t even there. 

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 

Where did it go? 

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 

Those eyes. 

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 

 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 

So run you did. 

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 

But the house was different. 

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened. 

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 

This would be your sanctuary for the night. 

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 

The beast patrolled the glade. 

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here. 

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor. 

Your neighbor the Werewolf. 

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug. 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 

An embarrassing giggle meets air. 

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 

You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 

All sound ceases. 

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[gojoidyll]

it's ok, i'm ok

(implied) simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader x johnny "soap" mactavish

cw | insecurities, depictions of facial scars (reader), mentions of being interrogated/tortured, open ended, may continue (?), etc.

sum | a mask protects you, and you're determined to keep it that way.

When you look in the mirror, you immediately feel a tinge of disgust. Your eyes racked over the scars that littered your face. There was one long nasty one, on the right side. It marred the skin terribly. It reached from the top of your eyebrow and down all the way to your chin and the scar was not straight at all. It was jagged, cut with haste. You could still feel the pain lingering there before your eyes lingered on the other scars. One was a horizontal line slashed across the middle of your nose, another perfectly symmetrical with your jawline on the left side of your face, and finally the last one. The one that was smaller than the others and cut across the left side of your temple.

The scars were given to you a year or two ago. You can’t exactly remember the date as the memories start to blur, but what happened to you was as clear as day. It was an interrogation, the squad you were apart of had been captured and slowly the enemy began cycling through every single one of you until you were the last. But you gave them nothing, even as they slashed your face up.

You could still feel your nails being pulled out, your nose being broken, your-

You shook your head and reached for your mask, the black fabric covered both your mouth and nose before you reached for your favorite baseball cap and fixed it over your head. It wasn’t a perfect covering, but it did its job. The job being to hide most if not all of your face from your comrades in arms. You learned all too well, that the men would much rather have a pretty face to look at then a scarred one (as you came to realize with the women in the squadron who … were not scarred as you were).

And as you got ready for the day and to head out to base, you wondered if you would find someone who wouldn’t care about your scarred appearance, but … you found it highly unlikely.

“L/n, meet taskforce 141, you’ll be joining them from here on out.”

The moment you get on base and being handed a new team assignment wasn’t on your bucket list, but you had no complaints. Your original team was already disbanding to begin with. Most of them retiring after they were rescued from being captured, but you decided to stay. If only to keep your mind occupied.

And even as you introduced yourself and met the tf 141 guys, you still had that ache in your heart. It wouldn’t be the same, but at least you will be doing something.

“So, L/n, do they call you anything else?”

Its when you are left alone with tf 141 to “better get to know them” when you finally come back to reality.

“I don’t have a nickname if that’s what your wondering.”

“Really,” asked the man with a mohawk, you already guessed he was the one called Soap, “they just call you l/n?”

You merely nodded, the words seeming to have left you. Which was another thing you noticed. A change that just didn’t sit right. You used to talk a lot, you always filled the silence, made things louder, brighter, happier almost. But now, you just meander with the silence in hopes that someone else starts talking so you don’t have to.

Soap merely grinned at you before reaching out and clapping you on the back, “well, then No Name, guess we’ll just have ta figure somethin out.”

At the mention of the words “No Name” you had a feeling that that was what your nickname was going to be. And as it turns out, you would be right.

“No Name! Come check this out!”

Fixing your baseball cap and adjusting your mask a bit, you trotted over to Soap, eyes seeming to bore into what he was looking at on his phone.

“Really?”

“What? Oh come on, you can’t possibly say this isn’t funny.”

You rolled your eyes, the action going unnoticed due to the bill of your cap, “whatever you say, Soap.”

And that was how the weeks followed. You trained silently with them. Soap being the only one who seemed to try and tear away at your walls, but nothing seemed to work as you were as silent if not even more silent than Ghost was.

Speaking of the man, he was probably the one you liked being around most.

He didn’t look at you when he talked, nor does he try to acknowledge you. Something that you found being grateful for. And when he did have to communicate something to you, his eyes never seemed to pry nor did his actions seem like he wanted to know more either. You found that you liked the little to no attention you got, and luckily when you are near the man no one else tries to get to you as well. And Soap? He tends to pay attention to his friend more too. Another thing you were grateful for.

Though, the brief simplicity you had gained and the happiness of blissful silence all seemed to come crashing down when a small group of women that shared the barracks with you stole both your mask and hat.

“So that’s what you look like…”

You were not amused when the women who you fought alongside with more than a couple of times started to crowd around you to get a good look at your face. It had caused your usual straight look to turn more down, the obvious hint of displeasure and anger clear on your features.

“Where’s my mask,” you managed to ask as you swatted a girl’s hand away.

One of them giggled, “we sort of hid it from you.”

You glowered, “where?”

You knew the question was fruitless as the girls scattered immediately the moment you started to get out of bed. And before you could make the move to look for both of the items, you chanced a look at the clock and almost let out a groan before holding in.

You had no time to waste on looking for either of your belongings, nor did you have any extras in your locker.

Today was going to be a shit day.

“What.”

The single word that left your mouth was more of a statement than a question as you stood next to Ghost and Soap, both who seemed to openly stare at you as the three of you waited for your Captain and Gaz to show up at the meeting point.

“It’s nothing,” Soap answered a bit too quickly for your liking, and when you shifted your gaze towards Ghost you immediately hated that fact that his eyes were directed right at your face. You instantly started to miss when he didn’t look at you at all.

“Girls in the barracks hid my mask is all,” the little information you relented was hopefully enough to get them to stop staring.

However, it wasn’t enough.

“Didn’t have a spare,” you managed again. But the stares they gave you was all you could feel, “know my face isn’t great to look at, once I get a new one or find my old mask, you won’t have to stare so damn much.”

And when Ghost finally talks to you, not at you or near you, like he really talks to you and sees you for the first time, your brain just short circuits.

“Why? You’re pretty to look at as you are now. Soap and I just don’t know how to act around a pretty lady.”

[black-lake]

astro observations 8

though most of us think we've learned everything about our own chart, yea we’ve seen it countless times, yet we're always learning new things because we go through experiences that activate and awaken certain parts we either forgot about or overlooked. I shared many of my personal experiences in this post of things I realized later or thought were insignificant.

——

🎻 People with capricorn placements tend to be remembered fondly after their death. The type of artists that listening to their music takes you to a different era and makes you feel nostalgic to a time period you never existed in. They also can easily bring old trends, styles or music genres back to life. Signs that are also remembered after death are aquarius and pisces. I always notice it with those last three signs or degrees of these signs.

🎻 It is said that the moon matures at 24°, so I got a degree observation with that. If you have it at 24° or close to it, 23° or 22°, you may feel like you've experienced the full spectrum of emotions and matured so much in your early 20s. In your childhood and teenage years, you may remember dealing with emotions immaturely, possibly acting out with the negative traits of the moon sign. At 24, you feel more aware and in control of your emotions, like you ended a cycle. Your emotional intelligence becomes evident. The emotional world of these natives is almost entirely internal. They do best when they can deal with their emotions in solitude. They're seen as detached no matter how open they get. They keep people guessing what they're feeling and they tend to have a wise aura.

🎻 With moon at degrees from 25° to 29°, natives may feel like they need to share their emotions with either someone close or the world in general, or even through a hobby they have. They may want to be vocal and expressive about how they feel. They tend to be relatable and make others feel heard through just expressing themselves and being open. They may also experience some heartbreaks, making them stronger, braver and and more willing to share how they feel. 

🎻 Moon at degrees from 0° to 21° tend to resonate very much with the sign of their moon degree. They might even be mistaken as having their moon in the the sign of that degree. They're seen as energetic and youthful. They often go through trials and errors in testing their emotional depth. They may have been adventurous growing up, experimenting with things and testing where they feel safest and most secure. They may cling into things, and can be codependent on others. They learn how to develop a sense of detachment as they reach their 20s.

^ if you have your moon at 0° to 21°, which I'm least familiar with cuz I don't meet many ppl with these degrees, please do tell me how it resonates with you and your experience with your moon.

🎻 I noticed that most iconic artists have significant uranus or neptune aspects in their chart, conjunction and oppositions with personal planets in particular. I associate these two planets with artistic abilities and talents. Both give visionary minds and expand the imagination. They are outer and generational planets, so whatever art these ppl create is impactful and undeniably timeless. 

🎻 Your first love or just the person you first felt really intimately connected to may have placements or degrees of the sign of your 8th house. I have an 8th house in capricorn and my first love had a cap sun and stellium and an aqua stellium. 

🎻 In my experience the 8th house is more important in relationships than the 7th. To me the 7th is about connections in general. Even though I have sag in the 7th and pluto right there, I obvs anticipated a significant relationship with a sag or something but it never happened lol. I end up having a casual and lighthearted connection with them, the traits they embody compliments my rising and it's an easy going connection that stays in the friend zone. Not with cap men, even if I want to be friends with them, there's tension that either drifts us apart fearing the friendship or it instantly develops to an intense relationship. It's because my 8th house is in capricorn, and my pluto and mars are both at 10°. So check the degrees too.

🎻 For the longest time I resonated with being way more plutonian than saturnian, because I don't have any capricorn placements or significant saturn aspects, but so many obvious plutonian aspects. But once saturn hit the highest point in my chart, conjuncting my mc, I realized how much this planet affected my life all along and I was oblivious. For instance, I have so many capricorn degrees and sun in the 10th. I was overlooking that I have capricorn in the 8th and 9th, which means saturn rules both houses, and it rules the 10th too since it's in aquarius plus at 22°. I also have a stellium in the 11th with saturn right at the cusp there, so it even influences the the house that is most active in my chart. Can't wait for saturn 11th transit 💀

🎻 Speaking of that, if you have sun in the 10th house, you probably try hard not to look or sound arrogant because people tend to think you're confident even if you're not. Whenever you speak people listen and others may hate on you for thinking you're better than them and you don't even know them lol. It's so hard to make friends with this but I don't hate it, because it gives me the strategic ways to be persuasive and get my way with authority figures. May apply to leo in the 10th or people with cap/leo mix (I bet y'all were called arrogant at least once lol).

🎻 As someone that is very influenced by pluto (square sun, trine venus, semi-sextile mars, conjunct chiron, opposite ascendant, quintile mc), I painfully understand how plutonians feel like their struggles are never rewarded, at least not the reward they anticipated. Yknow with saturn you go through hardship you learn this and that and you get tangible fucking results that you can fucking see. With pluto what is it again? your inner strength and eventual realization of "ta-daaa you went through it, you thought you couldn’t.. that's the reward". Plutonians out there waiting to be truly happy, truly loved, truly effing rich 💀 and get a damn break. 

🎻 Another aspect I overlooked was mars opposite saturn, just because I have it at 10°, but I experienced every single thing related to this aspect. I feel like I learned so much about it the hard way and I wanted to do a post sharing what I learned with people that got mars-saturn harsh aspects. If you have it, your flow of energy may be a little off, not knowing when to STOP doing a task and when to start again. Being stubborn with your work wanting it to be done instantly and perfectly like your body is some type of machine taking orders, but saturn will put obstacles in your way until you learn patience and contentment. Can be harder to deal with if mars is in a fixed or cardinal sign.

🎻 With mars-saturn harsh aspects, you may feel the urge to act on your martian qualities but if you disregard what saturn is there for, you'll find yourself back at square one. It's about listening to your body and not ignoring your physical and mental exhaustions. Taking short breaks and organizing your time instead of giving up all together in rage. You're not running out of time if you do so, in fact pushing through too hard is what's a waste of time. It's not a wise use of energy because your work won't be as efficient and your perfectionist ass will redo it. If there's an absence of a healthy work-life balance, these natives can internalize a tremendous amount of anger that can be detrimental to their health. 

🎻 I always laugh at capricorns saying that capricorn is a cursed sign because it's so true but also absolutely untrue at the same time. 💀 These natives need to understand certain life patterns, qualities and duties that once figured out unlocks so much success and tangible results that are long lasting. Cap placements especially sun and stelliums give me the sense that they inherited some of their ancestors qualities, if you believe in that, but they go through some hardships with the patterns that come with these qualities. They have a choice to cut the patterns that don't serve them, whether in behaviors or ways of thinking and utilise what they already have with persistence and strategy. 

🎻 Well it's march already, who's excited for a little pluto break? It's finally leaving capricorn and entering aquarius on the 23rd and I can't wait tbh. It's like a more intense uranus in aquarius transit, yes we will see a new sense of freedom, some drastic changes, and some said authentic people popping up, new sources of income, new values that aren't necessarily money related, systems that aren't as controlling, maybe new communities or apps on the internet that are annoyingly trendy. But with pluto we will see the shadow side of all of that, so buckle up and get ready lol. It's a gradual change tho I don't expect much to happen this year, but we can always be shocked. Also side thought, if your kids are gonna have pluto in aquarius they may be even brattier and harder to control than pluto sag gen. 

[rebelliousstories]

Fallout

Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard

Peachy

Lucy gets a front row seat to the strange happenings in the Wasteland.

Pretty as a Peach

There’s something odd about this girl that had started traveling with the duo. But it does give Lucy a peak behind the curtain on the Wasteland’s most notorious partners in crime.

Not On My Watch

(Request) There is something that can flip a switch in even the most trusting of men; jealousy. Now what switch that is all depends on the man.

Faces of Old, Faces of New

Holing up in some abandoned movie theater, Cooper is shocked to find one of his old films still in the projector.

My Father’s Daughter

(Request) When his buddy calls, Cooper has no clue the whirlwind he is in for.

Vaultie

(Request) If Cooper Howard had a nickel for every time he came across an escaped vault dweller looking to find her father and to change the world…

Not Like The Movies

(Request)How Cooper got landed with someone of her sunny disposition, he will never now. And it does not help that she knows his films.

Toxic as Rads

(Request)They had not been alright for a long time. They would breakup, and then make up. A vicious cycle with no foreseeable end.

Bounty

(Request)When a bounty comes in, Cooper is intent on cashing in. The caps they were offering were worth it. How in the hell does she stay ahead of him?

Ex Lover’s Lover

Cooper Howard gets introduced to a new up and coming actress after his divorce is finalized. What happens when Barb finds out that Janey has been spending time with the two of them?

My Baby Shot Me Down

After a stint on set, Cooper has to call into question whether or not being a relationship is beneficial for her.

Rock A Bye Baby

(Request) Two hundred years seems like a long time, but there is somethings that never change; no matter how much time had passed.

Old Wounds

She was supposed to be dead. He held her while she died in his arms. How is she here?

Out and About

(Request)When a kid suddenly pops up in the Wasteland, you treat that child like a bear cub; don’t even look at it until you’ve confirmed it’s alone.

Safe and Sound

(Request)This child was still so small, defenseless, and vulnerable. Although Cooper keeps trying to help her out on basic skills to survive the Wastelands.

Over and Under

A ghoul, a child, a vault-dweller, and a dog meet up, by chance, in the Wasteland…

Wear My Ring Around Your Neck

(Request)Wedding rings can be common and look like any other ring. Some are really extravagant and can be easily spotted out in a crowd. The same could be said for people; even years and years later.

Ain’t That A Pretty Sight

This is the story of how Cooper fell in love with his wife again, Janey gets excited, and Barb makes this about her.

Series:

Kiss Me You Animal

The Ghoul and The Freak meet by chance, and what follows is a whirlwind of a time together.

Norm MacLean

Speak Now

(Request)On what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, she can not help but feel Norm is hiding something.

What We Have Seen

(Request)When the plan to repopulate Vault 32 is set into motion, two people have to find a way to work around the set backs.

What Did You Say?

(Request)The whole reason they got married was with the goal of repopulation. That is why anyone in the Vaults gets married. Being married to Norm is a challenge all on its own.

Take My Breath Away

(Request) Finding out they were expecting was one thing. Actually being there through the pregnancy is another.

Maximus

First

(Request)When you finally get over one hurdle, there is another waiting for you.

Awkward Glances

(Request) He was an aspirant. She was a medic. Could I make it anymore obvious?

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 6

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = everyone but Ghost/reader

Words = 1.2k

[Chapter 5] --- [Chapter 7]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Explicit under the cut

“I did not listen to you Gaz and because of that, Duck, you got hurt.” Price sat on the floor looking genuine.

Gaz sighs before standing over Price and cupping his jaw with both his hands. With his thumb he opens Price’s jaw and spits in it “You are forgiven…You need to listen to me. I'm an omega and have a different perspective than you knotheads.”

Price remained in the kneeling position and looked up at Gaz with adoration and understanding. “I understand now, I am truly sorry for everything.” A soft smell filled the area causing you to sneeze.

“Laying it on thick aren’t ya Cap’” Soap teased gently, “Even the nose blind puppy can smell it..”

“I’m notta puppy!” Huffing you tilt your head to look up at Soap, “I’m 60!”

“Not even that old puppy” Soap teased “Guess how old we are..”

“Um I feel like this is a trick question..” thinking for a second “Price is 100, You are 30, Gaz is 32, and um Ghost is 80..?”

“Not even close puppy..” Price gave you a teasing look. “I’m 800ish, Soap is 67, Gaz is 600ish, and Ghost is 720ish years old..”

“Nu uh no wayyyyy” You look at the men flabbergasted.

“Don’t fret you're not the only puppy, Soap is too” Price gave you a smirk and Soap rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay you three..” Gaz sighed and turned around so he was looking at you “we need to sort out your heat.”

“Oh yeah...” You nod, still curled up In Soap’s lap feeling so safe and comfortable. “What does that look like, um, I kinda got the gist? I just get really horny right?”

“More or less,” Gaz started to pace as he started explaining “It comes in waves, so first you’ll get really hungry, thirsty, clingy, very sleepy and in that stage you’ll put on some weight which isn't a bad thing. Then you’ll want to nest and then you'll sleep. You could get really horny or you could just be very clingy and sleepy.” Pausing in front of you and Soap Gaz gave you a soft look “It’s different for everyone duck…”

“Oh alright…when will that happen?”

“Once your cycle figures itself out then it’ll be twice a year.” Gaz sat back down on the couch sighing. “They rut 6 times a year, which can be rough at times…”

“Duck,” Price looked at you gently, standing up he ruffled Soap’s already messy mohawk. “We will help out since it’s dangerous to go through a heat alone…and please understand we will go at your pace.” 

Kissing your temple Soap huffed as Price ruffled his hair. “However,” Soap started “before heat starts and before it gets to yer’ brain we need to ken if we can help you sexually if needed..”

“I can’t do one night stands” You look at the three men quietly “I get too attached, but if you guys are gonna stay then I wouldn’t mind...”

“Duck, you aren’t getting rid of us unless you want us gone…” Gaz smiled, leaning over to lick your jaw.

“Gaz! You licked me!” You cringe a bit, unused to the custom.

Soap joined in, licking your neck. “Best get used to it, duck!”

“You're supposed to kiss on the lips.” You grumble half heartedly.

“Okay, okay duck come here.” Gaz pulled you into his arms smiling “Can I give ya a kiss?”

Nodding as Gaz pulls you into a gentle and chaste kiss. If felt like molton love pressing onto your lips. As Gaz pulls away you chase his lips. You sigh happily.

“That's what you are supposed to do..”

“Oh yeah?” Soap looked at you mischievously. “Like this?”

Soap pressed his lips to your mouth, he was an amazing kisser. He felt much more wild with his kiss. Soap then licked a stripe up your cheek. You push him off playfully. “Was that good duckie?”

“Alright you pups, lettem’ go.” Price gently scruffles the two men, looking at them with fond exasperation. “Gaz, If you are alright with it, in the next hour or so could you go talk to Simon? Me and Soap will keep an eye on duck, maybe take them into town to get them some nesting supplies…?”

Gaz nodded, looking a bit frustrated. “Simon needs to pull his head out of his ass..”

“Is Simon, Ghost?” You ask, looking between the men confused.

Leaning close to your ear, Soap’s breath fanned over your neck making you squirm a bit from the sensitivity “yup..” then he licked your neck again causing you to squeal.

“Soap!” 

Pulling you both apart Gaz kissed the cheeks of you and Soap before pulling away to kiss Price on the cheek. “I’ll be back, I gotta knock some sense into that big wanker.” Gaz then left out the sliding glass door running back into the forest.

Soap took the distraction to flip you both so he was laying on top of you on the couch. He buried his face in the crook of your neck “You smell so good duckie..” sighing he melted against you “could do for a kip”

You and Soap laid comfortably on the couch for about 45 minutes before Price loomed over you both.

“Soap” Price rumbled, gently running his hands down both of your backs. “We need to get some things for their heat, and for duck’s den…”

Soap made a grumpy noise, wrapping his arms around you. “ah ken but-”

“Soa-”

“You could nap in my bed while me and Price go out?”

“But it wouldnae be warmmmmm.” Pouting, Soap made a sad noise as he snuggled against you more.

“I have a heated blanket?”

“A what?” Sitting up, Soap manhandled you into his lap again. He looked incredibly intrigued. 

A spark of arousal lit through and before shaking it off you hum “It’s an electric blanket that has settings and stays fairly warm..” You look at Soap kindly “It used to help a bit when I had the implant in my arm..”

“Ooo” rubbing his eyes, Soap looked interested. “Would be nice..I’m always cold..”

Climbing out of his lap, you stand ready to get Soap into bed.

“You can do that or you can come help get some good treats for duck..” Price murmured slyly. “If not I’m sure me and duck can find 'em well enough, yeah?”

A conflicted look decorated Soap’s face, he did look exhausted and like he needed a nap but he really wanted to help.

Picking up on Soap’s exhaustion “Me and duck’ll wait on groceries so you can nap okay?” Price looked at Soap softly. In a fluid moment Price picked Soap up and brought him up to your room with you trailing close behind.

As soon as he was set on the bed and covered up with the blanket Soap was dead to the world, softly snoring as he fell asleep on his side.

“Alright duck, get dressed.” Patting your shoulder, Price walked down stairs. 

You bush, remembering you were only wearing a thin robe. Quickly and quietly you toss on some comfy clothes and walk down stairs. Price was sitting at your kitchen table scrolling on his phone.

“Ready, duck?” 

“”Yessir” 

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 41

I love the snowman on the title image. It has living mushroom feet for eyes, a mandrake for a nose, a pearl centipede mouth, and treasure insects for buttons. The scarf is a snakeskin.

I'll just call her Izutsumi for this post since she tells us that's her name at the end of the chapter.

Was Marcille's "Not this again..." thought referring to when Shuro's party caught them, how they've been captured by other parties several times, or how Marcille has been grabbed more often than the others?

Izutsumi has really long nails.

And yeah, her race reveal is a big deal. It's not an established one though. Izutsumi is a cat beastman. Chilchuck said she's an engineered one, which implies the existence of natural beastmen.

Kuro probably acted the way he did at the end of chapter 32 because he sensed the black magic that was used to make Izutsumi. He made the same face when Falin appeared as well.

The detail on Izutsumi's hands implies she has fur on her hands and fingers.

The only other chapter where Izutsumi's hands are drawn with any detail was that panel I brought up in chapter 37, and that panel only shows her thumb. I looked at it again and noticed two new details. First, the general outline of her hand in that chapter didn't have the smoothness that other people's hands have. Second, Kabru was standing behind her and his gaze was on her hand. He probably figured out she's a beastman.

If Marcille was bolder, she could turn this entire hostage situation on its head. Izutsumi needs Marcille to do something for her, but the party doesn't need anything from her. If Marcille were bold, the next time Izutsumi threatened to kill her, Marcille could just say "If you kill me, no one will be able to break the spell on you and the others will kill you."

Even before her picky-eating habit is explicitly stated, there's a small hint when Chilchuck gives her their supply bag and the one thing she chooses to eat is the ration pellet, aka the only food item she would be familiar with.

Secret monster info lore dropped. Walking mushrooms initially grow like normal mushrooms but then grow legs.

I'm probably wrong about this but I think the parts of the mushroom that grows above-ground are the reproductive parts of the fungus. If so, then maybe walking mushrooms proliferate by spawning the caps and simply letting them run off somewhere. Then the offspring plant themselves in a good spot, spread their mycelia, and repeat the cycle.

It's not just the spoon she doesn't hold properly. Izutsumi also stuck her thumb in the bowl.

She licked the bowl like a cat!

I have never feared for a fictional character's life more than in this moment.

In her defense, depending on how that cat soul is integrated into her body, Izutsumi might not be able to eat mushrooms like a regular human could. Cats are obligate carnivores so they have to eat meat to get any nurtrition.

Senshi is about to take this child up on his knee and give her a spanking.

So if Maizuru can't touch the collar on Izutsumi's neck periodically, it summons a hag who attempts to kill her. And did Shuro abandon her knowing this would happen?

I just noticed Marcille and Senshi have been wearing little bags around their feet since chapter 39. They normally wear sandals.

It looks like they're made from pieces of the frog skin used to make Chilchuck's outfit from chapter 21. Maybe they're stuffed with harpy feather or some type of animal fur? After this is over, they could try tanning some of the shapeshifter's fur to make them more insulated.

We don't see it properly, but Senshi knocked Marcille to the ground as well when he tackled Izutsumi. She got knocked out during the whole fight with the hag.

Senshi and Laios were amazingly competent dealing with that hag. Senshi was acting as if it was a minor annoyance to get rid of. Meanwhile, Laios figured out immediately how to destroy it when he realized it was made of paper.

Quick guess: Hags are an eastern variant of golem. Marcille mentioned the spell that summoned it was a repurposed gnome spell, and golems seem to be a gnome creation based on MMT2. So maybe the hag uses the same general magic formula to make an automata out of a certain material, but it conjures the material and controls it remotely when activated rather than needing to be inserted into it first.

Izutsumi is making the face of a cat that has decided you are trustworthy.

Marcille is trying to remove the stigma against black magic by calling it ancient magic instead, but she nearly slipped up for a moment. After what happened to Falin, maybe she's starting to think that black magic really should be forbidden.

Everyone thinks it's Marcille's fault Falin turned into a monster. No one was around when the magician transformed her.

She's so cute in this panel.

Why is Laios blushing while talking to Izutsumi? Is he excited to have finally met his monster waifu?

Izutsumi really didn't plan ahead here. As Chilchuck pointed out, she can't get back to the surface on her own. She deserted from Shuro's team so she could force Marcille to remove her beast soul, and that was as far as she thought. And now she has to travel with them because she has no other option. She's going to find out really quickly that the Touden party is not stuck with her, she's stuck with them.

It's a start, but Izutsumi is at least holding her spoon properly at the end of the chapter.

Izutsumi was a character in the Chapter 0 oneshot. Her interactions with the party made it clear that she had joined them at a later point in their adventure and wasn't aware that they ate monsters.

The party was on a journey to save Falin, but the end goal of the oneshot was to fight the red dragon. With some light tweaking, chapter 0 could easily be a miscellaneous story after this point.

I definitely feel like Ryoko Kui had the whole story planned from the start. She might have wanted to add Izutsumi sooner but held off until after Falin's transformation to establish human-monster chimeras before introducing a cat-girl ninja.

Izutsumi is definitely going to add a new dynamic to the party. Kind of like how Shuro represents the dangers of not taking time to eat and sleep, I feel like Izutsumi is going to represent the importance of eating a balanced diet, eating your food properly, and not letting yourself be picky about food.

SENSHI FLASH!!

back

[bicycleboothsblog]

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[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

Fun fact: In 1929, Congress decided to cap the number of members of the House of Representatives. At the time (and, indeed, today) people living in urban areas tend to vote more liberal, while people living in rural areas tend to vote more conservative. So in 1929, conservative politicians were afraid that America’s increasing urbanization would tip the federal government in a more liberal direction. So the cap in the House meant that urban areas receive less representation in proportion to their populations. If this cap was never put in place, the House would have more than 1,000 members today. [x]

As we’ve just ended one election cycle and are bracing ourselves for the 2026 midterms, this is something to keep in mind. Conservatives have been playing the long game for generations, slowly chipping away at our democracy every chance they’ve gotten. And they’ve been banking on apathetic citizens that don’t hold them to account or pay attention to what they’re doing.

And now, with Trump’s win and the (likely) Republican trifecta, we are living with the results of this conservative power consolidation and liberal apathy.

If you’re unhappy with the way this election turned out. If you’re unhappy with the way our government has been going in general, then ACT. Politicians feed off our apathy. They want us to not be paying attention so that they can continue to act in their own self-interest.

Over the past week, I’ve been seeing a lot of finger pointing going on. But guess what, we’re all to blame for this. Donald Trump and his cronies are a symptom of a system that has been cracking for decades and every single one of us let it happen.

But that also means that we can fix it.

This is not a time for playing the blame game. Or simply sitting back and accepting our fate. If we don’t like our system, then let’s change it.

Just a reminder that the constitution was written by a group of middle-aged heterosexual cisgender able-bodied elite white men. And they were writing it for other middle-aged heterosexual cisgender able-bodied elite white men.

We get so stuck in this idea that the way things are today are the way they’ve always been and should always stay. Why? 300 years ago the modern United States didn’t exist. 200 years ago our economy ran on slavery. 5 years ago women had more reproductive rights. Things change all the time. Bad change happens because bad actors take action while good actors take a nap. So if we want good change, we need to wake up.

At this point it’s kind of become a cliche but I’m gonna say it anyway: be the change you want to see in the world

[anmolsmsblog]

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[bountycancelled]

monster trio + sensitive/angry reader who's pmsing

opla x reader

requested: yes, but reqs are closed right now<3

genre: headcanons, no pronouns used, no use of y/n, reader has periods but gender isn't specified.

a/n: not taking reqs for now since I'm writing my finals and also working on an smau. but I am taking commissions if anyone is interested, totally not a must at all♡ unedited, no caps on purpose, its also a little short, but I hope you enjoy it!

☆luffy☆

–1000/10. brushes off your sour mood with a cheery smile and nothing floating around in his eyes.

if you were hoping that he would act a little more... sensibly during this less bearable part of your cycle, then you're dead wrong. boy is completely clueless.

everytime you lash out at him or otherwise act way more emotionally than you usually do, he genuinely doesn't think anything of it.

if you explain to him that your hormones are the reason for your behaviour, he'll just shrug and carry on as usual.

he doesn't necessarily understand how your body works, but he'll do anything you ask if it means making this time for you better to manage.

cuddling with you when you're in pain, comforting you when you get overly emotionally or giving you space. (this one's really hard for him, not because he can't be away from you, he just keeps forgetting and walking into the room your in to talk to you)

overall, this brown-eyed, straw hat wearing pirate may not be a pms expert, but he'll sure as he'll try his best for you. (no sharing food though, so don't ask.)

☆zoro☆

extremely perceptive, so he notices something is off about you, but shares that same lack of knowledge that luffy has.

he's also not the most emotional or confrontational person, if you want to talk about whatevers bothering you, then you know where to find him. he's not going to actively seek out answers.

he can take you attitude and mood swings like a champ too, so it's only when he overhears you chatting with nami about your period pain kicking your ass that he puts 2 and 2 together.

again, he's not exactly sure how to help you, this isn't a problem he can solve with his swords. so, he offers you the next best thing in his opinion, sleep. and lots of it.

if you're sad, he'll let you cuddle him until you eventually pass out (he's as stiff as a cardboard box when you're wrapped around him, but he's trying, okay?) if you're angry, he'll train with you until you can't get a word out, let alone think pissy thoughts, and you'll both nap on the closest comfy surface.

he always falls asleep before you tbh, buuuuuut. he always wakes up before you, still as he can be, making sure that you don't stir in your sleep, seeing as it's one of your only respites to the highs and lows of highschool footba– I mean, of your hormones. its not much, but he hopes that his presence serves as a comfort to you.

☆sanji☆

out of the three, he's the most likely to be hurt by your change in behaviour.

knowing sanji, he probably thinks that he's done something to encite your sudden moods and he'll seek you our immediately to apologise for whatever he's done that's made you act like this.

when you explain to him the actual situation, he calms down for a split second because now he knows he hasn't done anything to upset you, and then immediately goes into caring partner mode.

although he prides himself on knowing women better than most men, he's a bit clueless in this regard. but, if there's one thing he truly does know the ins and out of, it's you. your likes, dislikes, dreams, pet peeves, he'll pull out all the stops, each and every single action of his that you've ever talked about in a positive manner, he'll do.

I'm talking cuddles, compliments, cooking meals for you odd hours of the night when you're craving something specific, he'll do it all, if it means making this a little easier for you to deal with.

and though it pains him deeply to be away from you for any reason, he's grateful that you distance yourself whenever you're a bit snappy. he's sensitive by nature, and he'll come sprinting to you once you've cooled off a bit, ready to smother you with love once again.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

OK OK BUT JOY, the prompt: “If you die, I die. Don’t you get that!” Between Irondad?! Either way! ASDGHJKL ANGST

AHHHH!!! Mini-fic time?? Yes. Yes, Mini-fic time.

Here it is, at 997 words. A lot of action, leading to a short panic-induced argument... and a hug. Because of course, there is a hug. :D Enjoy!! [click here for a reversed use of this prompt]

If You Died...

Peter hadn’t meant to get in over his head. It was just- he needed to keep his neighborhood safe, and he had powers. It wasn’t like he could see a problem and just walk away. But he had been careful. He’d used his tools and his abilities to access the situation. He’d asked his AI to run facial recognition on everyone involved and had cross-referenced their information through several databases; just to make sure he knew what he was up against. 

Three regular guys, selling regular drugs inside a regular empty warehouse. That was it. Nothing about it had been alarming or ominous. So, taking them out should have been easy. And technically it was. It was the swarm of armed individuals that had flooded in after that had been the problem. He had that too for a while. Then the big guys came in. Three of them, with large shoulders and enhanced strength that matched his own. He was having a difficult time dividing his attention between the projectiles and the hands being aimed at his face. 

“Karen?” He dodged, while shooting webs that never seemed to hit their mark. When they did, they never held for long. The big guys  busted right out of them. “A little back up would be nice.”

“Of course, Peter. Contacting Mr. Stark.”

Peter ducked and slid beneath one of the large men’s legs. “Wait! Isn’t- Is Captain America available?” He spun around, sending his foot into the guy's knee cap. The impact made no difference; like a child kicking a fencepost. “Maybe Black Widow? Hawkeye?”

There was no debate. “Mr. Stark is already in route.” Three dots appeared on his HUD along with an ETA. 

Peter wanted to fret over his mentor's imminent arrival but there wasn’t time. Whenever he thought he had one of the men restrained, they broke free and he had to start over again. One down, two to go. Two down, one- no, still two to go. It was a vicious cycle.

Ten minutes later a blast came from the right. A hole appeared in the wall and Iron Man, gauntlets ablaze, flew through it. Peter looked up. The momentary distraction allowed enough time for a football sized fists to make contact with his stomach. He flew backwards, through a spray of ammunition, and landed in the wall. 

The comms crackled to life. Peter wished they hadn't. Pain was already radiating from the back of his skull down and down his spine. When Mr. Stark shouted his name, his ears began to ring. Dazedly, he looked up. Mr. Stark was swooping around the room. Metal clanked and repulsors whirred. Peter struggled to get to his feet to help. Mr. Stark’s voice was back in his ears.

“Stay down, Spider-Man! You’re done!”

Peter blinked. He took stock of his body. The blow had hurt, but he had enhanced strength and a healing factor. He shook out his limbs and demeaned himself well enough to continue. “I’m good. Just a little-” 

He didn’t get to finish. Mr. Stark flew by, lifted his faceplate and scowled. “I said you’re done!”

The tone gave Peter pause. Reluctantly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “I’m really okay,” he whispered, despite his throbbing head.

“And I’m really not discussing this will you,” Mr. Stark quipped. “I’m just about done here. You stay put. Capice?”

Peter nodded and looked around. Most of the little guys had fled. And only one of the larger men remained standing. Clearly his webbing needed an upgrade. Maybe taser webs with a manual detonation. A range of fifty to ninety thousand volts would probably do it. Could the suit handle that without increasing the power? He was unable to finish the math before Mr. Stark was in front of him.

“Let’s go.”

Peter allowed himself to be lifted to the top of a nearby water tower. He pulled his mask off and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Mr. Stark, I-”

“Do you have any idea who those people are, what they’re capable of?” Mr. Stark gestured wildly toward the warehouse.

Peter shifted his feet. “I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t know? Of course you didn’t. Did you even stop to ask?” Mr. Stark wrapped his fingers tightly around his wrist. “There were two dozen lacheys and three giant bruises in there! What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t- it was three normal guys when I started!” he half-shouted. It wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Stark didn’t look keen to listen. “The others just- showed up!”

Mr. Stark took a step forward. “You could have died in there, Peter!”

“I wasn’t going to die!” he defensively shouted. “I have super-powers and I did call for back-up!”

“Your AI said you had been going at it for over an hour before you called! Peter-” Mr. Stark looked frantic with his hands running through his hair.  “Peter, I don’t know how to explain this to you any more clearly. I-” His face dropped, all blood draining from his face. “What if you had died? Then what?”

 Frustrated, Peter gritted his teeth. “It’s on you.”

Mr. Stark blinked. “No. No, bud. That’s not- geez.” he pinched the bridge of his nose, his breaths increasing as he spoke. “Pete. If you die, I die! Do you get that? If you die- I will never recover. I will-”

Peter’s brows furrowed with realization. Mr. Stark was having a panic attack. “Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark’s head shot up, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Peter stepped closer, his hand going to the back of his hair.  “My head hurts but that’s it..”

Without warning, he was pulled into a tight hug.

“Just- promise me you won’t wait so long to call for help next time. Because- Peter? Peter, I can’t lose you.”

Eyes closed tight, Peter nestled his face into Mr. Stark's chest. “I promise, Mr. Stark. You won’t lose me.”

[atzjieun]

awkward silence

summary | jieun meets a familiar face when visiting her friends

circa | november 2021

contains | 1.5k words, fluff, 2ji are awkward as hell😭

notes | the story of how jisung asked for her number! 

Admittedly, Jieun didn’t like being back in the JYP building. 

She’d been so excited when her manager announced that she was to do a collab with Chaeryeong. Her first few practices had been on her own as she learned the choreo, but now that she was familiar with it, practices had been shifted to be joint so they could work on specific spacing together. 

Although she loved being able to spend time with her friend again, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to go back to her old company. The very walls of the practice room brought her back to her trainee days, a time riddled with constant stress and fears about her future. It was a constant reminder of how things used to be, the cycle of doubt in her own choices. While years later, she could look back and be proud of how far she’d come since then, her skin still crawled with unease just from being inside. 

“Jieunie, the instructor said we can take a break for a bit!” Chaeryeong said excitedly as she walked back into the room. Jieun, who had been laying on the ground, grinned as she rolled over and pushed herself closer to the center of the room. Chaeryeong took a seat beside her, handing the girl a water bottle.

“Thank god, I couldn’t dance another step even if I tried,” she joked, gratefully taking it and unscrewing the cap. 

“I think she was extra mean today because you raised her expectations. I mean, you are ATEEZ’s main dancer,” Chaeryeong teased. “Really, I want to know though. What is it like having to live with 8 men?” 

Jieun giggled at the emphasis on men, the word laced with the slightest hint of disgust. “Honestly, it’s not as bad as you’d think. It’s like when I was living at home with Jihoon-oppa, except my members can actually cook.” 

“Sounds nice,” Chaeryeong said, a slight wistful tone in her voice. “Still, it would’ve been fun if we could’ve debuted together.” 

“Maybe in another universe I’m a member of Itzy.” Jieun smiled softly. “But I’m happy as I am now. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” 

Chaeryeong nodded before slumping down to the ground and dramatically laying out her arms. “Ah, the cold floor is so nice. I don’t want to dance anymore.” She raised her head, looking over. “You said your manager’s going to bring food, right?” 

Jieun grinned, nodding. “She said she’d be back a bit before we’re supposed to finish.” She glanced at the clock, letting out a quiet sigh. “So…in an hour.” 

Chaeryeong let out a dramatic groan as she rolled over, now faced down on the ground. “I want chicken.” 

“Me too.” With a heave, Jieun pulled herself to her feet, shaking out the pins and needles in her legs. “I’ll be back, I’m just going to the bathroom.” 

“You still remember where it is?” Chaeryeong asked from where she laid. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

Jieun made her way out of the practice room, closing the door behind her as she stepped out into the hallway. The light above her flickered, a slight buzzing noise filling the air. Yup. That checked out. 

The hallways were eerily quiet as she walked through the building, save for the muffled music leaking out of a couple practice rooms that she passed. As she rounded a corner, Jieun found her path suddenly blocked by another figure, causing her to flinch. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry-” She looked up, eyes widening as she made eye contact with the person in front of her. “Jisung?” 

The boy took a step back out of surprise, eyebrows raised when he caught sight of her. “Jieun? What are you doing here?” Panic immediately took over his expression as he began to backtrack. “I mean- not that you’re not welcome here. You were a trainee before me after all, and it’s not like you’re banned or anything-” Noticing the smile on her face, Jisung immediately shut his mouth, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“It’s ok,” she said with a small nod. “I was just practicing with Chaeryeong for our collab stage.” 

“Oh! Nice, that’s cool. I was working on some music with Channie-hyung and Changbin-hyung.” 

The two stood in place for a couple seconds, the silence between them growing more uncomfortable as time went on. Jisung glanced off into the distance while Jieun stared at the ground, shifting her feet. 

“I was just wondering-” 

“Sorry, I’m just-” 

They both cut off, laughing awkwardly.  

“Sorry, you go first,” Jieun said.

“No, it’s ok. You first.” He shook his head. “What were you wondering?” 

Jieun swallowed, raising her head slightly though still not meeting his gaze. “You help produce all of Stray Kids’ music, right?” 

Although slightly taken aback by the question, Jisung nodded. “Yeah, some of the members help too but it’s mostly me, Channie-hyung and Changbin-hyung. We were a trio called 3racha before we debuted.” 

“I like the pun,” she said, earning a smile from the boy. 

“You do some songwriting for ATEEZ too, don’t you?”

She nodded. “A bit. I usually give feedback for my own parts, but our producers make the final decisions. Hongjoong-oppa and Mingi-oppa are a lot more involved than I am.” 

“Didn’t you write and produce Eternal Sunshine though?” Upon seeing her shocked expression, Jisung let out a single nervous laugh. “It’s a really good song. I think it should’ve won the title track vote, personally.”  

Jieun stared at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. She broke out of her trance after a couple seconds, blinking as she shook her head. 

“Ah, thank you.” She smiled shyly. “I don’t have my own studio space, so it was just something I made on my laptop a long time ago. It would’ve never actually seen the light of day if Yeosang-oppa didn’t convince me to show it to our producers.” 

“I just recently got my own studio space!” Jisung said enthusiastically. “I hope you can get your own studio soon. It really does make a difference at times.”

Jieun nodded wistfully.  “Sounds nice.”

The boy frowned, his mouth straightening into a tight line as though he was trying to think of what to say next.  

“If you wanted…I could show you sometime?” 

Jieun’s eyes widened as she stared at him with a flustered expression. He opened his mouth, about to backtrack, though she spoke up before he had a chance. 

“Sure, if it’s ok.” The corners of her lips tilted upward as she looked up at the boy, meeting his gaze. 

“Oh, great, uh- I can give you my number-” he swallowed, letting out a small chuckle. “You know, so we can arrange the… tour.” 

Jieun reached into her pocket to grab her phone, quickly noticing its absence.

“Shoot, I think I left my phone back in the practice room.” 

“That’s ok!” Jisung pulled out his own phone. He looked down at it for a couple seconds before glancing toward the girl and holding it out to her.

Hesitantly, she took the phone from his hand, inputting her phone number. Jisung gave a short nod as she handed his phone back, quickly saving the contact before putting it back in his pocket. 

“Sorry, I think I should go now,” Jieun said, smiling sheepishly. “I was on my way to the bathroom and Chaeryeong’s probably wondering where I am.”  

“Oh! Sorry, yeah.” The boy immediately stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. “It was nice seeing you again, Jieun. I’ll message you later so you know it’s me.” 

“It was nice seeing you too!” Jieun gave a short bow before moving past him to continue on her way. 

Though as Jieun walked down the hallway, she felt a pair of eyes on her back. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Jisung standing in the same place he’d been, though only for a second, as the boy immediately turned and started walking away when she looked back. She smiled, heat rising to her cheeks as she continued on her way. 

“What took you so long?” Chaeryeong asked the moment she walked into the practice room. 

“Sorry, turns out I don’t remember this place as well as I thought I did.” Jieun laughed awkwardly. “Hey, have you seen my phone?” 

Chaeryeong nodded as she walked over to the desk where Jieun’s phone had been sitting since the start of practice. As she grabbed it, the screen suddenly lit up with a new notification that Chaeryeong immediately noticed. A smirk spread across the girl’s face as she handed extended her arm out to Jieun.

“Why’s Jisung-oppa texting you?” she asked innocently, blinking over at the girl. Jieun took the phone out of her hand, turning away as blood rushed to her face.

“I saw him in the hallway,” she answered, looking down at the notification. 

Unknown Number: Hi!  Unknown Number: It’s me Unknown Number: Jisung Unknown Number: 🙂

“Oh my god. Song Jieun, are you blushing?” 

“No!” Jieun turned around, walking over to where her bag laid and quickly stuffing her phone inside. “We should get back to practice now. Minju-unnie will be back soon with food.” 

With a knowing look, Chaeryeong gave a single nod as she went to start the music. Jieun stared at herself in the mirror, fighting the smile that threatened to spread across her face as she reminded herself to respond to the message when practice was over. 

taglist: @teezingsiyeon @moonkyeom

[telekinetictrait]

When Miss Bellatrix Bachelor became Lady Bellatrix Goth, no one could have predicted just how good of a match her and Sir Mortimer Goth would be. Perhaps it's their shared oddities, their creative fervor, or simply their childhood friendship... but Willow Creek's lady and baronet are the most devoted the parish has ever seen.

cc links and creator tags under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics!! and my #genetics tag

everyday/house 1: happylifesims' piteous outfit / retro-pixels' the author dress

everyday/house 2: chere-indolente's velvet suit jacket, breeches, shoes / linzlu's calico dress

going out 1: vintagesimstress' 1896 sack suit / simverse's mistress mysterium hat + simsfromthepast's 1890s walking ensemble

going out 2: pandorasimsbox' azariah sacksuit / plumbobteasociety's fancy fascinator hat + vintagesimstress' 1895 silk walking dress

formal: linzlu's timely overcoat / sentate's elphaba dress

athletic: ameyasims' georgetown sweater + thesimsblues' brindleton breeches / vintagesimstress' 1897 cycling hat + gilded-ghosts' victorian visions walking suit

undergarments: historicalsimslife's mens underwear / dzifasims' bespoke corset + simsverse's rococo nightie skirt + dancemachinetrait's embroidered stockings

sleepwear: historicalsimslife's mens nightshirt / notsooldmadcatlady's victorian nightgown 1 + dancemachinetrait's stockings

morning: vintagesimstress' 1898 morning robe / notsooldmadcatlady's victorian robe 2

swimwear: ameyasims' lehgaming swimwear recolor / linzlu's colonial cap + vintagesimstress' 1884 swimsuit + eirflower's bain de soliel swim shoes

party: lunenore's mysterious lord coat / cazmari-mods' charity hair + linzlu's 1880s dress (i dont remember which, im sorry!)

summer: chere-indolente's suit jacket, cravat, and breeches / lilis-palace's summer hat + gilded-ghost's jacket jubilee and perfectly plain skirt + kedluu's ankle boots

winter: chere-indolente's quilted jacket / lilis-palace's winter hat + mlys' pufferhead scarf + historicalsimslife's luxuriant ladys outerwear

...and i know i used some of adèle's flower accessories and some of @batsfromwesteros jewlery, but for the life of me i can't remember which!!!!

thank you to @happylifesimsreblogs @gilded-ghosts @linzlu @chere-indolente @vintagesimstress @simsfromthepast @simverses @pandorasimbox @plumbobteasociety @sentate @ameyasims @thesimsblues @dzifasims @dancemachinetrait @historicalsimslife @notsooldmadcatlady @eirflower @lunenore @cazmari-mods @lilis-palace @kedluu and @mlyssimblr !!!!!

[nightfallsolace]

Our Little Secret// Hanma Shuji x Reader  || Chapter 2

in which (Y/n) Ryuguji Draken’s little sister, has a hidden affair with one of their enemies, Hanma Shuji.

The music was blasting trough your headphones, you knew if someone walked into your room they would hear the raging music all the way from the door frame. You didnt want to lower the volume, it was perfectly fine. Yes sure there was a risk that you could potentially go deaf but thats only pontential, it wont come true anytime soon. Yet despite not wanting to lower the volume you had to anyways, after all your older brother could knock at the door at any given moment and tough the sound would be lowered by the sensual moans in the room beside you, there was still thatslight chance and you didnt want to worry your dear brother.

While you were turning down the volume a notification popped up on the top of the screen, the contact read "Wanna be Annabelle" and you groaned not wanting to deal with that Wednesday Addams rip-off

"Hey (n/n) wanna go and hangout? "

You scoffed at his audacity, seriously? In broad daylight he'd invite you to fight when he knows youd rather jump off a cliff now than let yourself be known, it'd ruin the years of eefort of concealing the fact you werent just some clumsy little girl hiding behind his big strong brother's back. The three dots appeard on the bottom left of the screen as another message popped up

"i know youve read my message :)"

As much as you wanted to leave the man on read you couldn't because he knew who you really were and any day now he could tell your dear old precious older brother, and he wouldnt actually belive a word rannabelle would say he would still give the benefit of doubt, Ken-chin's a brute but hes not stupid.

"and by hang out you mean go and dislodge some joints? why should I accept your invite? What even will i get from this?"

Sent.

"dont be mad princess you know i wouldn't invite you for a friendly beat up session with no proper excuse"

There was a pause  before the phone rang the iconic "ding"

"The group's harassed alot girls in the area bannering around their petty little title and evn used me and Rin-rin's name, CAN YOU BELIVE IT? THE AUDACITY THOSE ASSHOLES HAVE--

Anyways im sure youd love to beat them up due to their background, and to top it all off,  they've been collecting money from old ladies off the street"

Your face contoured in disgust and anger, they even targeted GRANNIES?? DO THESE MEN HAVE NO HEART??

"fine, but when i get there i better have a (favorite drink) and starberry shortcake with the extra jam and cream or im shoving your batton up your ass.

Meet me at our usual cafe. "

Sent.

Read.

" ah yes, there's the woman with anger issues ive grown to love"

You scoffed with disbelief

"atleast I havent been charged with murder."

You didnt wait for a reply and got up to get ready, throwing on some cloud spun stockings and a a pretty pink skirt, putting on a cycling for extra measure to make sure no would could peek. You quickly did your eyeliner and applied a heavy coating of strawberry lip balm cause your lips were dry as hell and it was starting to hurt.

You threw on the sweater your brother had given you a few months back as a congratulations present for being the top student in your class, it was a nice shade of pastel yellow and had a few blue and pink accents here and there. You grabbed one of your wigs and a cap gently placing it in your bag.

You sent a text your older brother saying you'll be going to Roppongi and will be back before midnight and got a "ok, stay safe, message me when you get there." as a reply.aWith that done you walked you way to the nearest train station greeting a few classmates along the way. You made pyour way to the counter to purchase a ticket and wait for a solid 5 minutes before the train to Roppongi was called, the train was pretty croweded considering it was the weekends and there was a new shopping mall that just oppened in the area.  It was suprisingly quick considering the travel time was normay longer and slower, you got off the train not before helping an old lady get to the platform.

You walked trough the busy streets of Roppongi passing several small stalls and a few several malls, the streets were busy and loud, music blasting from each store front the boisterous music competing in volume trying its best to attarct the most customers, even in the day this place is always so loud and livey. You stopped at a cafe in the near outskirts of the main city, it was less loud and had more of a calm feel to it, youd prefer this place than the city anyday. As you got closer to the cafe you spotted a man with long black hair with bleached accents stiiting under one of the purple parasols shading the tables and chairs outside the cafe, instead of his normal pigtails, his hair was held up in an elegant bun and wore a fold framed non-perscription glasses. You called out to the man and he shot a look your way

"Ah there you ar-"

"my food?"

"yeah yeah here" the man handed you a bag of (f/d) and strawberry shortcake with extra jam and cream

"good" you opened the bag to inspect the contects to see if it actually had extra cream and jam, and once you finished you smiled satisfied. "thank you"

His face showed pure "genuine" shock "You?! Thanking me?! Oh my i must be dreaming, have you had a change of heart? Oh ive been blessed!" he dramatically put his hand on his mouth and prentented to faint "someone catch me this is to overwhelming!" he fell backwards and you had to catch him despite your raging urge to let him fall. "get up Ran you're heavy" you push him upwards to help him stand up and he stood with a huff and brushed himself off even tough he didnt even fall.

"where's Rin? You said looking around "I tought he'd be here" Ran scoffed in disbelief "Wow im the one whos standing right here beside you and you look for my brother? Im hurt (n/n) "  you shook your head and took out the (f/d) from the bag opening the can

"well thats because his attitude is more tolerable than yours" 

Before he could have time to reply you dragged him out of the cafe's property and led him to the alley near by.

"enough folling around I plan on tending to my plants before going home, where are the guys you were talking about" he pulled out his phone and searched for a bit before placing the phone in your hands, "thats where they usually are, i got it from some residents around here" you looked at the picture and the coordiantes "and how are we going to get there?" he smiled big and toothy

"I tought youd never ask, were taking my bike" you took your bag and pulled out the wig and cap you brought "I tough so" you tied your hair up and put on the cap, placing the wig and appliying a bit of wig glue around the rim to make sure it wont fall of during the ride.

"kay im done let's go" the two of you walked to where his bike was parked back at the cafe, he got on the bike and revved it up and signalled you to hop on. The two of you sped trough the streets of roppongi

"AH- PLEASE-" you stomped on the man's nose as his blood gargled in his nose as he struggled to breath. 

"please? Pathetic, look at you begging for me to stop, to listen to your pleas, but tell me, did you listen to all those women who said no?" you crouched down to reach the man's height 

"did you listen when they told you that it hurt, or was uncomfortable with what you were doing?" the man stayed silent, his breathing was ragged and rough.

" i asked you a question." a hard blow landed on the mans stomach as he wheezed in pain, unable to scream due to the damage done to his body. 

"NO- I DIDNT-- IM SOR-" a painful smack hit him across the face. 

" it shouldnt be me you should be apologizing to, its all the women youve hurt and scared" you looked at Ran and answered as if he already knew what you were thinking. 

" no i dont have the women's adresses or names, i never received any info on it" you frowned dissapointed

"well i guess we'll just have to end this guys misery dont we?" he smiled at you and looked blankly at the man

 " you do the honors"  the man panic thinking this would be the last moment he would breath, but in reality you were just going to make him pass out, unlike ran you were "merciful" to those you beat up. You punched his face hard and blunt knocking him out. 

"my job here is done, drive me to the station?"

"whats the magic word? ~" the man sang annoyingly, you really really wanted to punch this guy's guts right now and leave him cold and passed out but you didnt wnat to walk to the train station. You chcked the time on your watch and the clocked flashed 4:45, it was pretty decent since you left at around 10 in the morning. You sighed defeated really not wanting to walk. 

"Ran will you please drive me to the station?" he smiled content, "alright". 

You got on his bike and he sped his way trough the streets ince again and dropped you off at the station. The two of you bid your goodbyes and you had told him to say hi to Rindou for you, he simply smiled and left. The ride home was tahnkfully peaceful, you had wipped your shoes and removed your wig at the stations bathroom and discarded the tissues in the bin. You opened your phone to find several missed calls from your older brother. 

"shit I forgot to text him" you muttered under your breath. You called him and sent apologetic looks to the people around you, bowing at them because of the ruckus you'll cause. 

"hello? Aniki?" you kept your voice hushed and low. 

"are you ok? you didnt text me and i was starting to get worried" you smiled at his reaction, your brother was a man that had a tough facade, which scared people, it made them think he was just a mean gangster, but in reality, he was extrenly kind and caring to those he loves and holds dear. 

"yes im ok, im sorry for not texting you when i got there, i forgot" he sighed relieved. 

"its alright just make sure to get home safe" "dont worry I will, i gotta hang up im on the train, love you"

"love ya to (n/n) keep safe" a long beep was heard as he hung up, you once again bowed and sent apologetic bows to the people in the train and they simply bowed back, well more like nodded but what is is what it is. You got off the train and walked your way towards one of the nearby beaches where you had set up your own makeshift garden, it was littered with nightshades and foxgloves, which you sold after you processed it extracting its poision and seeling it a pretty decent price. Was it illegal? Yes, yes it was, could it pottentially get you in trouble? Yes, yes it could, and could it pottentially be a gateway to a more darker path in life presumably in the mafia of a larger crime gang? Yes, yes in fact. 

You turned left to where the big stone which was hiding the plants only to see a man standing in the patches of nightshades and foxgloves. You stopped in your tracks, usually no one was there, infact, the only person who ever came there was you. Maybe it was the fact that it was a pretty secluded area, and the fact that atleast 6 murders happened there, including the nightshade poisoning incident, people were advised not to go. But there stood a figure looming in the darkness, you were readey to fight as you got closer you were able to make up who was the man standing in your garden, and there he was, in all his glory Hanma Shuji.