#anyway my nails have always been VERY sharp

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all, weird question time again, completely unrelated to the dinosaurs I made today!

Other than cutting your nails short (because I’ve tried that and it did not work), is there a way to make your nails less sharp?

My nails have always been super sharp, no matter what I do or how long (or short) they are and my hand slipped and I have a cut on my face now from my own nail lol

(to be clear I am not really expecting there to be a solution, I just think it’s a little funny that it happened and also I have been wrong before and y’all have had solutions to problems I thought unsolvable)

[matrixbearer2024]

Grief Of The Gifted

Ford doesn't get a perfect score and kind of has a meltdown, luckily Stan is there to ground him back to reality against self-imposed unrealistic expectations.

That moment when I decide to write for my modernity AU and it's actually completely freaking bonkers HAHAHA- but yeah, college AU set circa 202X because why not, have some Stan twins dynamic while I flesh out the rest of the AU with Fidds and Bill LOL-

Also yes, FIlbrick being a piece of shit father because OF COURSE HE IS- totally not projecting my own parental issues onto these two HAHAHAHA

The classroom was a ghost town when the final bell rang, sunlight filtering through the smudged windows in lazy, golden streaks. The world outside seemed to hum with freedom, the chatter of students in the hallways slowly dissolving into echoes, but for Stanford Pines, time stood still. He sat hunched over his desk, his fingers clutching the paper like it might burn through his skin, and in some ways, it already had.

That crimson “99” was seared into his mind like a brand, mocking him with its audacious imperfection. It wasn’t just a number— it was a reflection, a twisted mirror held up to his relentless expectations. The wrong answer wasn’t a simple mistake; it was a flaw in his very existence.

The sharp edge of disappointment cut deeper than he thought possible, leaving him hollow. When had learning— his sanctuary, his passion— become such an unbearable weight? Once, the pursuit of knowledge had felt like the thrill of a treasure hunt, a constant chase after the glittering unknown. But now, the treasures he uncovered weren’t enough to quench the insatiable hunger for approval that gnawed at him.

Approval he’d never truly receive.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, not in words of comfort, but in the deafening silence of withheld affection. His achievements weren’t milestones— they were currency, cashed in for a fleeting glance of acknowledgment. And today, he had come up short. One point short. He could almost feel his father’s eyes glance past him, unimpressed.

Stanford blinked furiously, willing the hot sting of tears to retreat, but they came anyway, unbidden and burning. His hands twisted the fabric of his jeans, nails digging into his palms. The gloves he wore— itched, suffocated, hid— mocked him almost as much as the paper. Everything about him felt wrong, from the six fingers to the single missing point.

The classroom door creaked, snapping him from his spiraling thoughts. A familiar voice filled the silence.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?"

Stanley’s tone was soft, but his presence filled the room, grounding and real.

Stanford tried to speak, tried to muster some semblance of a reply, but his throat felt raw, as if the weight of that single red number had lodged itself there. His twin didn’t need words to understand; Stanley had always been attuned to him in a way that others weren’t, a mirror reflecting what Ford tried so hard to hide.

“You got the highest grade in the class, didn’t you?”

Stanley ventured, his tone casual, but his eyes brimming with a rare sincerity. There wasn't any of his typical joking sarcasm.

"That test was brutal. I’m lucky I squeaked out a B. You pulled an A+— that’s somethin’, Sixer.”

It wasn’t, though. Not to Ford. It wasn’t enough. The perfection he sought was like the horizon— always in view, never in reach. He felt the frustration bubble over, the words rising to his lips only to falter when Stanley smiled at him. That comforting, crooked grin— an unspoken reassurance that said, “It’s okay to let it out.”

And Ford did. The tears broke free, rolling down his cheeks as his body shook with the force of the emotions he’d kept bottled up. Anger, shame, exhaustion— it all spilled over, raw and unfiltered. He hated how weak he felt, how utterly vulnerable, but Stanley didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away.

Instead, his twin stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Ford in a firm hug that anchored him in the storm of his own making. The world shrank down to just the two of them, the paper falling forgotten to the desk. Ford sobbed into Stanley’s shoulder, his brother’s steady presence a lifeline.

“Hey, it’s okay."

Stan murmured, his hand resting lightly on Ford’s back, careful not to press too hard.

“You’re killin’ yourself over one point, Six. One stupid point. You’re still the smartest guy I know. Ain’t nobody else gettin' an A+ from this damn prof."

But it wasn’t about the grade— it was never about the grade. It was about the invisible chains of expectation Ford had wrapped around himself, links forged by years of trying to be enough for a father who never gave him the keys to love.

Stan knew this, even if he couldn’t put it into words. He just held on, steady as a lighthouse in a storm, letting Ford cry until the tide ebbed and the weight of that red ink felt a little less crushing.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The classroom around them was quiet now, bathed in the soft, fading light of the evening sun. Ford’s sobs subsided into shuddering breaths, and Stan finally pulled back, resting his hands on his twin’s shoulders.

“Let it go, Sixer."

Stanley said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“That number doesn’t define you. You’re more than that.”

For the first time that day, Ford met his brother’s gaze. The shame, the anger— they were still there, but they were softened by the warmth in Stanley’s expression. For a fleeting moment, Stanford believed him.

Because if anyone knew the weight of grief, of expectations unmet, it was Stanley. He bore it in his own way, in his own silence. And yet, here he was, holding Ford together when it felt like he was falling apart.

Maybe that was what love really was— not the transactional kind that demanded unrealistic expectation, but the kind that stayed, even when you felt like nothing more than a failure.

The grief of the gifted was a heavy burden. But once more, Stanford was reminded that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

Not when he had one hell of a brother by his side.

Tell me what you guys think about this one! Might continue with this AU as well as the fics for the time lord twins one :D

[hella1975]

by pure evil accident taob zuko's current mental state is the exact same as the one ive been stuck in for the past few weeks and that's a bit funny to me. like i started writing this chapter months ago and knew what i was doing with it even longer ago and suddenly ive manifested it into reality. we are both facing the horrors rn

[poppy-metal]

MARRIAGE COUNSELING W ART PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD THE DEVASTATION THAT TAKES PLACE ON THAT COUCH

i think about it alot. tashi staying with patrick, her injury never happening. your arts college girlfriend and now you're married and it feels fucking stagnant, your relationship. but neither of you wants to give up. neither of you wants to reveal to the other true feelings.

under the cut because this got long and i have a whole au in my hear around this concept

you're only in counseling because of tashi. because shes still in your lives, her and patrick. and she recommended it to art when they were having one of their 'friend' lunches. and now here you are, because of course art took her advice.

he hasn't said anything, though. despite pleading for this. saying he wanted to save your marriage, that he wanted to love you how you should be loved but he didn't know how.

so here you are, on opposite ends of the couch, with the counselor staring at the empty space between you like that in itself is very telling. you suppose it is, in a way. couples who want to stay together should be unified, shouldn't they? you imagine how it would feel, if art had sat next to you. put an arm around you. squeezed you to his side. would you even be able to relax into him? its been so long since you touched eachother that way.

"so im picking up on some distance here," your therapist says. shes a small woman. almost swallowed by her chair. her glasses are perched on her nose as she gazes imperiously at empty space separating you and art. "not just physical either, though thats rather obviously there. but emotional distance. do either of you wanna comment on that?"

you cut a glance at art, expecting him to speak up since this was his idea - well. tashi's. but he just looks down at his lap, quiet. spins his wedding band around his finger.

you feel an anger so intense it pricks your eyes with tears.

"well, i guess you could start with the fact that coming here wasn't even either of our idea. it was his friends."

and now. here art speaks. his head jerks up and she shoots you an annoyed look. "you don't have to say it like that. you always say it like that. her name is tashi and she is my friend. and it was her suggestion, yeah, but it was a good one."

you look at the therapist - janet. raise your eyebrows in arts direction like, get a load of this guy. your legs cross and you start picking at a stray string from the couch.

"first words of the session and its to talk about another woman."

arts inhale is sharp and you can feel his eyes on you but you dont look at him. you can't. you wont. you're right, anyway. he can try to deny it all he wants but you know - you know what you are to him. you know where all your problems stem. you dont need to be here to make any grand discoveries over a fact you've resigned yourself too.

"i see." janet says. "and art having a relationship with this other woman upsets you."

"everything upsets her." art cuts in, sounding tired. his elbow is braced on the arm of the couch and hes chewing on his thumb in one of his nervous gestures. he always did that, as long as you've known him. he was a nail biter, he'd chew his lips raw, he'd nibble on straws, the ends of his pens. he was either lost in thought or agitated. your guess was the latter. "nothing i do makes her happy."

"is this true? are you unhappy with art?"

your skin feels hot. you shift around in your seat. the attention is all on you, and it feels like you've done something wrong, even though you know its literally janets job to ask questions.

"more like i know I'm not what he wants and that makes me...... really fucking sad."

art knees almost knock against yours as he turns his body to face you, giving you his full attention the first time today. you cant meet his eyes still, so you look at the faded spot on his jeans. light blue, like his eyes. you wonder how hes looking at you. cant make yourself look up to see.

"what." he stops. seems to gather some thoughts. tries again, with a steadier tone. "what are you talking about."

you try not to roll your eyes. your arm flings out limply.

"just that this whole thing is a joke, art." and you let out an exasperated laugh, even though nothing is funny. nothing has been funny or light between you two in a long time. "we're only here because the girl you really wanted to marry, told you to get your fucking shit together. you didn't ask us to come here because you wanted to mend something, you're here to please tashi. because if playing a good husband is a role she wants for you - well, you want to play it right, dont you?"

its quiet after that. in the silence you cant help but think about those early days. when you'd been full of love and light and art seemed to be really happy with you. you'd go on dates to the movies, walk through the park together with your hands swinging between you. laugh together and steal kisses whenever you could. you felt high back then.

it didn't even matter that art had a crush on tashi, because hell, you had one too, at the time. but she'd started dating patrick, and they seemed to mesh well together. they were both so intense and passionate. back then, you'd been alot closer to tashi yourself. patrick too. you remember the way she'd rant about how much she fucking hated him, pacing around your room and calling him every name under the sun. and you'd sit there with eager curiosity, and ask her why she didn't end it then. if he makes you so angry, why stay?

and she'd get this faraway look in her eyes. kind of wistful. kind of sad. kind of happy.

"because he makes me feel fucking alive. hes like a - like a drug or something. i cant quit. its addictive, you know?"

that stuck with you. it still sticks with you. you remember being envious of that kind of passion. youe relationship with art had always been so easy. you dont think you'd ever fought by that point. you loved art. you felt safe with art. but were you addicted to him? if you broke up - would you feel withdrawal symptoms?

sometimes you layed awake at night and thought about starting a fight - breaking up for no reason. just to see if he'd fight for you back, if the missing of eachother would be so intense one of you would cave.

but somehow you knew that wouldn't be the case. thats just not how you and art operated. if you got angry, he wouldn't rise to meet you, he'd back down. if you ended things, he wouldn't chase you, he'd let you go.

patrick and tashi were fire and brimstone and you and art was ice and you were....... dirt. solid. walked upon. dependable and not at all exciting.

when art had proposed to you after college graduation it wasn't spur of the moment as it had been with patrick when he'd swept tashi up with a ring and a elopement to vegas. it was talked about and agreed upon and you knew it was coming.

you still said yes.

"you think," and arts voice has a barely concealed tremble to it that makes you look up, finally. you're shocked to see he looks wounded. so many of his expressions you can count on one hand - and this - this wasn't one of them. his eyes are dark, stormy. "you think i dont care about our marriage beyond what someone else has to say about it? you really think that?"

you hate the sliver of guilt you feel, because its not a crazy thing to feel.

"yeah, i really do."

because well, that's the truth of the matter isn't it? you and your husband stare at eachother. and it feels like you're looking at a stranger. not the man who's freckles you used to kiss. who's fears you knew. who's hands you know every callous of, every divot and fingerprint.

"it seems you two have very different views of how the other views this marriage." janet cuts in, sounding curious. she taps her pen against the open notepad on her lap. "art, would you like to chime in on why you wanted to come here? even at the suggestion of someone else?"

art stares at you for a long moment. his face is unreadable to you. his jaw works before his chest expands on an exhale and he looks away.

"i guess i - i just didn't realize how..... stagnant things had gotten until it was pointed out to me. harshly." he winces, and you wonder exactly what tashi had to say to him. you haven't talked to the other woman for some time. contact fizzling out after your marriage to art. he flicks a glance to you, then away again. "im not the best at being aware of shit going on around me." his hand comes up to rub nervously at his neck. "i guess you could say im good at brushing things under the rug. going through the motions. that sort of thing."

janet nods like this makes sense to her. well, great, you think. you know my husband more than i do.

"you're not a fan of confrontation, are you?"

art actually laughs. a genuine one. one that brings a dimple to his cheek and flashes his teeth. you stare at it, like its an exotic animal, and you wont see it again. quickly you catalog the expression in your memory, so you dont forget what he looks like when hes happy.

"yeah, no." he shakes his head. "but I think thats part of the problem. I've obviously let too much shit get put under the rug and now its so full other people are noticing."

you look down at your hands, lips pressed together. your face burns at the knowledge that tashi and by extension - patrick - know your marriage is in shambles. how embarrassing, to be caught lacking in such a momentous way. to come up short and have your husbands friends know about it. you wonder - does he talk about all the ways you make him miserable with them? does patrick shake his head, say, "she's sucking the life out of you, man." does tashi look at him with pity? like hes some poor abused cat that needs to be let in from the rain?

the rain of your marriage.

the rain of you.

you're the storm. you're the problem. you're not enough. art needs fire. you're not even dirt, you're glass. and you can feel yourself breaking.

"that clearly hit a nerve, my dear." janets voice is soft. soothing. she hands you a tissue and you realize you'd begun to cry. "do you want to explain what you're feeling about what art said?"

"i...."

you dab dab dab at your eyes. sniffle. look around the room, trying to collect your thoughts. they feel like flyaway dandelions. you dont know which of them to grasp.

a warm hand settles over yours in your lap and you startle. its arts hand. warm and calloused and tan, covering yours. the gold glint of his wedding ring winks at you, the engraved words etched into them, "my soft epilogue". a shortened version of your favorite qoute i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

at the time, that's what art was to you. your life before him hadn't been easy. being with art had felt like coming home from a long day and falling into a soft bed. it had felt like being able to land after weeks of being made to fly.

you turned your palm up, so he could slide his fingers between yours. he squeezed your hand.

"i think, i. i think i just think - I'm a failure." your bottom lip wobbles. you look at your enterwoven fingers and it makes you so sad that you haven't done the simple gesture of holding your husbands hand in months. "the two most important people in your life are. are so passionate and loud. and i see. i see how happy they make you - and i cant - i cant b-be that for you. we aren't - im not - you dont need me. im not a limb for you how they are. you could extract yourself from me and be. be happier."

your breath shudders out of you.

"you don't need me." you echo.

you wait for him to pull his hand away. this is more than you thought you'd share. some of it you weren't even aware of till the words were spilling from your lips. but they ring true.

without patrick and tashi art would drown. without you..... he'd float just fine.

"and that's important to you." janet says. a statement not a question. "you want to feel needed by art, and you feel as though you aren't. that his needs are met better with his friends than with you."

you nod slowly.

"baby." the word sends a shock through you. not the word itself but how its said. art calls you baby all the time, in a monotonous kind of way. routine. now he says it softly. with feeling. he lets go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheek, still damp with tears, turning your face to his. he looks pained. "of course i need you. i know i haven't been good at showing it. i just - you shut down - after we got married. you've been like a fucking ghost. like you dont want me to touch you. like i could dissappear for all you care and you'd just carry on. i don't know. but i need you, okay? i. need. you."

both hands cup your face, he makes you stare right into him. the conviction in his voice takes your breath away. theres a fire burning there you've thought long put out.

"obviously we have shit to sort out, and we will. but you've got to. you've got to know that. tashi only pushed me to do this because she how - how desperate i was. that's all."

you inhale deeply. exhale. swallow hard. tears cling to your lashes. you reach a hand up to clutch at one of arts wrists. eyes fluttering automatically when you do. you feel grounded again. less like you might float away.

"okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah...." and you smile. it trembles across your lips. but its there. "we'll sort our shit."

art lets out a relieved breath. kisses your forehead, lingering there. the gesture so tender you get emotional again. you want to crawl into his lap, have him wrap you in his arms. you want to feel held by him, like you used to.

"our time is up." janet sets her pen down. smiles. "but i think that was a wonderful first session. i can see the love between you hasn't faded, and that's more i can say for alot of couples who come to see me. keep your chin up."

[remxedmoon]

��shadowy figures appeared before you. apparitions, memories of what once was. reminders of who you’re fighting for. are they your true family, or merely wearing their visage?”

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

DEATHCARDS!!! WOOO!! that leshy quote isn’t entirely set in stone yet, btw. i made these for a king boss fight i’m working on so realistically he’d be the one narrating? but eh. it’s fun to write in leshy’s voice. anyways, hopefully this won’t be too long?? i’ve got way less design notes this time around, but there’s also 6 cards here and i’m not very succinct. sorry in advance!!

siffrin

2 power - 2 health - 5 bones

loose tail - when a card bearing this sigil would be struck, a tail is created in its place and a card bearing this sigil moves to the right. a tail is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

steel trap - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, the creature opposing it perishes as well. a pelt is created in your hand.

GOD it was hard to come up with sigils for this one. since these are boss exclusive cards, i had a pretty limited pool to work with… hopefully this is still fitting

loose tail is the closest i could get to a sigil that avoids death, since sigils like unkillable and many lives were off the table. plus, there’s kinda a connection with him not valuing his own life?? and sacrificing a part of himself? i think it works

steel trap!! this sigil is exclusive to the trapper boss fight! since summoned cards (like chimes and tails) inherit sigils, their tail card will also kill whatever’s in front of it when it’s destroyed! sort of a “taking you down with me” situation.

mirabelle

2 power - 5 health - 3 blood

swapper - after a card bearing this sigil is dealt damage, swap its power and health.

swapper!! this is an act 3 sigil exclusive to swapbot! ahhhhhhhh i had such a hard time trying to figure out another card design for her. i REALLY liked the bellist sigil for her and didn’t really have any other ideas. swapper felt like it fit with the change belief to me! and it also makes her a pretty terrifying card to go up against. since this is a boss card, that cost is basically entirely for show lol

ALT CARD ART!!! YIPEE!! literally all i did was flip her eyes to look angry lol. swapbot’s sprite changes when it swaps so i think hers would too!

isabeau

2 power - 4 health - 2 blood

dam builder - when a card bearing this sigil is played, a dam is created on each empty adjacent space. a dam is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

fledgling - a card bearing this sigil will grow into a more powerful form after 1 turn on the board.

dam builder feels like a very defensive sigil to me, and it synergizes well with fledgling!! after a turn, isabeau will be doing 5 damage across 3 lanes! good god.

odile

1 power - 2 health - 2 blood

trifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the spaces across from it as well as the space in front of it.

sharp quills - once a card bearing this sigil is struck, the striker is then dealt a single damage point.

this was the HARDEST card to think up, and probably the weakest out of the bunch imo. i think i really nailed her regular card and i just. couldn’t come up with anything. agonies

i picked trifurcated strike as a reference to her being able to use all three craft types, and sharp quills… i think because of her aversion to touch? i think. it’s been a while since i made these aaaaa

bonnie

1 power - 1 health - 1 blood

waterborne - a card bearing this sigil submerges itself during its opponent's turn. while submerged, opposing creatures attack its owner directly.

leader - creatures adjacent to a card bearing this sigil gain 1 power.

if yall remember the notes on my kid card, this is based on the beta version of that card!! which means that for once i’m not putting bonnie through the torments. hooray!

waterborne is there because they always stay out of danger during battles! plus they’re from a coastal town so it fits on that front as well. i didn’t really think about the actual sigil names for cards this time around but hey! it’s a nice bonus!

the beta card had trinket bearer, but that’s a sigil that would only benefit the player in battle, so i swapped it out with leader! since they can’t be directly attacked, this basically makes them a permanent alpha on the king’s side of the field. also, leader, snack leader, it fits namewise as well!

loop

2 power - 1 health - 4 bones

haunter - when a creature bearing this sigil dies, it haunts the space it died in. creatures played in this space gain its old sigils.

bifurcated strike - A card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

“i’m normal about inscryption” i say as i give one of my cards a sigil that only appears in the completely missable rulebook of grimmora’s segment of the finale.

so. haunter! the aforementioned grimmora sigil! this appears on no cards ingame, but cmon. it fits. this sigil reminded me of how loop reacts when you guess that they’re a ghost! in battle, i imagine that siffrin will always get played right behind loop. because twohats

bifurcated strike was added here for the same reason it’s on their normal card! it feels like scissors craft!! i needed them to actually have A Sigil to transfer to siffrin and this felt the most fitting to me.

also, just like the normal cards, siffrin and loop are both the only ones to have a bone cost instead of blood cost! teehee :333

and i think that’s it! i’m not making inhabited versions of these cards because they aren’t meant to be accessible outside of the king fight! also! hi! i drafted this post and wrote siffrin’s segment: almost a month ago! oops!! i kept putting this off… at least it’s actually written out now lol. hope you guys enjoy!!!

[readychilledwine]

A Page From Another's Book

Eris Week - Day 1 - Bonds and Bargains

Summary - After 2 full years without you acknowledging the bond, Eris is willing to do whatever it takes for just a moment of your time

Warnings - Smut, choking (kind of), mating bonds, forced proximity, slight manipulation, and possibly a few missed errors. If you see them, no, you didn't 👀

A/N - Happy @erisweekofficial! I have challenged myself this week to try to use both prompts in one fic. Why? Because I could not choose! They were so good this year.

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears 💕💕

The look in your eyes was not what a male wanted to see from their mate. You looked at Eris like you hated him, a soft snarl always playing on lips too plush to have been real.

But Gods that look did things to him. Things that had his own smirk growing as you two stared at each other in silence, waiting for Rhysand to finish looked over the contact for trade Beron had forced his heir to come present. Rhysand was using his hand to hide a smirk.

The scent of the bond between Eris and y/n was potent. Honey and apples. Ginger and cinnamon. The High Lord understood now why so many of his family members complained about the way his and Feyre's scents mix. He could hardly tell who was who anymore but he couldn't stop breathing it in all the same.

“You can go sister, I believe I can hold my own against our dear Eris,” Rhysand dismissed you so easily. Your eyes met his in silent conversation before you stood, black dress swishing as you did and walked out of the room.

Eris felt himself relax then, body melting as he and Rhysand began to show each other vulnerability, “You told me she'd warm up to me by now.”

Rhys pinched his brows, “Y/n is a complex creature. Beautiful as the rising moon, complex as the stars.”

“And crafted from the very darkness between them,” Eris's fingers rolled, nails tapping the table in a pattern of annoyance. “What do I do?”

“Force her into a bargain,” Rhysand was half joking as he struck out a line on Beron's trade agreement. He paused, sharp mind and eyes hitting Eris. “That.. May actually work.”

Eris looked at Rhysand like he had grown two heads, “She would not make a bargain with me, she hates me.”

“She likes knowledge more than she hates you, trust me. And, Eris Vanserra, you live in a court she has never been able to go to.”

Eris fell into a brief moment of silence, “And you believe this could work?”

“It turned out well for me,” Rhysand picked at his jacket. “Make a bargain with her, force her to spend time with you.”

Rhysand slid the contract back over, a look of annoyance on his face as he did, "Your father,” the word spoken with such disdain, “needs to learn what fair terms actually means.”

“I do not believe my Father would know fair if it bit him in the ass,” that snake like smirk came forward. “Luckily, it will be me you deal with soon-”

“Is it not you I deal with already,” Rhys groaned. “Anyways, y/n. Bargain her a week in Autumn in exchange for intel.” He said it so casually, having accepted what the Fates and Cauldron decided would be with you the second the bond snapped during the war with Hybern.

And what a dramatic way for it to have snapped. A fight between Autumn and Night's emissaries leading to you pinning the heir to the ground, dagger at his throat.

It was one thing you and Azriel had in common:

Going for the jugular whenever you two deemed it fit.

Rhys waved a hand dismissing Eris, “I'm sure she is in the hall, waiting to guide you to your room.”

And you were, leathers clinging to every curve, one wing stretched out while you pulled your arm across your body, “Sore, assassin?”

Defiant eyes met his, narrowing slightly as he stared, “Only by the sight of you, heirling.” You began to walk away from him, forcing Eris to follow you to his room in Hewn City. Footsteps fell in time, breathing in sync as the bond between you two pulled and flickered.

It wasn't tense, but the quiet that lingered was thick. There were mountains of emotions between you two. Anger that lingered from years of what he claims was all an act and lies.

“You look beautiful today,” you were the only being he ever spoke this gently to. “Your hair has gotten longer.”

“Are we making casual observations?”

Eris smirked at the way your held a bite yet your eyes were soft. You were truly the most beautiful creature he had ever gotten to lay eyes on. In a dress, armor, casual clothing, leathers. Your confidence was unmatched. You owned every room you walked into. He admired that about you.

Eris opened the door to his room, hand going just above the small of your back to usher you in, “I have an offer for you.”

You leaned against the wall, a shadow coming to check on you. It indicated he was on a time crunch, that your brother would be coming soon. “I am listening.”

“Come with me to Autumn. A week of your time in one of my private residences in exchange for intel on my father.”

Your mind began to race at the possibilities. Bringing home info to Rhysand that the Night Court could use was like dangling a sparkling object infront of a fish. He knew you would bite. “What is in it for you?”

“You. Just one week where I get to see my mate in my court, in our fashion, enjoying our food. Such a small thing to give me in exchange for the knowledge I will give you, and your ability to stay safely in a court you've never enjoyed.”

It was tempting, so tempting the shadow on your shoulder panicked and ran to Azriel. “What's the catch?” You moved to sit on the chair, long legs crossing at the ankles as the two of you continued staring each other down.

“No catch, my lady.” He moved to you, a hand touching the loose hair from your braid. It was a bold and dangerous choice, touching you so freely. “Just a week in exchange for information. That's all I wager.”

His hand raised to you, the freckled skin calloused from training and earning his place as a general, but so soft. Hands spoke volumes to you, and his were so similar to Rhysand's. You raised your hand slowly and took his, feeling the warmth from his skin heating yours.

The bargain mark for you was nothing, a small rune on the inside of your left ring finger, but he flinched slightly before moving to the mirror across the room and pulling up his shirt. He rolled his eyes at the small matching rune above his heart. “What does it say?”

“Agape,” you responded quietly. “We need to leave if you plan on getting out of this alive. Azriel is coming.”

He grabbed your without hesitation, without even putting his shirt back on. Fire and smoke surrounded you before the silence of a cabin. Soft whimpers immediately started before howling. Loud howling. 12 hounds all began to point their noses to the skies they couldn't see. It was a celebration of his arrival home before the smallest then began to pawn at the door.

Eris just smiled as he made his way over, “Be back before dinner,” he told them, patting each one on the head as they can out into the warded clearing. Your feet carried you behind them, eyes wide in wonder as you took in the colors of the trees.

Warmth.

A fireplace with a good book and spiced cider.

Chilled air and pumpkins.

You had always longed to see Autumn, but Beron's prejudice towards Illyrians always got in the way. “Eris..” You were speechless as you admired the woods, the crunchy leaves on the ground. “Its-”

“Home,” he finished as he leaned on the railing watching his hounds. “We're right on the border of Autumn and Winter. There are times where the run rises and sets on the creek and lake near by that makes the snow of Winter appear like it is on fire.” His smile was so soft, eyes relaxed, muscles even slowly loosing tension. “This is my favorite cabin I have. The village nearby is quiet, open minded, hates my father.”

“That seems to be a reoccurring theme,” you jumped in.

Eris smirked but didn't say anything. “Can I offer you more comfortable clothing? A drink?”

Night one with him was filled with you two reading silently, one of his hounds being the first to inch his way into your lap and cuddle. Rhysand had not checked in, Azriel had not searched for you. Not even a mocking letter from Nesta. It was peace, bliss that allowed your guard to fall down.

He allowed you to sleep alone in a spare bed, not even asking as you used your ability to shift to get rid of your wings for the night and stole his sweater to sleep in.

The smell of bacon woke you from your lay in. A rare lazy morning that had you stretching as you walked on in just his sweater.

It felt so domestic, natural to both of them. He wordlessly handed her coffee and sugar, sipping his own. He was shirtless, lean form on display and making your brain spiral to the what ifs. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he continued cooked breakfast, knowing you could not do it.

“How far do you powers as a wild form go?” You glanced at him, not ready to speak without at least getting one sip of coffee in. His hands shot up in defense, a graceful step back as he did. “I am asking because I wanted to leave you with some marks so you could do shopping. Observe the village here.”

You only hummed, reaching for a finished piece of the crispy bacon and bending down to give it to the sweet hound that had attached himself to you. “What's his name?”

Eris sneered as you gave his well trained pet a piece of bacon, dark brown eyes meeting his like it was a victory, “That is Whiskey.” The Hound seemed to skip away as you stood up, “And you will not spoil him.”

“Says the male who had 3 in his bed last night and the rest all in fluffy dog beds that a nicer than what some poor lower fae have.”

“They are orthopedic. Smoke hounds require comfort for their limbs,” his tone was definitely defensive. Almost parental. “They are faithful companions. They deserve comfort.”

You were thankful for your ability to hide laughter, but your eyes began to betray you. This male was not the one you knew, the one who you believed left your dear friend for dead. “To answer the earlier question, it's limitless, like Tamlin's ability, only less effort and my scent is hidden.”

“So you can spend my coin today,” he tossed the bag casually on the counter. He moved the pan from the heat before reaching around you, “You are even beautiful in the morning.” He'd carry the torch for you. He'd carry it even if you rejected the bond, as pathetic as that was.

Day two with him was filled with heated glances that grew the more he showed you who he was. Touches that lingered as he took you from shop to shop, purchasing candies, clothing, books.

He was a handsome male. You'd be a fool to lie if you said otherwise.

The third evening is when things became more. The bond was humming, desperate for anything to happen between you two. Music was playing softly as you two read again. You books on the history of Autumn, Eris a novel he refused to let you see the cover of. His fingers swayed his bookmark in a small dance, the movement as smooth as you had witnessed as he and Nesta glided across the floors of Hewn City.

“You're staring,” He said without looking to you. “Did your high lord never teach you it's impolite to stare?”

“Maybe if your bookmark wasn't waving all over the place while you read your smut,” you muttered back at him. Amber eyes met yours, brows raised as he mouth tried to formulate a response.

“It's not smut. It's a love story!”

You snatched the book from him, the brief contact of your body against his making the bond pound, “Her body sang for him. Each roll of his hips setting fire to her veins,” Your voice reading those lines had the scent in the air shifting. He could no longer mask his need for you as he took a deep breath. “His length filled her, reaching places inside of her she'd never find without him, pulling sob after sob from swollen lips as she held to him.”

“Enough.” He grabbed the novel back and drank his whiskey like a shot as he stared at you now.

No more words passed as you tell held eye contact.

No pointed remarks. No jokes.

The music seemed to fade as the bond began ringing in your ears.

2 years. 2 years if knowing who your mate was. 2 years without even so much as a kiss.

It was finally too much. You had never enjoyed slow burn romances. Why turn this into one when the longing lingered all the same.

Perhaps he closed the gap. Or maybe you did, but it happened. His lips on yours in a passionate kiss, dominating you quickly by tugging your hair back to angle your head.

There was no looming war. No assassinations waiting to happen. No lingering past wounds. Not as he lifted you, laying you down infront of the fire place.

Not as he pulled your shirt off, then his own.

Not as he kissed down your body, nipping and marking his favorite places to remind him to spend more time there later. Neither of you could wait. Neither of you wanted to.

Your bodies were born ready and aching for each other. Like two halves forced apart and just waiting to collide.

Even in the heat of this moment, he looked at you, eyes searching for a sign of doubt, for anything that didn't ring a resounding yes. All he found was lust. Heavy deep want weighing on both of your souls.

He reminded you that you two were nothing more than stardust. Stardust given life and form. Needs and wants. A chance.

You understood the book now as he filled you, stretching you after time spent without a partner. You understood that now, too. Understood why Lucien was all too happy to wait as well.

It had never felt like this. Sex had never felt like coming home. Like your soul was nurtured as he wrapped your legs around his hips. As he moved, he used the bond to instantly get his feedback. He wanted you to sing for him, to cry his name, and when he found that soft spot inside of you, he knew he could have it.

His movements focused on that spot as you grabbed his forearms, back arching off the ground for him, mouth falling into a silent scream.

“Look at me, y/n,” he panted. “Look at me when I make you see the heavens.”

His thumb moved to your clit, circling and rolling it in time with his hips, watching as your breasts bounced.

There wasn't an inch of you Eris wasn't instantly falling in love with. You were exquisite. Not too thin, curves in all the right places. Muscles strong and flexible.

“You are better than I dreamed,” he moaned. “A muse hidden to all but me.”

You whispered his name, eyes squeezing shut as the coil began to build and tighten. He would be the death of you. You of him if he wished, “Eris.”

“Sing for me, my fire.”

The coil built more and more, “Eris!”

He kept pushing and kept hitting that spot. He wouldn't last, not with the way you two fit like a puzzle. With the way your warmth hugged him. But you were also there, dangling from the edge by a string Eris held in his hands.

“Eris, please?”

“What do you need,” he whispered. “I want to hear it. Beg for me it.”

Your hands trembled as you moved his hand that wasn't occupied with your sensitive clit to your throat, eyes looking at him in silent understanding.

Life had not been gentle or kind to you, nor to him, love would not be either.

He squeezed softly, only enough to make you feel the euphoria. His pace picked up, driving hard and faster into you.

It was a chain reaction as you hit your high, screaming his name like you had in all of his dreams. He followed you over, groaning loudly before he praised you and worked you through your heightened state. Screams fell to soft whimpers, whimpers to pants.

Eris waited until the shaking set in, until he knew you were done to pull out before standing to grab a cloth to clean you. Soft kisses were shared as he took care of you before wrapping you both in a blanket.

You two said nothing as you processed what happened.

You didn't even mention the mark on his left hip. One that you knew. That matched Mor’s only hidden mark.

You just processed. Processed that you knew deep down that you loved him. Processed that in few days the bargain mark you shared would disappear from you both, fulfilled and nothing more than a smear on your histories.

In a few days, you'd be going back to the Night Court.

And you couldn't help but you find yourself considering if that was truly home.

How could it be when it wasn't where your mate was?

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[c0smiclatt3]

university!aventurine headcanons

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: sfw, academic rivals :)), x reader

AN: time to university-beam aventurine :) it's been a minute because i've been away for a long while on holiday... forgive me if this isn't very good.

A business kid - and an infuriatingly good one. Some students whisper that he's only here because he got nepo babied into this school by his adoptive mother, a big figure in one of the biggest multinational corporations. Not that he needed the nepotism, though, Aventurine's mind is sharp as a knife.

He could charm even the most stubborn of professors. With him, once again, the rumors fly: some say that he must have dangled the seniority of his adoptive mother over one prof's head for a grade bump. Others say he must have been taught some sort of obscure hypnosis or subliminal messaging technique.

Color coordinated stationery and an entire Apple ecosystem. Of course.

Much to the disappointment of his group project members, he has a tendency to just go MIA for extended periods of time. Leaving messages on seen but otherwise unreachable and going on his own random tangents. Regardless, he always gets the job done, so there was no point complaining.

He's not a front row keener, he would never be that desperate for the professor's attention. No, much to the annoyance of the front row-ers, he lounges in the back of the lecture hall, speaking only to remark about some flaw in their answer, and when he did he always spoke as if it were the most obvious thing - and many times it was.

What probably infuriates them more is that it all comes so naturally to him - sitting in his seat there in the back with his arm propped up on the backboard, head propped on the palm of his other hand he counters every argument with ease. Even when he seems to be slacking off, whenever he’s cold-called he knows the exact answer.

Even if he didn’t, he’d still talk his way in circles until he’s gaslit you into thinking he’s right anyway.

You were a hard worker infuriated by the ease through which he made his way through the academy. It was all handed to him on a silver platter - you had to fight tooth and nail. One day you find yourself sitting beside him in the back, forced out of your front row seat by some other keener. You crane your head to try to listen to the prof's lecture but can't stand the flickering coin twisting through his hand. The way he twirls his monogrammed pen. It made your blood boil. "Can you quit doing that?" you finally snapped one day. "Am I distracting you?" He flashed you an even brighter grin that made you want to slap that smirk right off his pretty face. You scoff and open your mouth to retort, but the professor scolds you for the ruckus, calling you out specifically. When they return to their lecture you hear Aventurine hum in amusement. And so the bitter rivalry began.

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

AN: i hope this was alright! it seems a lot longer than my old ones. honestly it's been hard to get back into casually writing after being on holiday for 2 weeks lol.

[boiohboii]

Hi! Could you do like toddler Leclerc reader, like she’s the baby sister of the Leclercs and even tho they are quite a lot older than her they love her more than anything and are very protective and doting over her, especially Charles

The three big bad wolves (leclerc!toddler!reader)

N.B: dear anon, thank you for the request......i had this in my inbox for a while, I hope you like it.... WARNINGS: not proof read, don't focus too much on age and stuff, baby leclerc having a crush on mr carlos sainz (who doesn't), I feel like I could've written the ending in a better way of sorts..... if I missed anything please let me know....

masterlist

The three leclerc boys had fallen in love in 2016, Lorenzo was 20, Charles was 19 and Arthur was 16 when they saw their first love. It was when YN Leclerc was born. Her lips parted as hiccups left her small body, her hands laying on her mother's chest and her eyes twinkling as she looked up at her three brothers.

The three boys didn't think their love for yn could be deeper, could be so much more than their hearts dancing at the sound of her giggles, so much more than sitting on small chairs, having their nails painted bright colors and their faces smeared by their mother's make-up. They didn't know how far their love can go, how deep their feelings could be but when tragedy struck the Leclerc household the three boys swore that they'd not just die for their baby sister, they would kill for her, they would tear down worlds for her.

YN coming to races had been rare, Pascale rarely leaves her baby girl out of her sight, she always wants her within her eyesight scared of what the world might do to her little baby.

So when Charles made his way with YN on his hip, some would argue that she is too old for this, her face hiding in his neck and arms wrapped tightly around him feeling safe in her brother's arm. Lorenzo and Arthur were with them as well, just behind Charles, trying to get yn to look at them but to no avail.

"Is that baby leclerc?"

A British voice rang through the hallway as Lando ran up to Charles, pushing Arthur out of the way to take a closer look at yn, stretching his hand to squish her chubby cheeks.

"Hey!"

Lando's protest was loud and clear as soon as Charles moved yn out of his hands way

"Stay away from my sister norris"

Lorenzo's sharp tone scared the youn brit into moving away, allowing Arthur to squeeze himself back into his rightful place.

"Yn baby"

"Yes 'tur"

The sound of her small voice had all 4 men melting, wanting to wrap the little girl in a blanket and keep her away from everything bad in this world.

"Come here"

Arthur extended his hand so that he can carry yn, but Charles maneuvered away from his younger brother refusing to let go of yn

"You have to let her go man, you need to change anyway"

"No no, just for a bit"

"Charles!" His team principle came within their eyesight, looking at charles as he pouted, wanting to have yn in his arms for a bit more.

Not wanting to get fired Charles moved yn into Arthur's arms as Lorenzo kept running his hand through her hair upon seeing her yawn.

"Hey, little leclerc!"

All tiredness disappeared from yn's face as Carlos Sainz jr. entered the room, yn had a crush on him and it wasn't a secret. Her mother and Carlos found it cute, it was a silly little thing that she'll grow out of, her brothers however hated it they didn't want to entertain the idea that she should even have a crush before being 25 years old.

"No, go away" Lorenzo spoke as he moved in front of yn, trying to block her eyesight but it was too late.

"Enzo, moovee" yn whined as she tried to push lorenzo away from her so that she could see the Spaniard

"Come on man, it's just a baby crush, it'll go with time" Carlos reasoned as yn stretched her arms towards him and started fussing in Arthur's hold, wanting to be held by the oldest driver.

"Hey yn" Carlos greeted as he bounced her lightly on his hip, the two words making the little girl blush, a smile on her lips so wide that she would later complain of her face hurting

"Non! Not again! Carlos!" The heavy sound of racing boots running closer reached everyone's ears as they looked towards charles

"Leave yn alone! Give her here"

"Non! Charles, I want to stay with Carlos" tightening her grip onto carlos' shirt, yn looked at Charles, challenging him and making sure that he sees her little hands on his teammate's shirt as a way to make it clear that she's not going anywhere.

"Mon ange!" Charles whined as he stomped his feet

"Honestly, which one of you is the little kid?"

"Zip it norris"

"Be nice to landy" yn frowned at her older brother, reaching one of her hands towards Lando's hair as she patted it as a form of apology making all three leclerc brothers annoyed

"This is just unfair" Arthur complained as he watched his sister have a puppy crush on two drivers, they really shouldn't have introduced her to any of the drivers.

[hoodreader]

cat women — vedic astrology.

i think cat woman is one of the most inspiring vigilantes for the ‘dark feminine’. she’s mystical, intuitive, cunning, flirtatious, & seductive. so when my friend & i were talking about the krittika nakshatra. she made a connection between krittika & animal textiles then i had the sudden realization that krittika reoccurs in the charts of people who play or dress as her.

i think this is because krittika is the blade; it means “the cutter.” whether the native has aries krittika or taurus krittika, the qualities persist. there’s always an iconic cat woman scene where cat woman uses her razor-sharp nails to cut a hole through glass. this also shows not only physical blades, but blades of the tongue, ie being “silver tongued” and/or having a “sharp” mind. the krittika nakshatra is very cutthroat. this also reminds me of that iconic whip scene, and the phrase “sharp as a whip.” sharpness is commonly used as a term to also describe someone’s intelligence… but also them being good-looking.

i also find that krittika nakshatra in women is highly sexy & desired, but due to the dark nature of krittika, a krittika woman is not wanted without adversity. this nakshatra is also associated with “splitting / cutting” up relationships & being “the other woman.” in a way, men deal with an inner conflict when being involved with the krittika woman. i think it’s because martian or solar qualities over a woman causes insecurity in men who are not secure with themselves. the type of men who hate you because they hate themselves. so these men project. there’s no way a woman like that could simply be liked, she must’ve seduced him.

and i feel that’s because the krittika woman is not the “ideal” woman. she’s not demure, she’s not passive, she’s not insecure, and she doesn’t depend heavily on the men around her. instead, she’s dominant, assertive, flirtatious. she cuts her hair short. and she’s sometimes androgynous in presentation, but still so sexy. and it drives men and women crazy. the presence of other planets being in anuradha, ashlesha, jyeshtha, bharani, mrigashira, etc can also strengthen these “dark” qualities in a krittika woman.

! halle berry is probably the most iconic cat woman in modern pop culture. she’s a krittika rahu, with an ashlesha sun.

halle berry’s role was so iconic, i think she informs the way modern actresses give their takes on cat woman, which is why we see so many of them having krittika placements. for example:

— ariana grande recreated cat woman in her “the boy is mine” music video. she’s a krittika venus & jyeshtha north node. — normani dressed up as cat woman for one halloween. she’s a krittika mars, as well as a bharani mercury. — zoë kravitz is a krittika jupiter & anuradha sun + mercury. — saweetie dressed as cat woman for halloween [?] and she’s another krittika venus. — naomi campbell did a shoot as cat woman, and she’s a krittika sun. i don’t know if that naomi shoot was before after halle berry’s movie but i digress.

kinda unrelated side note. my point about “the other woman” rings so true for the reputation ariana got. halle berry also applies, as she’s been in three marriages thus at least two separations. saweetie for her allegations with cheating. and so on. krittika can be a little romantically corrupted, but i think that’s why it translates into something so irresistible. in a “i’m not supposed to be doing this” way. i myself am a krittika venus, and i never cheated on someone or have been “the other woman” bc why the fuck would i do that to myself lol. buttt i will say that people usually start liking me when they know they shouldn’t. as a rebound, while they’re involved with someone, rebellious fetish, them pursuing me but hating the type of person i am because they want me to conform. like an exercise of conquest.

anyways… this is what i noticed of krittika and cat woman. hope y’all enjoyed my ramble. :P

[aluciahaz]

Sorry if this isn’t the askbox or not right I never done this before..

If requests are still open and whenever you feel like it of course.

I would like a dom male Reader x bottom Alastor rough smut, where the reader is in an important meeting as he is an overlord or prince of hell which ever you prefer.

And Alastor have been more chaotic lately which is messing something up for the reader and now he have to correct Alastor’s behavior.

Anyway hope you’re doing well today and take care of yourself and of course you can ignore this. Thank you.

RAHH!! im very late, sorry! i havent been feeling like writing in awhile, especially hazbin unfortunately 😭 so i decided to just post my wip i had for this request! i dont think ill ever finish it, so i wanted to post it rather than let it rot lmao, hope you enjoy although its unfinished ❤️

don’t forget your place

alastor x male!reader

includes: crying, gags, bondage

you don’t know what’s gotten into alastor recently.

the two of you sit in a meeting, right beside each other of course, and you watch as other overlords trickle into the modern room.

you didn’t even need to look at them, you could tell which people had arrived just by the sounds of their footsteps alone. each overlord was unique, it wasn’t hard to differentiate them. zestial had this almost spider-like sound when he walks, carmilla’s shoes pierced through the quiet like blades, and alastor—

“what are you thinking about, darling?” he asks, smiling at you with an inquisitive look.

you glance over at your troublesome lover, pursing your lips. “about how you’ve been harming my reputation with some of the statements you say in your radio show,” you tell him honestly, the sound of chairs moving against the pristine floors covering your conversation well enough to not require you to whisper.

“and how you keep killing some of my biggest customers. they’re too afraid to even call anymore.”

“oh, but you could always get more—”

“it’s not about that,” you hiss, your hand clenching alastor’s tightly. his smile freezes, but he’s still smug, looking at you under his hooded eyes.

“it’s about you walking over my image, al. stay in your lane,” you scold him, letting go of his hand as you feel him pull away.

all he does is shrug, clearly unbothered as he leans back in his chair. “i drive wherever gets me to my destination the fastest, my dear. and, it just seems you’re the shortcut.”

your grip on the bottom of the seat in frustration, glaring at alastor in both annoyance and sheer astonishment at his audacity to make such a euphemism. he thinks that he could just tear down your reputation to build up his own? what an outrageous idea!

perhaps you’ve been too kind to him. he thinks you’re some sort of pushover.

you’re already thinking of ways to fix that mistake. so much so, that the meeting seems to pass by like a fly and the fruit of your ideas are right in your hands in just a few seconds, tasting sweeter than honey.

“mmh—hn!” weak static fluctuated between an incessant buzzing to complete silence as you grabbed his ears roughly, tugging them back to reveal his dainty neck, a perfect place for you to latch your lips on, and soon you hear a jump in his voice as your teeth pierces his skin.

there was usually more leniency when it came to intimacy with al. you want him to enjoy it after all, so you let him bark a few insults here and there, mock you a little. whatever makes him comfortable, either way, his mouth usually ends up running out of words to play at the end of his little show of control once he gets overwhelmed, unable to read his script anymore as you drive his brain into an incoherent repeat of ‘please’.

but tonight, you watch him writhe and sob as his mouth is gagged and his body is completely tied to the bed, spread out and on full display as you ram into him, his head tossing and turning into the pillow behind him.

your hands ground him to reality, the sharp pain of your nails and unrelenting grip forcing him to stay somewhat conscious as you use him, showing how much power you have over alastor.

it was incredible to see his silver tongue unable to lacerate the air with insults, the gag upon him doing a great job at keeping him unable to throw jabs at you like you were some target at a range.

instead, all he could do was wail, drool spilling down his chin and making a mess of his dress shirt that you made sure to keep on him just to piss him off. you know how much he likes to keep his clothes in check. it’s part of his well-crafted image, after all.

“are you learning your place now, bambi?” you chuckle, your words cold on his skin, seeping into his body as he shivers at the frost, unable to protect himself from your punishment.

“answer me,” one of your hands leaves his waist, grabbing his chin and yanking him up towards you. a small, feeble whimper leaves his throat as you do so, and his eyes seem to dilate. dilate, out of all things.

“slut,” you spit, chuckling as you see his ears flop down. such a terrifying overlord, reduced to a small little deer in your hands. it was cute, how he looked at you.

it was even cuter when he shakes, so sensitive that he feels the need to twist and turn as you make him cum for the second time, his body jolting as your hand runs over his cock, still hard underneath your palm.

usually, you’d expect a sharp glare or some sort of defiance to your name-calling, but all you see is his eyes rolling back, his head tilting up as you release his chin.

there are tears that seem to adorn his cheeks like shooting stars in the sky, and babbling that‘s reminiscent of a muffled radio in another room. it was nice, seeing alastor’s breaking like this. watching him fall beneath the weight of his actions, unable to hold them up on his shoulders as they crush him in one fell swoop.

all because of you.

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @drlucichen @mvskedxrtist @luciferspetduck

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 12.

Summary: Reuniting with Venetia was always an interesting experience. Many people - everyone else who lives at Saltburn included - wonder why you put up with the way she speaks to you, the way she treats you. You wonder how they can't see that it's so much more than that.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied pseudo-incest, nonsexual intimacy with Venetia but no smut

A/N: 3644 words. i know i said there's be ollie this chapter, but i needed to set up a few more things around the house; specifically venetia and what her whole deal is with the reader. i love her, she breaks my entire heart. i know i should have edited this one but oh well, here, eat up friends.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Never once has Venetia been gentle with the way she speaks to you; she is sharp lines and bitter tongues and laughs and moans that edge on jagged. Nothing about her seems capable of regarding you, or sometimes even treating you, with gentleness, yet she demands it from you in everything you do.

She picks you apart the moment she sees you again, like nails over every inch of your being she pries apart who you've become in her absence, but ends it all by telling you that you're still frustratingly attractive.

"Thought that would change."

"Do you think that every time?"

"Prepare for the worst and hope for the best," she sighs with a wry smile.

"My potential descent into unattractiveness is... hope?"

"Preparing, obviously; I'm very fond of you, I don't hope you get ugly," obviously, says her eye roll. Its a compliment, says her eye roll.

Still, you know Venetia well enough, know her bitter tongue belies a sweetness she could never speak out loud.

All you'd come down in is your bathers, and an old, large button down that Felix liked to swan around the house in. Which Venetia insists you leave on, lest you get yourself burnt, though you roll your eyes and shrug it off anyways, draping it over the parasol-protected banana lounge that Venetia had claimed with her towel. Venetia herself looks like something out of countless fantasies, and even more Summer magazine centre folds, the sequins of her silver bikini shining in the sunlight.

Venetia is a shiny, pretty thing, eye catching; large sunglasses and shiny lip gloss and a body that glows and shines with what you hope is sunscreen but know is just moisturiser and tanning oil. Untouched by anything but the sun and herself on this searing afternoon, wanting and waiting for her entertainment, for you.

Venetia's gentleness lives and dies in her desires, in the way she wants. Her needs, her demands are always met, but her wants she'll never be able to put to words. So you learned to figure her out for yourself; if she loves you for it, she'll never say it out loud.

Wading into the water, towards the floating chair she's so elegantly draped herself across, you keep your hands above the water's surface, keep them dry as you reach her. With every step her smile grows wider, and you place your hand on her ankle, hand gliding up her warm leg in casual greeting. Calf, knee, thigh, soft and warm and dry, and your hand comes to rest on her belly, your fingers splayed out, cooler than her sun-soaked skin, and she giggles. The anticipation makes her giddy. Her hand comes to rest on yours, though never to take your hand; she wants to be touched more than she wants to hold, that's why when she shifts carefully on her buoyant seat, she makes sure that it's not so drastic that you'd have to move your hand from her skin.

"You kept me waiting," already there's a hint of faux disapproval on her tongue when she greets you properly, or as properly as you were going to get from her. Instead of dignifying that with a real response, you roll your eyes, and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. Giving a huff at your non-answer, she does however take your face in her free hand before you can pull away, giving you a kiss on the cheek in response.

"Hello to you too, Ven," you half laugh, but she's still holding your face, holding you close, for longer than was necessary. Letting you go, she lifts her glasses with that same hand to finally get a proper look at you. A strange, accusatory glimmer there amongst the mirth and mischief.

"I thought you kept me waiting because you were freshening up," it almost sounds betrayed, settling the glasses on top of her head. How could she have known that kind of thing? Why would she care if you hadn't?

"Didn't think it would matter; I was getting in the pool anyways," you pointed out as nonchalantly as possible, but she just reiterated that you'd kept her waiting, like it was the end of the world. Something about her suddenly intrigued gaze had you growing flustered, wondering what it was about you that had her so incensed.

In the next instance, she's slid from her seat and into the water beside you without hesitation. There's now something determined in her eyes when she takes your face in both hands, kissing you. Venetia has always been direct, has always taken for granted that you'd bend to her whims in most instances. Like this one. Your arms wind around her as if on instinct. There's nothing sweet about it, nipping at your lips insistently, tongue in your mouth -

"Oh my god," she pulls back, eyes wide with what you're pretty sure is disbelief, like she's come to an urgent realisation.

"It's so good to be home; how have you been lately?" You ask breathlessly, deeply confused about her attitude and trying to give her a hint that even for her this is a strange greeting. But then her lips are on yours again, pulling you in, all teeth and tongues and gasping furiously into your mouth. Somewhere in all of this, you pull her close, hands beneath her thighs and letting her wrap her legs around you under the water.

"It hasn't even been an hour!" She cries this time when she pulls back from you, looking almost like she's on the verge of laughter or perhaps screaming, "wash your mouth out! What is wrong with you?" Despite the fact that she'd just given you the kind of kiss that would put Hollywood to shame. Twice.

"Not drinking chlorine for you, Ven," you tell her, amused, while still holding her secure against you. Displeased with your answer, she pushes away from your chest with both hands, and you let her go, let her splash you as she makes a face.

"Don't drink it, christ," she rolls her eyes, as if she believes you're being wilfully stupid about the whole thing.

"Then I'll just taste like chlorine," you pointed out, wading over to her. The answering smile you get is particularly mean.

"I'd rather you taste like chlorine than Felix," despite all the questions and implications her disdainful words raise, you match her energy, smiling back with a blithe confidence as you approach her once more.

"You sure you mean that, Vennie?"

Immediately, Venetia is scarlet, spluttering, playing exceptionally well at being horrified by your implications, if not for the ease with which she lets herself get wrapped up in you once more.

"You're gross, you're awfully gross, you both are. I can't believe -" she tells you, looks in your eyes like she's determined to make you believe it, "I'll wash your mouth out myself," she threatens, and you nod while not trying particularly hard to hide your amusement. With a childlike scowl she dips herself mostly underwater, still encircled loosely by your arms, scowling at you all the while. Like a little, blonde crocodile, nose and eyes making sure you're watching her every move, taking her and her threat seriously.

When she surfaces, cheeks puffed out and presumably filled with water, you have to let her go for how hard your laughing. Then the chase is on.

The first mouthful of water she loses to her own laughter, and shouting at you to stop trying to get away, while you thrash through the length of the pool. Every so often she almost catches you, but you splash her and wriggle free and she shrieks with faux offense. Until she's got you pinned to the side of the pool, water just up past your waist, and a devilish look of triumph in her eyes.

At first she taps her lips expectantly. Of course her mouth is once again full to bursting with pool water. Shaking your head adamantly, you try and lean away, still faintly laughing, but Venetia changes tact.

Instead of caging you against the side, she carefully wraps her arms around your neck, gaze turning soft and fond and amused as she leans in. You know what she's doing, but you let her have it this time.

Winding your arms around her waist, you let her shotgun a mouthful of pool water into your mouth, and try not to laugh to keep it from going down your airways or up your nose. Venetia, in triumph, the moment she knows the water is in your mouth, she pulls back and clamps her hand over your mouth, looking altogether too proud of herself.

Drenched, beautiful, and grinning from ear to ear, the look in her eyes betrays just how into you, or at the very least into this moment, she is.

"Wash your mouth out before you come anywhere near me next time," she orders in a firm whisper that's definitely doing more for you than you'd like to admit. Possibly for Venetia too, considering how she's unable to wipe the smile off of her own face, "you filthy, little doggie."

No-one, maybe not even Felix, is ever allowed to find out how quickly those words have you all but melting at her command. The fight drains from you, and God all you want is to be good, good, good. Judging by Venetia's pleased reaction, she can feel the moment you start to submit, can probably see it in your eyes. Her hand stays over your mouth until she's satisfied you've swished the water around enough, and you spit the water back out to the side, instead of at her like you'd been intending to before she'd called you out.

"Can't believe you said that to me, really, Y/N," she sighed, shaking her head. Neither of you moved; you flush against the side of the pool, and Venetia pressed flush to you.

"So you're the only one who can say things in the hopes of getting manhandled?" Giving a sheepish grin, even if you don't fully believe what you're saying, there's a semblance of self-satisfaction when Venetia gives in. She grabs your chin and pulls you in for one more rough kiss, pressing against you, trapping you in this moment. A rare instance in which she gives you what she thinks you want.

But some of your bite is coming back.

"So does the chlorine taste better?" You smirked. Immediately she splashes you with a wave of water to the face. By the time you've spluttered through a recovery, she's halfway to the stairs.

"I hate you," is not a real answer to the question, but that's okay, you weren't really looking for one as much as you had been looking to rile her up, "and you've made me all wet - shut it -" she warns, cutting off the crude joke you both knew you were about to make, as she starts up the pool stairs with determination, "and you've ruined my beautiful afternoon plans."

Waiting at the top of the stairs, she turns back to you, simply watching her with a grin, giving you an impatient gesture. Your smile widens, but still, you obligingly follow her.

Even while mad at you, Venetia was a creature of predictable desires. Very rarely did her frustration with you outweigh the benefit of your company to her, and now was no different. Drying yourselves off with her towel, the only one either of you had brought down, it seems her mood is already lightening once more, letting you know that she'd gotten her hands on the latest Harry Potter novel. When she pulls the book out from where she'd stashed it under the long lounge, she picks up Felix's shirt and tosses it to you.

You know to put it on, just like you know not to comment on it.

Without asking, nor having to be asked, you settle yourself on the lounge chair and insistently pat the space beside you; almost enough for Venetia.

"Let me read over your shoulder," an incredibly flimsy excuse that you both see through, but she still settles herself on the lounge chair too. There's not quite enough room, so you're almost on your side, arm around Venetia's shoulders, head resting against hers, pressed up against her whole side. Legs curled up together, your other hand once more comes to rest on her lower belly, casually intimate, warm, tips of your fingers just barely tucked into her bikini bottoms. You're not reading; your face pressed so close to her's is proof enough of that.

"Your eyelashes are tickling my cheek," in these moments she sounds so much younger than she is. The peel of laughter that rings out from her as you nuzzle your face further against her cheek, pointedly fluttering your eyelashes, it reminds you of the way she'd laugh at the sleepovers the two of you shared in the first few years of meeting each other.

And you settle back down, angling your face only slightly to keep your lashes from bothering her, and rub faint circles against the soft skin of her stomach with your thumb. Venetia opens her book, and finally relaxes.

It's been a long time since you'd seen Venetia fully relax around anyone who wasn't you. You wonder if anyone else has noticed, has wondered, has thought to figure out the how and why of the girl beside you. Contrary to popular belief, it's been a long time since Venetia's actually sought you out for sex. Constant lewd flirting and suggestive texts aside.

So much of Venetia's self worth was tied to being sexually attractive. Pretty and fashionable and fuckable. Needed biblically, carnally. Pick up, use, put down. There was such a thrill in being wanted that it took her too long to understand why she was hollow; don't let me go felt selfish for her to even think. But you'd learned to read through the things she leaves unsaid.

Sex she could get anywhere, but the touch-starved Venetia knew you understood the truth of what she wants. It's why she treated you like furniture, like she was entitled to your personal space.

You often find yourself wondering if Venetia only touches you in ways she wishes she could touch Felix. More casually than even now, and many still would consider their relationship too close. You are kind and loving and playful and a wonderful friend, but you are nothing of real substance to her; you are a warm body and the closest she can be to Felix half the time.

For anyone else it would be too hot for this kind of proximity, but never for Venetia. So you drown in the heat of her skin pressed against hers, and let yourself drift asleep in the peaceful afternoon.

It's a sleep so peaceful that you don't even properly wake when her soft chatter infects your hazy mind. Farleigh's voice drifts through your head and this haze -

"- no-one tells me anything," you can hear Venetia pouting without even opening your eyes. Her book must be closed because she's got a hand on your thigh, bringing your leg further over her.

"Of course they don't, you should have seen both of them earlier when I accidentally implied -"

"Careful, Farleigh," you yawned, carefully snuggling further against Venetia. The pair are quiet for a few long seconds, but your eyes remained closed.

"See what I mean?" Farleigh eventually breaks the rather tense silence with a wry, pointed comment.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me we were having a guest," Venetia sounds like she's sulking, but you just make a noncommittal hum in the back of your throat, "feeling possessive of our impending Mister Quick, are you, pet?" And you feel her fingers gentle on your cheek, taking your face in her hand and lifting you to look her in the eyes. Cracking your eyes open, you level a flat gaze at her. Also, you realise how long you must have been sleeping; it's sunset.

"Simply giving you space to form your own opinions of him, Ven," you told her, gaze sliding pointedly to Farleigh, who had splayed himself out on the opposing lounge chair. He stuck his tongue out at you.

"I'm a big girl, pet; I just want to know what you think, what I should expect."

God, the Catton siblings are phenomenal at playing innocent in a way that's completely and utterly unconvincing.

Venetia's still holding your face close, gaze sharp and demanding an answer. Maybe you should untangle yourself from her, from this conversation, but something about being around her always made you want to play along, even if out of spite.

"I think it doesn't matter what I say," you tell her softly, speaking with an honesty you don't often allow yourself around most of the Cattons, or even Farleigh, "nor do I think it matters what Farleigh says, no matter how cruel he is about Ollie," everything about your tone, your expression, the way your grip on her retracts as much as you're able, it comes as a surprise to her, and judging by your peripheries, Farleigh too, "you're going to want him, adore him; Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and you are Venetia Catton."

"The actual fuck do you mean by that?" She pulls away, struggling to her feet with a scowl, and you relax fully into the spot she'd just abandoned. By this time you smile up at her, warm, adoring.

"I mean it is in your nature to love," it's not entirely a lie, but Venetia only sees the truth in it, the fondness. Her irritation softens, "I mean no opinion will ever matter above yours, and I know you, Ven; you're hardwired into your own brand of love at first sight." It's an incredibly, meticulously diplomatic cover for your earlier, far harsher statement. Farleigh's watching you like you're a magician before his very eyes; Venetia, thankfully, doesn't look at him.

Sitting back down gingerly on the edge of the lounge, she gives into your sweet words when you softly tell her you love her. She doesn't say it back - she never will - but she kisses you on the forehead before standing again.

"Almost thought you were being a bitch again," she tells you loftily, wrapping her towel around her waist like a skirt, cocking her hip, "and I've about had it up to here with you and your -"

"Yapping?" You supplied, playing up the canine allegations just to see the way she fails the hide the quirk of her lips, the dead give away that she's desperate to smile.

"Yapping, exactly." And she turns swiftly on her heel, trying her best to storm away. When you call out that you'll see her at dinner, she flips you off. If you look to Farleigh, you think you might be able to see the cogs turning in his mind. Slowly, his mouth opens, then there's a distinct look in his eyes that says he thinks better about whatever he was going to say, and he closes it once more.

"Spit it out."

"I actually don't think I will," at least he admits it, "I think I'm in awe of your way with words and I'm gonna keep the rest to myself," he looks out at the pool, at the grounds beyond it, tucking his hands behind his head.

"Farleigh -"

"No," he says firmer, and looks at you, but his expression isn't harsh, "I think you're right; I think we should have our own opinions, and I don't want mine to get in the way of our friendship," surprisingly, he sounds very genuinely sincere; it hits the centre of your chest, and you take a moment to consider his words. "Oliver Quick," still the barest bit of disdain, but he's clearly trying, "is someone you and my cousin clearly care about; end. Of. Sentence." It does look like it pains him to say, but you're grateful nonetheless.

For a very long time, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, side by side, as the sun turn the world gold-red-lilac-blue around you. Just as you feel like you should go and get dressed for supper, you can't help but try again.

"Come on, what were you going to say -?" You don't even finish the teasing question before Farleigh blurts out -

"Just how good was Oliver's dick for you to actually be this possessive of him before he even gets here?"

And the question makes you absolutely burst out laughing, a sound which Farleigh thankfully echoes. The cathartic release is greatly welcomed as you both stand. Wrapping your arm around Farleigh's waist as the two of you head back, but he's still waiting for the answer he knows you're not nearly too shy to give.

"I'm not possessive," you justify immediately, though Farleigh's snort gives away that he doesn't even begin to believe you, "but you can never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever tell Venetia -"

"That good?" Farleigh sounds incredibly sceptical, but you go quiet; you wonder if he can tell how smug you're being right now. Clearly, after a moment of silence, the disbelief in his voice gives him away; "seriously; that good?" You make an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, "okay," Farleigh actually sounds a little impressed, "Felix's jealousy makes a little more sense; I assume he knows?"

"Of course he knows," you shake your head dismissively, "and he's not jealous," anymore, you leave off the end.

"Am I jealous of you?" Farleigh murmurs, mostly as a joke, but knowing him there's at least part of him considering it, "who would have guessed; Oliver Quick."

For the first time when Farleigh says his name, there's only intrigue on his tongue.

[cloudyskydreams]

scent drabbles!

UNDERTALE!

Sans smells like pine and rain

You groan as you lazily smack at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Sweet silence fills the room once you finally manage to hit the snooze button and you consider getting up, for a very brief moment you really did think about it but your skeletal mate clinging on to you destroyed any thoughts of getting up and starting the morning early. You snuggle into him and inhale deeply, his scent has always been so calming. The smell of a rainy day trampling exploring a pine forest filled your senses and you sigh happily.

"heh did you just sniff me?" His voice makes you jump a little and blush in embarrassment.

He looks up at you with a brow bone raised and squinted sockets."Uhm... No?" your voice is a tad meek.

"don't worry I'm not scent out of shape about it." He chuckles and you shake your head at his pun. He pulls you back into him burying your face into the tank top he sleeps in. "it's too early to be up." He whines and you sigh snuggling into him and enjoying the comforting smell pulling you back into sleep.

Papyrus: smells like citrus and clean laundry

You and Papyrus are in the kitchen together eating breakfast. He lovingly made you both pancakes and you happily dug in when the decent sized stack was set in front of you. There was some for his brother sure but he wasn't going to be awake for a few more hours the lazybones. Papyrus worked on the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper while you munched on pancakes occasionally asking you for advice.

"EIGHT LETTERS, UNWAKBLE STATE" you think about it as you chew.

"Maybe ... Comatose?" He checks it with the spaces and other answers he already has and nods.

"THANK YOU SWEET PEA." You smile at the nickname and stand up to set your plate in the sink.

After you're done you creep up behind him and lean over his shoulder resting yourself against his back as you peer at the crossword. He Nyehs and leans his head against yours. You smooch his cheek and sigh contently before nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells wonderful like a productive day inside cleaning laundry and munching on freshly peeled oranges.

"Papyrus darling you smell so yummy I could just eat you up" he blushes at your words and you chuckle noticing that the citrus stands out more when he's flustered.

"(Y/N)...DONT DISTRACT ME FROM THE DAILY PUZZLE I MUST KEEP MY MIND SHARP!" You know he doesn't mean that from the way he's pressing himself against you but you chuckle anyways.

"Sorry clementine, I'll let you focus." You smooch his cheek again and he leans into the touch. Heading away from the kitchen to leave him be you decide for once you're actually motivated to get some laundry done.

UNDERFELL:

Red smells like campfire and apple pie

Fellby had called you complaining of the drunken red stating he didn't want his brother to come pick him up and to call you. You sigh and tell Fellby you're on the way. You grumble to yourself the entire way out of your apartment complex and to the bar. Once you make it to the bar you search around and spot Red perched on a barstool dozing off as Fellby stands close to him behind the counter crackling with his fire looking a little brighter than normal.

"Hey fell, m here for him don't worry" you say as you help Red off the bar stool he clings on to you and Fellby does the equivalent of an eye roll before walking off to serve patrons.

"heyy sweetheart, nice ta see ya" he slurs and you sigh bracing his body with yours as you help him stumble to the door.

"Jesus Red the suns not even down yet... Did you and edge have another fight or something?" Red's silent at that and he mumbles something stopping in his tracks."What?"

"i said i love my brother." Guess you hit the nail on the spot.

"Never said you didn't bud... Have you been seeing your therapist?" You get him walking again and he groans as you pry into his personal life.

"yeh e'ry two or so weeks" he huffs and you nod satisfied.You gaze at the stars for a bit as you stumble red back to the apartments and help him do the walk of shame into the elevator.

"Your place or mine?" He looks at you confused. "If you got into a fight it wouldn't be the best look to come home in this state..might set him off again?" You prompt and he nods looking a bit taken aback.

"guess yours then doll thanks for offering." His voice is gruff and there's a slight red hue to his face you brush off as the influence of alcohol.

"It's not problem babe I'm used to babysitting you " you chuckle and lead him to your apartment. He stumbles and collapses on the couch and you go and get him and cup of water from the kitchen.As your setting it on the coffee table he gives you a soft look and you pause to stare at him. You awkwardly look at eachother before he inhales sharply and looks to the side.

"keep me company?" You melt at his request and sit on the floor next to the couch.

"Wanna talk about it?" You prompt and he steels his face slightly, you take that as a no."That's okay... You should sleep this off."He nods in agreement and lays his head back after receiving a small smooch from you,you're sitting pretty close and you can smell his scent coming off of him it's like a fall night eating apple pie with friends around a campfire. You tell him about your day gently as he drifts out into drunken slumber and when you're done you stand up and stretch. These brothers and their emotional constipation, they have to get over it someday. You head to the kitchen intent on using the fresh apples you have to make a pie.

Edge smells like gasoline and cherries

You had ran into Edge in the hallway and had both gotten on the elevator at the same time. Unfortunately for you the elevator decide now would be the perfect moment to break down mid descent and leave you standing awkwardly across from the tall pointy skeleton who's looking more and more stressed with each second.You notice his breath is labored and wonder why he even needs to breathe before noticing he's sweating slightly.

"Hey.. you okay edge?" He looks at you and glares

"I-IM PERFECTLT FINE ITS JUST A LITTLE CRAMPED IN HERE PRINCESS." You would think he would know better than to lie to you at this point. He's obviously in the early stages of panic.

"Hey it's okay we won't be stuck for long... They're probably working on fixing it already" you press the emergency button on the elevator just in case. You sit in tense silence with edge for a bit more before actually sitting on the floor, after a few moments edge follows suit. You smile at him and gently start humming hoping to calm his nerves. He looks at you gently blushing slightly and listening to you hum as his breathing calms. The scent of gasoline dissipates the more you hum leaving the sweet after scent of cherries hanging around and after awhile the elevator springs back to life. Edge scrambles up and away from you to the furthest corner of the elevator and clears his throat.

"THANK YOU... TELL NO ONE YOU SAW THAT." his voice holds a threat to it but you just smile at him and his flushed cheeks.

"Have a good day edge." You hum as you exit the elevator after kissing his cheek now intent on going to the store. You have a craving for cherries now.

UNDERSWAP

Stretch smells like honeysuckle and honey

You sigh as you stretch out further on the couch. Today was lazy Sunday and you decided to spend the day with Stretch and Blue. Blue tried to join in on the tradition but couldn't sit still long enough and left to go about his day. Stretch however matched your laziness twofold so here you two were lazed out in his living room watching some nature documentary on bees.

"hey honey, what do bee's chew?" You think about it for a second before shrugging."bumble gum" he chuckles and you roll your eyes that was awful."what's a bees favorite sport?" You groan hoping this isn't going to be a rest of the day thing.

"I don't know honey bun what?" You coo and he flushes a bit at the nickname but smiles as he sits up in his arm chair.

"Fris-bee." You chuckle at that one and he beams at you proud to have made you laugh.

"Okay Mr comedian no more" you say and he throws up and a okay sign standing up and gesturing for you to move your feet. You do and he sits down so you spread you're feet back over his lap and he sets a hand on your calf rubbing it lightly. You guys enjoy each other's company and eventually you fall asleep to the monotone voice of the speaker on the documentary.

When you wake up you're cuddled to Stretches chest and he's asleep a little bit of orange drool leaking from his mouth. You giggle at the sight.He smells sweet like summer honeysuckle and the regular honey he likes to drink, it reminds you of your childhood and summer days. You nuzzle into him and he pulls you into his hoodie clad ribcage. You drift off back to sleep as you cuddle the clingy skeleton

.Blue smells like mint and snow (stole this one couldn't think of anything lol)

Blue and you bustle around the kitchen as you cook together.

"NOT TOO MUCH SUGAR ANGEL WE DONT WANT IT TO BE TOO LUMPY." Blue reprimands and you halt on pouring in the sugar as he mixes the cookie dough.

It's winter time and you're making sugar cookies to ice and give out to neighbors. Blue and Papyrus had plenty of stuff planned for the winter season and you were invited to join in on them.

"Alright now we let the dough chill for a bit," you hum and set the dough in the fridge. Blue nods and starts to wash up as you head over and wait for your turn. You wash your hands and head to the living room with Blue.

"IM GOING TO TURN ON THE NAPSTATON GYFTMAS SPECIAL! ITS A CLASSIC THIS TIME OF YEAR!" He calls out and you nod. You can't decide if you like Mettaton or Napstaton more but you don't really watch them without the boys so it doesn't really matter in the long run. Blue bounces over to the couch and gets comfortable as he turns on the special he's talking about. He looks at you for a second and there's a sparkle in his eyes a he gives you puppy dog eyes. "CAN I PLAY WITH YOUR HAIR?" You chuckle and nod sitting in between his legs to which he immediately shoves a bony hand in your hair. You lean back into the sensation and let him work out knots and braid and unbraid as you watch the musical drama in front of you. Blue seems content to simply play with your hair and as you lean back you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells like freshly fallen snow and peppermint a nice combination and perfect for these winter days. You find comfort in the scent and sensation of having your hair played with and subconsciously lean into Blues touch as he starts to massage your scalp. Once the shows over you two hope back up and start on rolling out the dough and shaping it. It's a fun time and you and Blue take turns picking out different cookie cutters. You can't wait for more winter days like this to come.

[californiaboytoybilly]

Eddie Munson would like to think that years of hunting monsters had taught him to be incredibly aware of his surroundings.

Over those years, lots of things- both of the human and creepy-crawly variety- had tried to get the jump on him and they always either ended up unconscious, or dead.

However, he must have missed something this time.

Pointed fingertips dig into his throat as his back hit the wall hard, enough to feel the aftershock rattle through his bones. The breath was punched out of him in one smooth whoosh.

His eyes shot to his attacker as he tried to rapidly calculate how to get loose.

“Got you.” The man purred. For the briefest moment, he almost could have passed as human with his golden skin and blue eyes, impossibly big and gleaming in the dim alleyway.

Gleaming like a cat’s eyes.

Not human. Vampire. Fuck.

“I will rip your head from your fucking neck—“ Eddie snarled, kicking out with his loose leg. He might as well have kicked a bag of flour for all the good it did him.

“Oh, I’d really rather you didn’t. I’m pretty fond of his head, especially attached.” A second voice chimed in from the other side of the alleyway, earning a snort from the creature who had him trapped.

“You’d just miss my tongue, sweetheart.” He said without hesitating, lips curling into a grin. His sharp teeth glinted. Eddie felt his panic spike as the other figure started to come into focus. He tried to suck in a breath, the hand on his neck a little too tight.

After everything he’d survived— everything he’d done and learned— he was going to be some vampire couples fuckin’ Happy Meal while they flirted over his cooling corpse.

“Mm, maybe. Now come on, Bils. Stop playing with your food, I want to go home.” The other creature stepped free of the shadows at last, studying his nails like a bored trust fund baby.

No, not nails. Claws.

He was tall, athletic in build and covered in lean bands of muscle. A trail of thick, dark hair disappeared into cut off denim shorts, which in literally any situation where his life wasn’t at stake he might’ve been distracted by. His amber eyes were lazily trained on Eddie and the vampire ‘Bils’ and there was a dog collar- with tags- around his throat.

A werewolf? Eddie’s baffled eyes darted between the two. He’d never seen a vampire and a werewolf in the same space unless they were trying to rip each other into tiny, bloody shreds.

What the fuck?

At least he got to see something new as a send off. Very little surprised him in general anymore.

“But he’s feisty. That’s half the fun, Stevie.” The bloodsucker honest to god pouted as he looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who just sighed.

“I’ll do that thing you li-“ Wolfy started, raising an eyebrow.

“Done. Deal.” That only earned him a bark of laughter in response.

Eddie, who’d been slowly getting his arm closer to the sharp dagger hidden in the holster on his belt, suddenly had the vampire’s full attention back on him.

“It’s a waste though. He’s kind of pretty.” He said, venom-sweet breath washing over Eddie’s face as he leaned in. The other one crossed to where they stood. Eddie flinched as a warm hand skimmed over his shoulder and into his hair, claws leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

“He is…” Stevie agreed, starting to sound a little foggy. Eddie felt the tension drain from his body, against his will. As he felt the sharp scratch of fangs on his throat, he sent a quiet apology to Wayne. Those razor sharp teeth cut his skin like butter, making him yelp out in pain. As ripples of euphoria began to spread from his throat to the rest of his body, he heard one last thing come from the werewolves' mouth. "Maybe we can keep him, if you don't make a complete mess of him anyway." Eddie Munson- from hunter to prized show poodle, he thought sardonically as his brain started to swim. And that's when he lost the battle against unconsciousness.

[imperhine-deactivated20241019]

get lost.

aughsuhdh apologies for my sudden disappearance! i forgot how to write and how to characterize the ghouls... hopefully you guys would still like this somewhat.

ghouls featured: aether, cirrus, dewdrop/sodo, swiss

for the sake of continuity, let's say that this is the situation: someone approaches you and the ghouls start to get jealous. you deny any advances, and the person gets more aggressive. the ghouls step in.

warnings for: boundaries crossed (nothing graphic), more protectiveness and less possessiveness, a little bit of ghoul violence <3

+ the party went by smoothly, for the most part anyway. you've went around the place, stopping by to talk to a few people and small groups. you end up at the bar, leaning against the table. you catch a pair of unwanted eyes. you do your best to hide how your eyebrows furrow as you politely decline their offers to buy you a drink or take you someplace else.

+ their voice is bit louder and rougher, they take a step towards you. the interaction catches more attention as the person's actions become more aggressive. out of the corner your eye you see your ghoul approaching.

aether

- something about aether just makes him very good about feeling things out

- he takes steady steps towards you and the guy

- aether's purple gaze is almost striking as he stares them down

- he's right beside you. he trusts that you can take this one down (be that verbally or else) but he's letting you know that he's got your back

- "i think they've made themself clear. and it seems like your best option now is to go.

- that usual warm energy from him is replaced with something immovable. a threat unsaid, especially with how much force was put on that last word

- and if that person had eyes, they best back away.

- after that exchange, aether checks up on you

- he rubs your back and doesn't dwell much on that creep, instead focusing on you

- but if you ask, he's more than happy to teach them a lesson

cirrus

- cirrus is very protective, definitely

- so when she notices? she's infront of you, no questions asked

- you didn't even feel her move, just the slight gust of air

- cirrus has a sharp expression as she rests her hand on her hip

- there are little wisps that blow strands of her hair

- "hey you. what made you think that you had the right to run your mouth like that?"

- when an argument arises, cirrus punctuated her words with her tail. it slapped on the ground, sounding almost like whip that's been cracked

- that silences them quick

- if anything happens, cirrus will not have been the one to start it. but she'll counter hard. even with fabulous nails (claws).

- might have left a scar too. she will neither confirm nor deny

- she'll turn back to you as if she just swatted a fly

- "apologies, darling. but they won't be bothering you ever again. did you get hurt?"

- cirrus takes your hand and presses a kiss to your wrist

- she asks what you want to do next. she's happy to keep you distracted with a dance but won't mind if you want to go home. she'll pamper you <3

dewdrop

- he will throw hands

- his eyebrows are furrowed, he purposefully bumps against the person's shoulder

- dew's hand is protectively hovering in front of you

- "back off, shithead." he half growls

- dewdrop saw the way they talked and cornered you, he is not letting that slide

- he'll make sure to bruise that fucker in some way, drawing blood

- he looks at them with so much disgust once they scurry away. he wipes his claws and shakes it

- he sighs but it turns into a sheepish smile when facing you

- "sorry 'bout that... i couldn't help it. but more importantly, are you okay?"

- he tends to you and gives you anything you need

- dew is a little more cuddly afterwards, head rubbing against you adorably. he reminds you of a cat

- probably wants the smell of everyone else gone off you

swiss

- oh you just know that swiss always has his eyes on you

- for many reasons, but mostly because he thinks that you're eye candy

- the moment he notices something is off, he's immediately coming closer

- swiss lingers behind you, carefully eyeing them

- his hand wrapped around your waist

- swiss makes a clear sign that you're taken by the way he holds you

- "they said no." he says, annoyed. "now why don't you take your bullshit somewhere else?"

- swiss is ready to jump and fight as soon as they take a step closer

- will break their knees if needed

- but swiss will do his best to limit anything, as he wants your discomfort to end fast

- swiss clicks his tongue as they leave, eyes still glowing

- he holds your face as he moves a little closer to you

- "don't worry, i'm here for you. do you want me to... handle them later?"

- he says jokingly, but you know that you can answer and he will

- swiss kisses you on the nose

- he's more than happy to provide anything you need, kisses and comfort included. wanna order dessert? sure! cuddle? he's immediately going home and pulling you into his lap.

[rosaline-black]

Hi!!!! I loved your Loki x green witch reader story I’m actually obsessed with the concept of the usually moody Loki just enamoured by this ray of sunshine. So is there anyway you could do like a blurb of them pre relationship?? Maybe Loki makes excuses to catch glimpses of her and she takes it the wrong way?

AGHH this request excited me so much I’ve loved Loki x sunny green witch reader for ages and this ignited my want to write so hey this might become a little series if anyone’s interested. The original one shot is here but this can totally be read stand alone!

Loki x fem!greenwitch!reader

Loki couldn’t quite remember how it had started. He remembers the first time he saw you, it was hard to forget after all. You were all smiles and smooth movements, the ethereal sparkles leaving your fingertips so effortlessly he felt like he’d had a spell cast on him right then and there.

Maybe he had. Maybe that was why for the past month Loki had found every opportunity to catch a glimpse of who he now knew to be the green witch.

In Asgardian folklore witches were evil old crones, sharp splintered nails and sneering wrinkled faces, cloaked in dark heavy materials. How wrong they had been. You couldn’t antithesis’ that more.

Your beauty was obvious. Anyone with eyes or ears would recognise that. From how you nurtured every aspect of your life, from the smallest of insects to the mightiest of hero’s. Your kindness was staggering. This naturally intrigued him.

The god of mischief had heard rumours of your origin from other members of the avengers, well heard was pushing it. He had asked. The Robin Hood knock off had mentioned something about you hiding? Spending years locked away in the forest, too kind to fight the cruel hunters so living a life of solitude among the plants and creatures.

Witches were a hot commodity after all. If the impression Asgardians had of witches was anything to go by he could only assume the dimwitted humans had a similar ideology.

But enough about the past, Loki was very much struggling with you in the present.

The first few times it was an accident. You both seemed to favour tea over the dark caffeinated syrup the other heathens of stark tower were addicted to. So when you softly asked him,“Did you have the last lemon tea bag?” With absolutely zero malice, it took Loki nearly twenty seconds to string together some sort of reply.

“Yes… my apologies”

“Ah that’s no problem I’ll have to make some more, I grow my own tea leaves”

Well I guess that was how it had begun. Loki’s infatuation and his over consumption of herbal tea.

He had managed to memorise your schedule. You would spend most of your time in the green houses, flourishing your garden and researching new spells in the hundreds of old tomes and scrolls Stark had helped you find.

In the evenings, usually around 9pm you could be found in the common areas, sat in a corner with a book and of course a cup of tea. Loki suddenly found himself waiting for the clock to strike 9 every day.

The god was casual about it, never approached you or tried to charm you into his company like he would have done in the past with broads upon Asgard. No you were far too special to be smarmed.

So he would just hover like a black cat, observing silently as casually and as cautiously as possible. Just like tonight.

At 9:01 pm Loki strolled into the kitchen, like most (all) evenings and heated the kettle pouring himself a cup of tea. His eyes landed on you like they always did, how could they not. The silence unlike most nights felt thicker, heavier. Something was off, and your sigh filled with unfamiliar contempt shocked him into dropping his tea spoon, the small metal tool falling into the countertop with a loud clatter.

The noise garnered so much volume you involuntarily got out of your chair, slamming your book shut with a pout as you made your way to the door. Just before Loki slammed his head against the wall like a lovestruck fool your voice rung out in the air.

“I know everyone here thinks I’m strange but if you’re just going to stand there and gawk at me every evening I’d much rather you just disclosed your judgments out loud…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act so perplexed. I’ve seen you coming here to catch a glimpse of me..”

Lokis heart dropped, you knew?

“…oh look at the mad witch who spends all her time talking to plants I wonder if she’s as nuts as everyone says she is!!”

Oh no. No no no you’d gotten it all wrong. If he wasn’t so stressed about the content of which you were speaking he probably would have been fixed on how adorable you were when you rambled.

“No… no I promise that was not my intention. It probably doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I’m not very well liked by the louder more extroverted inhabitants here…you well you seemed different? Less brash more… calm”

Gods he was such an imbecile. If you didn’t think he was an utter creep before you definitely would now.

The gods eyes were wide and frantic scanning your features for any kind of sign of understanding. Someone must of been looking out for him because the wrinkle between your brow softened and that pout, that intoxicatingly adorable pout curved into what could only be described as a bewitching smile.

“Oh… oh well then it is my turn to apologise… I just assumed you thought… well you know…”

“Fortunately I don’t…”

“Well maybe next time you happen upon me reading you could… join me?”

Loki nearly grabbed his chest to still his beating heart “I look forward to it…” maybe he wasn’t the god of lies after all.

[chococolte]

manhandling sagau childe,,, treating him roughly and gripping his waist hmm

word count. 368

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. sorry i haven't been posting that much recently, been very busy irl with health related issues (both my own and family), so it's been hard for me to focus on writing!! anyway, ik this is short, but i just rlly wanted to post something xbfhysg

Childe is loud. That's how he's always been.

The only time he has ever silenced himself is when he's been ordered by the Tsaritsa, and if he stands to gain something by keeping the quiet. But the Tsaritsa is nothing compared to you— barely deserving of even a modicum of your attention— and quiet can so easily be displaced, don't you think?

Your arms are warm against his waist, palms burning with heat against his abdomen. His mind is already drunk before you touch him, bleary thoughts of you breathing into his mind and mixing with his desire. You only looked at him with intent, but it was enough for his knees to buckle underneath his weight.

Childe bites his tongue when you run a finger over the chiseled skin of his stomach, his back arching. He makes a sharp, muffled noise, his chest heaving and lurching forward. He barely makes sense of the sudden taste of iron invading his mouth and coating the insides of his cheeks; his senses entirely numbed and dizzy, only capable of focusing on you.

You are all he ever wants to feel. You are all he ever wants to touch.

"Don't hurt yourself," you murmur against the naked back of his neck. Your hot breath has his head spinning, and he leans backward to feel more of it before he can think to stop himself. He makes a small hum of understanding, adjusting himself so he can ingrain your appearance in his mind.

Through the thick curtain of fog that drapes over his mind, he makes out a pulsing pain coming from his mouth— but his thoughts trip over themselves, unable to twist away from you. You're all he cares to think about, and as your grip turns hard, nails biting into his skin, he's sure you only ever will be. Even if he was dead, his body would still go through the motions of worship.

Now that he's gotten a taste of you, no matter how minute, no one will ever be able to compare. You are what all life aspires to be. No matter what inferno awaits him, it would have been worth it to have been touched by you once.