#but then i noticed the shape of a hook in the paint

[awerzo]

really enjoying playing through changeling's route

[thinemoonshine]

୨୧ 𝓱𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝓪𝐧𝐝 𝓱𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 ୨୧

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ in which (y/n), enhypen's 8th member, and her feminine habits lead to the boys developing their own as well

enhypen 8th fem!member x hyung line genre: fluff type: oneshot word count: 723

bringing her scrunchies everywhere (l.hs & p.js)

"Use this," Jay says upon noticing (y/n)'s struggle and helps tie her long hair up into a loose ponytail as she eats her breakfast.

(y/n)'s brows raise and she emits a closed-lip gasp of surprise, occupied with chewing her rice before smiling gratefully at him when he takes the seat in front of her. "Thanks! Where'd you find it?"

"On the couch," the older replies with his lips pulled into that casual, charming half smile of his.

"I think I saw one on the coffee table too," Heeseung chimes in and (y/n) makes a mental note to check on it. Later on, she does in fact find her scrunchie— and not just one of them but two.

After leaving her scrunchies and hairties practically everywhere, Heeseung and Jay tend to be the ones picking them up or the ones to find them— leading them to unintentionally be her very own scrunchie lockers.

Award shows? Heeseung will probably have a pink hairtie around his wrist, hiding under his sleeve. Jay will probably have some stuffed into the pocket of his pants.

En-O' Clock? Jay has some new scrunchies he randomly bought for her still in his bag while Heeseung picked her hairtie up from the makeup room when she got dolled up.

Basically anytime in the dorm? Oh, the scrunchies are layered on their arms like warmers. They might even be using one for their own hair— just walking around the dorm with a palm-tree on their crown held together by soft, fluffy rubber ties.

using flowery coasters (s.jy)

"Look at these new ones I made! Aren't they cute?" (y/n) asks excitedly while showcasing Jake her freshly made pieces of crochet coasters on their coffee table.

He gasps dramatically with a hand flying to his mouth, eyes widening and brows raising to express surprise before he grins brightly at the girl. "Wow~~ These are beautiful, (y/n)! I still can't believe how fast you made these! They're perfect!"

"Thank youuuuu!!" She elongates her word, emphasizing her gratitude towards him for complimenting her works before she looks up at him curiously. "Which one do you like most?"

Jake gazes down affectionately into her expectant eyes, chuckling at how purely ebullient she is and hums thoughtfully with narrowed eyes shifted towards the choices of handiwork. "I like that one."

He points to one in beige with dark green-stemmed yellow tulips adorning its circular shape and (y/n) gives him the piece before choosing another with the same design but different coloured tulips to match with his.

"We have matching ones!" She chirps, holding hers next to his before she goes to find the other members to gift the remaining coasters.

Jake smiles warmly at her furthering back before at the soft material in his hand. Ever since then, he's left the coaster on the table and uses it whenever he has a beverage. A hot drink, cold drink, bottled, canned or boba— uses it for every type.

If he finds another member using it, he won't hesitate to just snatch it before putting it under his drink aka. 'its rightful place,' as Jake calls it. As the collection grows, so does his greed. He is not sharing.

giving his arm/hand (p.sh)

(y/n) crochets, paints, does diamond art, basically all that artsy d.i.y stuff. And sometimes, she needs extra hands to keep things steady— and somehow, Sunghoon's always there.

"Can you hold this for me?" She asks Sunghoon to hold her crochet hook while she tries to untangle the knot in her thread. He holds it, and very stably too.

She's doing some diamond painting and accidentally knocks her small tray of colourful jewels— Sunghoon already has his hand out, palm facing upright and (y/n) naturally puts her sticky canvas on it like it's a dish, not wanting to accidentally knock it away while picking up a few fallen beads.

They're having a photoshoot and (y/n)'s called onto the set but has a mini fan in her hold— Sunghoon magically appears to take it from her then proceeding to stand obediently at his post, watching her and waiting patiently until she finishes to give her back her stuff.

She's out shopping for clothes and groceries— Sunghoon's there with a shopping basket hanging on one arm and her clothes on the other.

Some even say that Sunghoon's her personal assistant.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[evieolo]

Cozy — Matt Sturniolo x Reader

A/N: the request is here (if you want to see if i did it justice)

Your room is a real live portrayal of all Matt's safe spaces, that’s why he claims to be at your house so much. Because all of your throw blankets are fuzzy and your home sits on the edge of the town line, meaning, your bedroom window outlooks a forest filled with tall trees. Your bed is nooked in the side of your room, against two corners and you have an excessive amount of pillows, so instead of the couch that decorates your living room, every time you and Matt watch a scary movie it's on your bed. Cozied up with fuzzy blankets and pillows, lit dimly by your firewood scented candles' with added light from your one large window shining in, painting the room a dim yellow as the sun sets.

You’re comfy, legs draped over Matts, as you lay across from him, making an ‘x’ shape with your limbs over his. The ambient noise of Scream II provides a clear background, your eyes darting between the movie and Matt as he makes little comments every here and there.

“See, if I was in this movie I’d just run. Why does she look back like sixty times!? She’s begging to be caught!” Matt exclaims, throwing his arms out dramatically while he speaks. You laugh and turn to him, “It’s for dramatic effect.” You quip jokingly before zoning back into the movie.

Twenty minutes in, you notice a draft from the widow. It’s cold. The autumn air is chilling, and you don’t want to get up, so you instead opt for bodily heat and scootch closer to Matt, repositioning yourself so your head is leaning on his shoulder. Matt notices you shifting and pulls you closer.

Innocently, he runs a hand over your arms, immediately noticing the goosebumps that dot them. “Cold?” He questions, and before you can answer he’s draping his blanket over you.

You nod, “It got cold so fast.” You gesture to your outfit, “and, these booty shorts are not helping me warm up.” You laugh. Matt grins, “It’s okay because they make your butt look good.”

You laugh, trying to find a witty remark but you're interrupted when the oven beeps.

“Cookies.” You mumble, hassling yourself out of your nest of blankets and standing slowly after pressing pause on the movie. Matt groans- he’d just gotten comfortable- but stands with you, following you one room over to your kitchen.

You stroll to your counter and hit pause on the repeated beeping of the timer by tapping its top. Then, you open the oven, this sends a fragrant wave of brown sugar and chocolate to your sinuses, you inhale shamelessly at the scent that you’d grown long accustomed to, the scent that reminded you of Matt and your four years of friendship.

It was a you and Matt thing. Every Sunday he’d come over, you’d bake chocolate chip cookies and watch scary movies. A tradition for the two of you.

“Pass me the oven mit?” You say, turning to Matt briefly. He complies, grabbing the fabric off its designated hook and tossing it to you. You slip the mit on your hand and pull the cookies out of the oven, smiling at the familiar sight and placing them on the stovetop.

While you and Matt wait for the cookies to cool, you debate what movie to watch next. Scream wasn’t scary enough but Us was too scary. Once Matt settles for a movie that wont give you chronic nightmares, you fork two cookies off the baking tray and merge them onto a small plate. Carrying them to your room in a hurry to start your next movie.

Matt follows excitedly, watching you place the cookies down on your bedside coffee table and plop dramatically down in the corner of your bed. Before Matt settles he saunters to your window frame and shuts the glass for you. You thank him and he smiles, “Can’t have you complaining for the next two hours huh?” He jokes..

You laugh and hold out your arms in a welcoming manner, “C’mere” You hum, Matt complies, kneeing the beds edge before cuddling into your lap, and resting the back of his head on your chest as he faces the tv.

You’re invested in the movie, Matt, not so much. He’s more hyper focused on you, the small gasps you make every time something gorey happens, how your body jolts slightly beneath him at every jumpscare.

He repositions himself just so he can look at you, now sitting next to you instead of laying on top of you so he can take longer glances at your features.

Matt watches you more intently than you watch the movie, watching the way you blink and breathe. It would be creepy if he wasn’t so lovestruck, but he was. In love with you, and his heart was beating out of his chest because of it, urging him to spit his feelings out because subconsciously he knew you felt the same with certainty.

“Y/N, I have to talk to you.” He mutters. You finally peel your eyes off the TV screen and look at him, after your fingers find the remote to pause the screenplay. You raise a brow, “Oh?”

Matt chuckles with slight awkwardness unsure how to approach his feelings.

“We're watching this movie as friends right?”

You tilt your head with uncertainty, unsure of what he’s insinuating, blinking slowly before you reply. “Yeah, We’re watching the movie as friends…”

“What if we didn’t watch it as friends?” He drawls, talking slowly as if there’s honey dripping from his tongue. You pause, “I’m not following?”

So Matt continues, “What if we watched it as like.. boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your mind blanks at his words before you can fully comprehend what he’s said.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Matt smirks,“Depends if you’re going to say yes or not.”

You laugh, and tackle him in a gentle hug, pushing him back against your feathery comforter. “Yes, I’m going to say yes!”

Matt smiles, the wide grin spreading across his features. “Thank god.” He breathes, propping himself up on his elbows. You laugh and cup his face with your hands heart beating out of your chest while you do so.

Unable to suppress your smile, a grin spreads across your face, there are butterflies in your stomach, you're sure there are in Matt’s as well.

“Fuck…” Matt breathes, losing himself in your eyes, the feeling of your hands on him, indulging himself in you. “Can I kiss you? Please?” He asks.

You nod your head rapidly, the widespread smile still drapes across your features, “yes!” You laugh, heart fluttering rapidly until he finally presses his lips to yours.

You close your eyes, neverves melting away because Matts kissing you, and you just let yourself feel.

He moves slowly at first, testing the waters, feeling every part of your closed lips before he’s yearning for more, nipping at your bottom lips with his teeth so he has more access.

He tastes like brown sugar and chocolate, a result of the cookies but its entrancing.

Innocently, you want to kiss him forever.

When Matt pulls away it's not for long, he refuels his lungs with air but this time pecks you, less sensually, more with a feeling of love.

He pecks your lips, forehead and neck, and nose, running his hands through your hair while he does so because to him, you’re the most perfect thing in the world.

“You’re my girlfriend now,” He gushes, saying it out loud as if it’s reassurance to himself.

You lace your fingers in your hair and pull him down to you, stopping to speak before you kiss him again. “And you're my boyfriend now.” You laugh, pulling him to your lips.

A/N pt 2: Felt cute might delete later (I’m kidding, no I’m not)

[idkfitememate]

سلام! همانطور که می بینید این تصویر رئیس جدید در آینده است، می خواستم بپرسم واکنش شخصیت به خواننده سازنده که او را به عنوان یک حیوان خانگی همه جا می برد چیست؟🥺💖😂

Fontaine’s New Dragon

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Gn! Water Dragon x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 895

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Neuvillette & Reader implied to be past lovers

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Thank you to the people who helped me translate! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

Also fun fact, I reverse searched the image and the literal place I could find it was a Twitter (or X🙄) post that was like “Neuvillette’s furry dragon form dropped?” and got an amazing idea~

Furina was an eccentric woman. That was well known fact all throughout Fontaine.

Another known fact was that you could commonly see her out and about with her Salon Solitaire. That Salon consisting of - of course- Gentilhomme Usher, Surintendante Chevalmarin, Mademoiselle Crabaletta and the Singer of Many Waters.

What was uncommon, however, was seeing her spend so much time at the waters surrounding the Court of Fontaine.

And by spending a lot of time, I mean spending hours at the water. Which sounds weird because she’s the literal Archon of water but… eh.

The people didn’t really bother with what she did unless it pertained to a court hearing.

Neuvillette did care. He was thoroughly confused as to why his Lady was spending so much time near the water with her troupe. He knew she was… well. He didn’t really have a good word to describe the bouncy girl, but she certainly was something.

It wasn’t until all members of higher position in Fontaine were called to the Hotel Debord for a “special announcement” as she claimed.

And everyone did show. Though the dragon was a bit confused when he saw the magicians and their sibling in room. And Navia.

Navia…

He shook his head and looked away from the blonde who seemed to have not noticed him yet.

Taking his seat, he and everyone else awaited the arrival of their Archon.

The lights turned down and a spotlight lit up the stage.

The first to rush out was Surintendante Chevalmarin, filling the stage with bubbles as music began to play.

Next was Gentilhomme Usher, who launched pulses of water into the air, said pulses catching the light in just a way that made rainbows fall across the stage.

And finally Mademoiselle Crabaletta rolled into view, the bubble surrounding her popping and rings flying into the air, being caught by ribbons and hooks in the air.

“Is everyone ready?~”

Heads turned to the back of the room where Furina stood. Jumping up she landed on a bubble, that of which she rode down onto the stage.

Her Salon danced around her as she spun.

“Then I would like to introduce you all to the newest member of my Salon Solitare!~”

The rings that were thrown were then lit up by their own spotlights.

“Please give a warm welcome tooooo….!~”

All four on stage stopped dancing gestured up towards the rings above them.

“Dragon des profondeurs chantant*!~”

Her words were met with a a noise from off stage, before something swooped from above, quickly swinging through the hoops attached to the ceiling.

It was long and cover in royal blue and azure fur, speckled with greens and topped off with gold.

Its body was long and serpentine in shape, long golden whiskers flowing freely from its face.

A crown like structure sat on its forehead, four ears pointedly raised in a regal manner.

Its tail was unlike its body, it ended in a large fin that didn’t match any fish any other had seen before. It looked strong and powerful, one to bend the waves under its will.

The music silenced and the light dimmed as the beast found purchase on the rings above the stage.

Large wings rose from its back, poised in the air like a painting.

And finally, it glowed.

Bright golden and azure fill the room with tints of sea foam green. Its eyes opened to reveal stark white eyes that’s glow was only slightly y dimmer than all the other lights on its body.

Silence filled the room.

Eyes were wide and no one knew what to say. What could they say? Their Archon had just found a dragon, an actual genuine DEEP SEA DRAGON, something that hadn’t been recorded for years! Last known sighting of a being even remotely similar to those was the Hydro Dragon and its description was the…

… Was the exact same as the dragon before them.

If not a bit bigger but perhaps they could change their size?

As soon as this thought went through their heads, you gracefully leapt down onto the stage, a rumbling purr emoting from your throat. You did in fact increase in size, the stage allowing you to reach a point where Furina was the size of one of your smaller ears.

“Hehe! You should’ve seen them when I found them beneath the waves!~”

Ah. Of course. Even that wasn’t your size.

The shocked silence was interrupted by someone clambering up from their seat.

Neuvillette.

He ran forwards towards the stage with an expression none of them had ever seem before. Hopping up onto the stage, he faced the dragon as it turned to him.

The two made eye contact for a moment before the Sovereign held a shaking hand out. You walked forward and pressed your head into his palm.

“…Ma brillante perle des profondeurs..?”

Your throat rumbled in response, a smile over taking your previously blank face.

“Mon très cher poisson-ange.~”

Everyone who wasn’t a dragon jumped at the sound of your rather deep voice.

Neuvillette wrapped his arms around your neck - though with your current size they barely made it one fourth of the way.

And I’m response you nuzzled against him. You’re glowing pulsating in a comforting way.

“Wait wait wait… YOU CAN TALK????” Furina’s voice shattered the silence.

“AND YOU KNOW THEM NEUVILLETTE?!?!?”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I hope it satisfies! I love my little guys hehe. Because of all the Neuvillette me thinks he may become a new favorite hehe ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

Hope you enjoyed!

* Dragon of the singing depths - Furina to You

* My brilliant deep sea pearl - Neuvillette to You

* My dearest angelfish - You to Neuvillette

[preppypersuasion]

The Perfect Boy

Written by RiderVitalli, revamped by Me (Preppy Persuasion).

Dylan had been such a nuisance on my street for as long as I can remember. His parents worked too hard to provide for their family that they didn't have time to raise him properly. It wasn't their fault when he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, becoming a menace to our neighborhood. But that would change the day he decided to vandalize my prize-winning front lawn, destroying years of hard work and effort, all in the name of "fun."

I caught him in the middle of the night, using his bike to tear up my grass, he'd carved the word "fag” deeply into the dirt, and upon further investigation, I found he'd torn up my flower-garden, toilet-papered my pear tree, even spray painted vulgar shapes and anarchy symbols on my newly paved driveway.

I'll admit it; I blew a fuse! I promised myself I'd never use my incredible gift for revenge, but this was too much. A wave of power rushed across the lawn and bowled him over; his body flopped into the dirt he'd ground up. Seeing his body short-circuit, twitching and writhing as his nervous system overloaded, I knew I'd messed up. Now the only thing to do was drag him inside before the neighbors woke up for their morning routines.

I didn't know what I was going to do at first. I laid him on the cold tile floor in my kitchen, solely so I wouldn't get his filth on furniture or carpeting. His body convulsed a little, but the main effects of the blast had worn off. If I'd left him alone for any longer, he'd wake up with an incredible headache, muscles sore from involuntary spasms, but otherwise, he'd be fine in a few days.

But then I had an idea creep into my head… Could I let this delinquent go only to repeat his mischief on some other innocent neighbor? No. I had to solve this issue while I had the chance. This sad excuse of a boy would no longer be a problem after I'd finished with him. The mental image I'd conjured was perfect in every way, but I doubt he'll like it much.

I looked down at him, breathing heavily but out cold. His body splayed in an awkward position. He'd lost a shoe somewhere, and his shirt had been torn as I dragged him. The clothing choice was appalling; his shirt was covered in silkscreened pot leaves and other paraphernalia, his shorts were baggy, the entire length covered in pockets which, after a short search, were found full of little baggies, papers, lighters, and his wallet, a little chain hooked to his belt as if the 2 dollars and his school ID were worth protecting.

I used a damp cloth to clean up some of the dirt and propped him up on one of my kitchen chairs, using a little of my power to control his body, making it impossible for him to move anything from the neck down. His head lolled forward, his chin resting on his chest. Then, with a nudge to his incapacitated mind, he awoke with a gasp and groaned when the soreness and migraine hit him. He tried to move; I saw his fingers twitch a bit on the armrests, then his eyes widened, and he looked around and yelled for help when he saw who was sitting across from him.

He shouted over and over; again, his fingers, the only thing he was able to move, twitched. Finally, after a few minutes, he calmed down a bit, panting, and begged me to let him go. I explained that I would, but he needed a little lecture first. Shouting again, this time with more force and vulgarity, he demanded freedom and threatened to tell the cops. His arguments were quelled when I explained that he'd send himself to jail if he tried after vandalizing my yard.

Some thought, and he finally went quiet, listening to me. I went on and on about his behavior and how he terrorizes our little community. He seemed proud, even happy that his efforts had been noticed, which made me angrier. I think he could feel the spark of control hit him, his head throbbing, his eyes glazed, and he fell silent. That's when I let loose.

Once inside his head, I read every thought, emotion, and memory in seconds. I knew exactly who this boy was down to the very core. I felt sorry for him. He only wanted acceptance and for someone to acknowledge him. Until now, his family was too busy keeping up with their lifestyle and working to build a decent living to pay attention to their little boy.

They never neglected him; they were good to him, giving him everything he needed and even trying to make him happy with new things, toys, and video games. But he wanted more. Not material things. He wanted to feel like he was necessary, and that's where his gang of rampant delinquents came in.

They pried him out of his shell and let him experience being wanted and needed. He was their fall guy, always able to get out of trouble and their best place to hide the more illegal things. He still looked innocent, so most authorities wrote him off as harmless. That's why he had pockets full of it when I searched.

I could see why he is the way he is now. But I still had to fix him. To solve our neighborhood problem, and now I know how! He craves acceptance, attention, and feeling needed and wanted; I'd give it to him! But I knew he wouldn't like it. His whole childhood and up to now had trained him to be a rebel. His brain was wired to "fuck the police" and to run or fight authority. It was in his blood, his DNA now. Changing him the way I planned would be torture for him! But it'd teach him a lesson! Kill two birds with one stone!

He was still lost in deep unconsciousness, and a line of drool dribbled down his shirt, so I took my time. I didn't change his memories or how he thinks; I left his personality intact. What I did change was the way he'd behave on the outside. The way his body would react to things, he could think of what he wanted to say, but it would come out completely different. He'd be forced to watch as he did something to a new standard. Everything on the outside would change.

I reprogrammed his outward vocabulary, adding educated words and deleting vulgarity. He'd be unable to swear or disrespect anyone in any way. His answers to anyone with any authority would be respectful, ending with "sir" or "ma'am" I tweaked his body language; he could no longer slouch or sit with his legs wide open like most boys do. He'd sit up straight; leg crossed neatly across his knee. He could no longer disobey his parents or elders unless it harmed him or anyone else. And worse of all, he'd do it all with a polite smile!

Next, I tackled his fashion sense. The way boys now dress always bugged me, so I forced him to buy and wear a more formal, professional wardrobe: slacks, khakis, polo shirts, dress socks, or boat shoes. Sneakers for athletics, crisp white t-shirts or undershirts, and only briefs, never boxers or commando, from what I could tell, he liked. This would be one of the most significant changes, so I hammered it into his brain; I could almost feel him fighting back, but in the end, I won out.

Finally, were his hair and his new hobbies and activities? His hair now was greasy and unkempt, hidden under an ugly, worn-out old cap, but from now on, it'd be crisply clean cut, short, maybe military style, or pomp. No, I know what I wanted for him. A "college boy" cut! Shaved back and sides, with a deep part on one side, the rest combed over neatly with a little longer combed over in the front. He'd also keep clean-shaven, trimming up his body and taking out all his piercings, and find that his tattoos would fade till they were gone. The perfect match for his new looks!

He needed some new activities, vandalizing, smoking, and general misbehavior wouldn't work for the new boy. No, he needed constructive things to keep his time occupied! Judging from his current body type, he still needs to do something other than skateboard and bike to stay fit. That had to change.

Seeing his new form in my head, I realized the perfect extracurricular activity! He'd be a swimmer! It takes skill and discipline to be on a swim team, and from what I'd seen in his head, he's self-conscious of his body, always keeping covered. So being forced to wear nothing but a tight speedo and cap would add to his torture; remember, this isn't just to make him better; it's also punishment! He'd also join a track team; his legs are long enough to be well-talented. Adding that he'd now strive for A's and work hard at home and for the neighbors doing chores, I covered his free time well.

I was done. My head was pounding from the effort of all these changes, fighting his mind and winning over. He was sweating buckets, his head lolling back and forth, whimpering as I released my grip on his mind. He groaned, and I let his body go; immediately, his hands went to his head and squeezed as it tried to press out all the changes I'd made. Then he looked up, his eyes a little red, and I heard his mind screaming obscenities and demanding I undo it all, but what came out of his mouth, as his body straightened up on the chair, was nothing like his previous mental statements. "Please, sir, may I have an Asprin and a glass of water, if it isn't too much trouble?"

His eyes widened, and his mind reeled as I got him his request, his hand shakily taking them, and after swallowing the pill and water, he smiled and whimpered meekly, "Thank you, sir. May I go home now? It's far past my bedtime, and I have an early day tomorrow…" His hand unconsciously took his hat off and rubbed his greasy hair. We stood up, and I dismissed him; his last words were, "Have a great night, sir, thank you!" he ran to his house, leaving his bike in my yard.

It had been a few weeks now, and I hadn't had the chance to see the boy, as I'd been traveling. When I came home, I found a stranger in my front yard with a lawn mower and water bottle. When I pulled in, I recognized him at once! It was Dylan!

He was wearing an impeccably clean yet damp white tank-top undershirt, a pair of athletic shirts, and an immaculate pair of sneakers, taking a long drink from his bottle and pushing the mower in what looked to be an impossibly straight line. The entire yard looked immaculate! When he turned around, I was looking into the eyes of a completely new boy, a perfect example of a young man. His hair was precise as I'd programmed, He'd even trimmed up his pits, and his chest was shaved bare. He looked clean, aside from the sheen of sweat from the sun and heat, and he'd been working out a bit, the perfect build for a swimmer and the legs of a champion runner!

"Good afternoon, sir!" He politely stated, stopping the mower and shaking my hand. I read his mind; his internal personality was screaming, begging me to fix him, that he learned his lesson. I read the last few weeks' memories and found that his gang had rejected him after getting cleaned up, they didn't want a preppy fag boy in their group, but luckily, he found a new group! The swim team accepted him almost immediately after his tryout.

I'd given him above-average skills and knew they were all good boys like him. I also found that, after the weeks of change, his parents finally showed him acceptance and even praise; his grades were up, he was showing a lot of potential in English, probably due to his new dictionary of a vocabulary, and they let him get a puppy, after he'd asked and promised to take care of him. His life was the epitome of a perfect schoolboy, polite and disciplined, and as he craved, he was now loved and wanted by the entire neighborhood; everyone loved him! Especially since he'd taken to helping the elderly residents, he even had a new girlfriend from the track team. Inside, he was a screaming mess, his rebellious mind still fighting and demanding to be released, but that'd never happen again!

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Three: I used to think that was true about everything

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2923 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Night, October 29, 1995

Eddie sat at your vanity. The ceiling of the apartment leaked, rendering anything left behind rotted and ruined; it didn’t stop him looking for pieces of you. He avoided his reflection’s gaze, instead looked at the tragedy mask hooked over the mirror.

He couldn’t remember where it had come from, only that you would try to sneak up on each other, screaming BOO! with the mask on. Eventually, you’d grown so accustomed to the thing that its miserable face didn’t make either of you feel much.

Eddie clenched his jaw.

He remembered crawling across you on the couch in the mask. You’d laughed and kissed him through it.

He remembered curling up in your arms in bed. You’d say, “I love you,” and he’d make you say it again and again. You hugged him so hard his ribs hurt.

He remembered you standing in front of the stove, a pot on fire, and you failing to put it out. Eddie had come jumping through the room, throwing a towel over it. He’d looked at you and you’d just grinned. “Restaurant,” he’d said on a breath out, pulling you into him.

He remembered standing across the room from you, you noticing him and asking what was wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna look at you,” he told you with a grin.

Eddie looked away from the mask. He pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. Waterlogged journals and entirely drowned photos. He could make out the shape of you in them and it made him ache. Beneath those, a bridal catalogue.

The night he proposed. The way you said yes like you’d been waiting your whole life to answer.

Your wedding dress. White and fluffy and not as Robert Smith chic as he’d expected. So, so beautiful nonetheless.

He remembered reciting creepy nursery rhymes in creepier voices at you, “Down with the lambs, up with the lark. Run to bed children, before it gets dark.” He’d chase you around the apartment while you screamed in delight.

All the time spent silently working on your own things. Eddie would write music or plan his next D&D campaign while you worked on puzzles, complaining whenever there was a piece missing.

He remembered fights with cans of whipped cream. Shared showers to wash it out.

Belts unbuckled and beds unmade. 

Eddie slammed the drawer shut, the mirror shattering with the force. He looked up at his splintered reflection. The tragedy mask a haunting echo of his own face. If that is what life wanted for him, he’d give it one hell of a show.

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had painted his face. Though grunge was taking over most of the bars he grew up in, Eddie was a metalhead through and through. The black and white was stark, unnerving, and unhinged.

He found dry clothes in the wardrobe, behind a couple rows of motheaten band shirts and your favourite outfits. Nothing smelt like you anymore. He couldn’t feel you in any of it.

Eddie walked to the window, the empty space framed by glittering glass and snapped wood. He looked out onto the city. The fires had started a day before Devil’s Night even began.

The knife thrower, Eddie thought. Andy. He’d be first. A show of strength to begin the campaign.

“Here’s to Devil’s Night… My favourite holiday,” Neil Hargrove said.

The men shot down cheap liquor and dared each other to swallow a bullet. They took turns, letting the metal sit on their tongues, then gulped it down like it was a miracle drug that would turn them into something more than men.

Other people in The Pit watched, half impressed with the commitment to show, half terrified of what they’d do next. Brenner’s men were untouchable live wires, prone to fits of rage and acts of cruelty. They were just as likely to pull their guns on each other as they were to erupt into their signature unison chanting.

Susan Mayfield shook as she walked over to the table, steadying herself not to spill a drop of their drinks. It didn’t matter that she shared a bed with Neil. They all scared her.

Eventually, when they got sick of each other’s faces, they stumbled out the bar and into the night. Their crimes would not end, but their individual brands of sickness necessitated time alone.

Andy had loaded his pockets with stolen shit throughout the day. He walked to the pawn store three blocks down from the bar.

Gideon, who had a good thing going with Brenner and therefore wasn’t afraid of his men, snorted at Andy. “What’s this? This got blood on it, Tin Tin?” He offered a couple hundred. “Take it or leave it.”

Begrudgingly, Andy took it, mouthing off and slamming doors as he left.

Outside on the street, the crow watched.

Through the bird’s eyes, Eddie followed Andy. He ran across rooftops, faster than humanly possible. The spaces between buildings collapsed for him. If all those assholes from high school gym class could see him now.

In an alleyway lighting a cigarette stood Andy.

Eddie tumbled from the rooftop, landing with a manic kind of laughter that said abandon all hope. He stalked towards Andy.

Andy watched Eddie’s figure come from the darkness. “What the fuck you painted up for?” he sneered. “Halloween ain’t till Tuesday.”

Eddie kept coming towards him, and Andy buzzed with excitement. Violence! He opened his jacket, pulling out a knife. Eddie lunged and the men fought. It was easy for Eddie. He didn’t lose his breath. When he took a punch, he recovered immediately. Andy, a mere mortal man, grew incensed.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, slashing his blade through the air.

It was a one-sided fight that began to end when Andy dropped his knife. Eddie grabbed him, yelling, “Murderer!”

Andy snorted. “What?! I didn’t murder nobody, man. I don’t even fucking know you. What d’you want?!”

“I want you to tell me a story,” Eddie replied, voice low and gravelly. “A man and a woman in a loft, a year ago. I’m sure you’ll remember. You killed them,”

“Yeah, yeah. Some dude. Some bitch. Whatever.”

He’d remembered so quickly, so easily. Like it meant nothing. Eddie threw another punch, Andy’s head bouncing off the brick wall behind him.

“Her name was…” But Eddie couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say your name out loud. “You cut her. You raped her,”

“Yeah? Sure, yeah. You know what? She loved it!”

Eddie froze, the callousness catching him off guard. Andy took the opportunity and headbutted him. Andy stood, grabbed at whatever he could, hand finding a metal pipe in the trash piled up in the alleyway. He started to beat Eddie with it.

“Murder?! Let me tell you about murder, man. It’s easy! It’s fun! You’re gonna learn aaaaaallll about it!” He pulled two knives from somewhere within his coat. “I’d like you to meet some buddies of mine… And we… We never miss.”

The crow shuffled, waiting from its position on a fire escape.

Andy threw the first knife; Eddie was already up, easily ducking it. He came marching forward. Andy threw another. Eddie blocked, grinning at Andy.

“Try harder. Try again!” he mocked.

Andy screamed, throwing a third knife – his last. Eddie clapped his palms around the blade, catching it midair. He redirected it back, piercing Andy’s shoulder.

Eddie walked to him casually, reaching into Andy’s jacket to find more weapons. “So, Andy. Which is it? Murderer or victim?” Andy was trapped. “We’re not all murderers, you know. But, victims?” he posed. “Aren’t we all?”

The crow took flight as Andy’s eyes closed.

Neil pushed his way through the dancing teens. He didn’t understand why Brenner bothered with this place. Why he let bands like that – what is it? metal? grunge? who fucking knows – play at the club. “What is the fuckin’ world coming to,” he muttered to himself. “Get the fuck out my way!”

He jogged up the back staircase, arriving on the second floor mezzanine. Grange, Brenner’s right hand man, stood stoic and vigilant.

“Hey, did you hear? Arcade Games fell down. It went BOOM! How ‘bout that,” Neil boasted.

“Gather your soldiers. You’re on for tomorrow night,”

“Is the man in?”

“He’s taking a meeting,” Grange replied.

Hopper watched as Andy’s body was lugged into a coroner’s van. He had six knives sticking out of his chest.

“So, who’s this sack of shit?” Callahan asked.

“That’s Tin Tin. One of T-Bird’s little helpers. I think you can rule out accidental death,”

“Don’t any of your street demons have real grown up names?”

“Could be a turf hit… but it doesn’t look like your usual gang crap,” Hopper thought out loud.

“And… what do you call that?”

Hopper and Callahan looked over to the closest building, its bricks graffitied in blood, the outline of a bird clear.

Gideon was counting the cash intake; the days before Devil’s Night were always good for business. Something caught his eye and he looked up, a silhouette of a man at the door.

“Piss off! We’re closed!” Gideon called.

The crow cawed. Eddie knocked on the security gate with three even bang, bang, bangs.

“Go sleep it off somewhere else, dust head! Unless you wanna get mutilated!”  

Eddie ripped back the security gate and walked to the door. Gideon froze when he saw the painted tragedy mask through the glass. Eddie politely knock, knock, knocked.

Before he could do anything, Eddie was smashing his way in, looming over Gideon as the crow swooped, landing on the pawn shop’s counter. Gideon screeched in fright.

“Suddenly I heard a tapping, as if someone gently rapping – rapping at my chamber door,” Eddie recited.

“What-what the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You heard me rapping, right?” Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re trespassing! You owe me a new door!”

Eddie smiled. “I’m looking for something… An engagement ring,”

“You’re looking for a coroner, shit-for-brains,” Gideon said, pulling a gun and levelling it straight at Eddie. He unclicked the safety, aimed, and shot.

Eddie stumbled back a few steps but didn’t fall. They both watched as the blood quickly rolled back into Eddie’s chest, the wound healing in seconds. Gideon felt his stomach drop and he scrambled, swearing and terrified. Eddie grinned, picking Gideon up and throwing him well behind the counter.

Eddie jumped from the floor to the counter, counter to one of the racks on the ceiling holding pawned guitars and other stolen items. He hung upside down in front of Gideon.

“Mr. Gideon, I do not like your tone. And you’re not paying attention!”

Eddie grabbed Gideon, pulling him back to the counter. He dropped from the ceiling rack and broke the glass countertop, pulling a switchblade out and piercing Gideon’s hand, earning a breathtaking scream from the man.

“A gold engagement ring. It was pawned here a year ago by a customer of yours named Andy,”

“I don’t know a-”

“Tin Tin… He confided in me before he ran out of breath.”

Eddie began to pull boxes off the shelves, going through everything in search of your engagement ring.

Gideon tried to free himself from where he was nailed to the counter.  “What are you doing?!” he cried, unable to pull the blade out.

“Am I getting warmer?!” Eddie yelled back. “I like games, Mr. Gideon. Don’t you know this one?! Am. I. Getting. Warmer?”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! The rings! They’re in a metal box under the shelf there!”

Eddie moved, finding the box. The world faded away as he sat cross legged on the pawn shop floor, holding the box yet apprehensive to open it, as if it belonged to Pandora herself.

Gideon continued to yell from the front of the shop. “Take them! Take them all! Chew on them! Choke on them! I don’t fucking care!”

Tentatively, Eddie opened the box and flicked through the jewellery. He closed his eyes and pulled ring after ring, feeling nothing. Then, it hit. The emotion washed over him.

You had been out with Max, a shopping trip to buy more grip tape and blank cassettes. When you unlocked the door and entered the apartment, Eddie jumped up from the couch.

“Hi…?” you greeted, suspicious of his mood.

He grinned.

“What did you do?” you asked. You looked around. Gabriel was sleeping peacefully under the coffee table. Nothing looked broken. There were no magic beans bought in place of real food.

“Why do you always ask that?” Eddie laughed, letting you put your bags down before pulling you into him.

“Because you’re you. And you have that weird little smile on your face.”

Eddie laughed again. “I have a surprise for you,”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Good. Always good for you, my love.”

He was definitely acting strange, but you went with it. “Okay…”

“It’s up in the attic,”

“If this is like the time you-”

“No! I promise! No tricks. It’s good. I promise. It’s good.”

Eddie’s big brown eyes were sincere, so you let him pull the ladder down and direct you up it. Slowly, you climbed, heart beating out of your chest.

You felt the warmth before your eyes settled on all the candles. The entire small space was filled with tealight and cathedral candles. Eddie tried to gauge your reaction from below.

There was something close by, your attention directed to it by a lack of candles between you and it. A small, dark box. A ring box.

You reached out for it. Inside was a golden ring, beautiful and ethereal. Like something the elves from Eddie’s favourite book would wear. Your breath caught in your throat and you took one step down the ladder to look at him.

Eddie said your name. Your eyes welled up with tears.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he started.

Gideon watched as Eddie poured gasoline across the shop.

“You have one chance at living,” Eddie told him as he picked up a shotgun and aimed it at Gideon.

“Take anything you want! Take anything!”

“Thank you,” Eddie replied too gracefully. “Now, you’re gonna tell me where to find the rest of Tin Tin’s little party pals,”

“The Pit! They all hang out at The Pit! All of T-Bird’s little potato heads hang out there! Funboy lives in a room above it!”

Eddie nodded, almost placated. He used the butt of the gun to smash at the remaining in-tact counters. He pulled a tray of rings out from the cabinet and began throwing them at Gideon.

“Each of these? It’s a life… A life you helped destroy.” One after the other, Eddie threw the rings.

Gideon begged for his life.

“I’m not gonna kill you… Your job will be to tell the rest of them that it’s time to roll for initiative… Tell them Eddie Munson sends his regards.”

Eddie poured the remainder of the rings down the barrel of the shotgun, pulled a guitar off the wall, and began to walk out of the shop.

“You walk outta here and they’re gonna erase your sorry ass! You hear me? You’re nothing but street grease!”

“Is that gasoline I smell?” Eddie quipped, looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin.

Gideon froze again.

The crow followed Eddie onto the street. There were maybe five seconds for Gideon to free himself and run, then the ring-loaded shot set the shop ablaze.

Eddie watched for only a moment before he heard the cop car pull up behind him. He turned and watched Hopper get out, pulling his pistol.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Eddie took a step.

“I said don’t move!”

“I thought the police always said freeze,” Eddie wondered.

“Well, I am the police, and I say don’t move, Snow White. You move, you’re dead.”

Eddie shrugged and slung the guitar over his body. “And I say, I’m dead and I move.” He held his hands up but continued to walk towards Hopper.

“Not one more step. I’m serious.” Hopper removed the safety.

“Then shoot, if you will, Detective Hopper,” Eddie said, bowing before the cop.

“What are you, nuts? Walking into a gun? You high?”

“Not right now. You don’t remember me?”

“What are you talking about?” An eerie feeling was settling over Hopper.

Eddie said your name then. “What about her? Do you remember her?”

Hopper hesitated. “She’s, uh, dead, my friend… I want you to move over to the curb there. Real nice and easy… We’re gonna wait for backup… This is… It’s all getting too friggin’ weird for me.”

Eddie nodded, slowly moved over to the sidewalk and took a seat in the gutter. He looked up at Hopper. “Do you know someone named Hargove? He had a friend who shouldn’t have played with knives…” Eddie motioned to himself, to the coat he was wearing. “Like it?”

Hopper recognised it. Realised it hadn’t been with the body. “You’re… You’re the guy that killed Tin Tin?”

“He was already dead… He died a year ago, the moment he touched her. They’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

With his pistol still on Eddie, Hopper glanced over at Gideon’s shop. Looters had already appeared, taking whatever they could carry. “Get away from there!” he yelled, his sights leaving Eddie a second too long.

When Hopper looked back, Eddie was gone.

“What the… Guy shows up looking like a mime from hell and you lose him out in the open?” Hopper scolded himself.

End Note: Thank you for the support thus far. I love all you little bleeding heart goths. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

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[terry-perry]

Hi there! I saw you were looking to do Alastor requests, and I have a…spicier one in mind.

So the scenario I was hoping for, if you are comfortable with it is consensual cannibalism. The Reader (female) has an advanced regenerative and healing ability and is also a masochist.

So after the Extermination, Reader helps Alastor heal and also offers her flesh to him. Things go from there. Maybe some aftercare at the end, too?

It's not exactly smut, but some crazy, kinky, bloody stuff is involved!

TRIGGER WARNING!

Y/N was the one who found him in his radio tower, muttering and wincing to himself. She'd been the only one who searched for him after the battle. His disappearance from it was so sudden that she had her suspicions. Finding her friend in such a state was heartwrenching, especially since he always seemed so composed. Now he appeared so broken, fragile, wounded.

She approached him with caution. He was her friend, but an infamous demon, forced into a corner by the First Man too. Like dealing with many beasts, it was best to proceed with caution.

"Alastor?" She called out to him slowly.

His head snapped up upon hearing her. His dark eyes narrowed to get a better look at her. After doing so, his strained smile came with a snarl. "I do not want you to see me in such a state..."

"We've all taken a beating today Alastor," she said, walking over to him in a still careful manner. Slowly she knelt before his curled up figure on the floor. "You were smart to leave when you did. Gave you time to heal."

"Well, as you can see..." he took his hand away from his chest, which spewed out some blood that darkened his already red attire. "I may need a little more time."

She saw the way the blood covered his chest like splattered paint. He certainly took a beating after fighting hard. She was at least happy the wound was wide yet shallow. What she hated was noticing the way he attempted to reach out to her but grimaced in pain while doing so. She found it so awful to see him like this that it made her act on impulse.

Alastor didn't have time to protest as she already had her hand over his injury. He watched how she concentrated on it, how her hand suddenly had a golden light under it as his chest felt very warm then cool. Once she let go, he saw he was as good as new! No blood or anything!

"You're welcome!" She chirped, making an effort to break the tense silence.

It didn't help since before she knew it, he was throwing himself on top of her. He looked down at her, pinning her to the floor. He looked wild and savage as his eyes changed into those notorious radio dials and his sardonic grin had blood leaking out from its corners.

"I don't recall asking for your help, my dear," he growled. "You know better than to make the Radio Demon owe you his life!"

She never thought she'd be on the receiving end of Alastor's threats. They'd always been rather close and respected one another. Yet she forgot two important things about him:

He despised being on someone's hook.

And he always needed to be in control.

He already lost his sense of control in the battle when fighting Adam. His microphone was split in two, and he'd been no better. Now that she saw him in bad shape and offered him assistance in healing, he needed to find a way to regain power - to show he still could intimidate.

She was terrified...but also excited.

She doesn't know why it excited her. It might've had something to do with the fact she was hell-born and had no real experience with pain or death. It didn't help that she was born with regenerative healing abilities that helped her survive every scuffle she'd find herself in. Whatever the reason, the way Alastor bent over her gave her pleasant tingles.

She knew he didn't desire sexual depravity the way others down there did, but he did have other carnal urges that could benefit them both.

"Hurt me then Alastor," she said, growing bold with a coy smirk. "Give me all the anger you have. Take it out on my flesh."

There are some things people just don't expect. Even in Hell, surprises can come. For a demon like Alastor, he took pride in how little can shock him, humble him. Yet he's recently realized he's not in as much control as he claimed to be. He's been beaten, insulted, taken hold of. A new sense of purpose was required. A way to show power again.

But this?

"I know you want to," she hissed up at him. "You want to devour me. Go ahead! At least you'll be good at that!"

She knew that did the trick since he returned to his malicious state. His large, sharp-tooth grin opened into a gaping maw that attacked her. She let out a cry as he bit down hard on her shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his waist while his teeth pierced her so fiercely that she could practically feel his gums on her skin. She pushed him further by grabbing a hold of his hair as she moaned so desperately. He held her so tightly that her cries grew strenuous.

She loved every second of it, especially when he managed to tear off some of her flesh.

----

With a snap of his finger, Alastor conjured up a small flame that helped her with her cigarette. She inhaled, released a puff of smoke, and relaxed after their little escapade. They remained on the floor of his radio tower, now snuggled up together. He looked over her body, his claws tracing the marks he left behind before they disappeared.

It was just what he needed for the time being to satiate his hunger. Full freedom was still far from his grasp, but he at least found a way to play with his needs. Thanks to her, his burning yearnings were temporarily fulfilled.

[artemisgrayy]

Your Unlikely Hero (pt. 2) [Alastor x Reader]

Read Part 1 here

✨ Masterlist ✨

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: Alastor x Reader, Fem!reader, more fluff than Angel Dust's chest, Ace Alastor, Awkward Alastor, Soft Alastor, trauma

[Artist source ^ ✨]

--

Flashes of chaos invade the darkness that envelopes you. Like a radio fighting to find a signal underground, the glimpses you’re awarded are muddled and fleeting.

“Will she be-”

Darkness.

“Quick grab the-”

Darkness.

“-re losing her.”

More darkness.

You hear screaming. Is it your scream? All you can focus on is the pain ripping through you like a tidal wave as if someone lit a whole stack of fireworks on your leg.

Another scream. You’re positive that one came from you. As soon you feel the pressure applied to the wound you instinctively thrash around.

The darkness swallows you whole.

***

You awake with a start.

The first thing you notice is the pain. While not as intense as before, you can still feel the aching pulse in your thigh with every minuscule movement. You lift the sheet and breathe a sigh of relief when you see your leg is still there, wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. You reach out to touch it, wincing at even the slightest pressure. Releasing the sheet, you sink your aching head back into the pillow of what you realize is a guest room at the hotel.

The smell of disinfectants is almost suffocating, stinging your already heavy-lidded eyes as you look around. The room is dark, save for the segments of light cutting across the crimson carpet from the window. You notice the collection of pill bottles scattered on the nightstand beside you, the IV bag hooked into your arm to the right of it. Red wallpaper, delicately laced with apple-shaped gold detail covers the walls. Pillows are strewn across the floor, pools of blood surround and paint over them.

Everything is quiet. Dead quiet.

Your thoughts spin furiously as you attempt to recount the events that transpired. You feel your eyebrows furrow when you start with the closest memory. You remember Alastor displaying affection in a way you had never seen before. A way you never thought he was capable of.

Did you dream that? No, you distinctly remember the warmth of his forehead on yours and the feeling of his breath across your face. Your heart flip flops at the memory, and your cheeks burn, forcing a smile across your face. The movement of those muscles draws your attention to the ache around your throat. You wince instinctively and delicately brush your fingertips across the skin of your neck when you feel the raised hand-shaped mark.

Your stomach drops. The memory of their cause becomes clear as day.

You remember the look in Adam’s eye — the hungry, maniacal look of entitlement as his gaze swallowed you whole, moments before he planned to claim your body as his toy.

Your chest constricts, tears covering your eyes in a warm haze — the soul-crushing realization of what could have transpired sinking in. You almost lost everything. When the first tear escapes, the air around you suddenly goes ice cold. Thick blankets of shadow laced with the familiar emerald electrical storm ascend through the floor and take the shape of the Radio Demon.

The look of pure devastation soaked in Alastor’s eyes contrasts with his permanent, sinister smile. His eyebrows knit together, desolation soaks through the ruby-red glow of his eyes. Despite this, he doesn’t move. His body language suggests his urge to step forward, but he remains motionless.

You can’t stop the guttural sobs that follow when you’re enveloped in his presence. You’re reminded of the safety you felt cradled in his arms when your world nearly collapsed around you.

“I.. I thought,” You whimper through stuttered gasps, “he almost-”

Every sob that escapes your aching throat burns as if the grip that previously held it firm never released its hold. That was enough for Alastor to move, the shadows morphing into a trail leading to the spot beside you. He’s on his side, one hand supporting his head while the other awkwardly reaches out, his clawed fingers combing through your tangled hair as you crumble beneath his touch.

“I wanted to wrench his soul from his body with my bare hands,” begins the demon, disdain saturating his radio-filtered voice, “Nothing would have brought me more joy than to broadcast his terrified screams to all of Pentagram city for the appalling behaviour that disrespectful wretch displayed towards you, my doe.” Darkness invades his gaze, a terrifying murderous expression haunting his face.

“Why did you-” you begin hacking, the dryness of your throat preventing you from finishing your question. Searing pain fires through every nerve as your body convulses. Alastor’s demeanor snaps back to normal, concern taking over his features. He raises his hand, materializing a glass of water, and hands it to you. The coolness coats your throat as you furiously chug the liquid allowing you to steady your breathing. “Why did you come for me?” you finally manage to get out, turning your head towards Alastor. Your noses nearly touch and the familiar feeling of his breath skirts across your face.

“Well darling, you were in trouble.”

“A lot of people were in trouble. I could hear the screams from the roof of the hotel.”

He ponders that for a moment, his eyes narrowing while he chews over his words.

“The thought of losing you was one I couldn’t fathom.” Alastor finally spits out reluctantly, his eyes shifting away from yours, “and unfortunately I didn’t realize that until the moment you were almost taken from me.”

Silence follows as you watch him sink deep into his thoughts. The glow of his eyes dim, the saturation draining from them. You carefully reach out, ignoring the stinging caused by every movement you make. He recoils slightly, and you pause, carefully inspecting his body language before you push forward. You run your fingers through his crimson hair, gently brushing it away from his face, and his eyes find yours again.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, pushing your forehead against his.

You feel his claws wrap around the back of your head, clutching a fistful of hair as he pulls you into an embrace. His teeth gently graze against your neck and the smell of pine invades your senses as he holds you against him. A breath escapes your lips against his ear, your body suddenly craving him, and you suck your lip between your teeth.

“Careful darling,” Alastor whispers against your skin, his hot breath sending a flurry of goosebumps across your neck, “you may be alive, but you have quite the road to recovery ahead of you.”

He pulls away and looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, his sinful gaze lapping you up as you melt beneath his touch. Disregarding his warning you push your face forward, hopeful to get a taste of him, but the motion causes a painful reminder of the trauma to fire through your broken body. You cry out, tears misting your eyes.

He chuckles at your attempt, “Tasty.”

You scowl at his remark and collapse into your pillow groaning.

“I best be off, you need to rest, my doe. Don’t hesitate to summon me if you need anything.” he taps your nose before melting into his shadow form. “I’ll be remembering that promise of yours. You best keep it.”

Something has changed with him, and you find yourself overwhelmed with intrigue as he disappears through the floor of the room. His last words echo through your head:

“I’ll be remembering that promise of yours. You best keep it”

It wasn’t a request.

---

Gosh I love writing Alastor, and your prompts have been fueling me so thank you! Let me know what you think of this continuation 👀

Writing has been a bit more sporadic with real life stuff going on! I'm working through the requests as we speak 💖

--

✨ Master list ✨

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kelly Link's "Book of Love"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/13/the-kissing-song/#wrack-and-roll

Kelly Link is one of science fiction's most important writers, a master of the short story to rank with the likes of Ted Chiang. For a decade, Kelly's friends have traded whispers that she was working on a novel – a giant novel – and the rumors were true and the novel is glorious and you will love it:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/book-of-love-9781804548455/

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/239722/the-book-of-love-by-kelly-link/

It's called The Book of Love and it's massive – 650 pages! It is glorious. It is tricky.

If you've read Link's short stories (which honestly, you must read), you know her signature move: a bone-dry witty delivery, used to spin tales of deceptive whimsy and quirkiness, disarming you with daffiness while she sets the hook and yanks. That's the unmistakeable, inimitable texture of a Kelly Link story: deft literary brushstrokes, painting a picture so charming and silly that you don't even notice when she cuts you without mercy.

Turns out that she can quite handily do this for hundreds of pages, and the effect only gets better when it's given space to unfold.

Hard to tell you about this one without spoilers! But I'll tell you this much. It's a story about three teenaged friends who return from death and find themselves in the music room at their high school, face to face with their mild-mannered music teacher, Mr Anabin. Anabin explains what's happened in frustratingly cryptic – and very emphatic – terms, but is interrupted when a sinister shape-shifting wolf enters the music room.

This is Bogomil, and whenever he speaks, Mr Anabin turns his back – and vice versa. Anabin and Bogomil appear to be rivals, and Bogomil may or may not have been the keeper of the land of the dead from which the three have escaped. There's also a forth, a tattered shade who's been dead so long they don't remember who they are or anything about themselves. Bogomil would like to take the four back to the deadlands, but Anabin proposes a contest and Bogomil agrees – but no one explains the contest or its rules (or even its stakes) to the four dead teenagers.

That's the wind up. The pitch that follows is flawless, a long and twisting mystery about friendship, love, queerness, rock-and-roll, stardom, parenthood, loyalty, lust and duty. There's a terrifying elder god of Lovecraftian proportions. There are ghosts upon ghosts. There are ancient grudges. There are sudden revelations that come from unexpected angles but are, in retrospect, perfectly set up.

More than anything, there are characters. It's impossible not to love Link's characters, despite (because of) their self-destructive choices and their impossible dilemmas. They are so sweet, but they are also by turns mean and spiteful and resentful, like the pinch of salt that transforms a caramel from inedible spun sugar into something that bites even as it delights.

These characters, so very likable, are often dead or at death's door, and that peril propels the story like an unstoppable locomotive. From the very start, it's clear that some of them can't survive to the end, and Link is merciless in making you root for all of them, even though this means rooting against them all. This, in turn, creates moments of toe-curling, sublime horror.

Link has built a complex machine with more moving parts than anyone has any business being able to keep track of. And yet, each of these parts meshes flawlessly with all the others. The book ends with such triumphant perfection that it lingers long after you put it down. I can't wait to read this one again.

[velvrei]

i would like to see degrading/ domming the fuck out of sub xavier when he’s feeling extra subby like the most you’ve ever seen from him and he just absolutely loves it. and maybe possibly some extra fluffy aftercare cause you went pretty hard on him and he deserves all the love and care you have to give him for being the best boy ever🫣

OMG YES 🙏 sorry this took forever lovely i’m going down my list !!

…

can’t get enough

pairing : xavier thorpe x fem! reader

summary : xavier is hooked, he loves getting dominated by you but for some reason this night more than the others.

warnings : sub!xavier, mean!dom!reader, degradation, use of ma’am, aggression, riding

nsfw below the cut

xavier smiled as you rode him, looking up at you and watching as your boobs bounced, using all the muscles in your legs you could to continue moving.

your voice was his favorite. all the praises and words that fell from them, made him cum every time.

you ran your hands along his cheek, watching his head fall back and a pathetic whimper fell form it. “my fucking slut,” before you could even continued xavier loudly moaned.

“getting so hard over only my voice. you like when i call you mine don’t you?” your hips rolled against his, his cock deep inside of you hitting every spot it needed to. xavier struggled to form a sentence. “f- fuck- yes.”

you ran a hand through his long shaggy hair and grinned, “dumb whore. look at you. so desperate for me.” his eyes squeezed shut and many sweet sounds fell from his lips, he painted loudly, sounding fucking pathetic.

“xav, look at me.”

he struggled to make eye contact, opening his eyes and almost seeing stars by how good you felt. “pathetic,” you mumbled before grabbing his face and forcing you to look at him. you stared deep into his eyes, his pupils dilated slightly and you could practically feel his heartbeat in between your legs. “i said look at me.”

xavier whined and swallowed thickly, “i’m s- sorry, ma’am, it’s so- shit- hard.” you laughed at him, noticing how pathetic he looked trying to form words.

“don’t act like it’s hard, now, baby. ten minutes ago you were running your mouth.” xavier choked in a breath as your hand released from his cheeks and firmly wrapped around his neck, “who would i be if i didn’t teach my bad slut a lesson? you think you’ve been good enough to cum?”

xavier didn’t answer, his eyes shutting once again so you squeezed his neck and got him back. “i’m talking to you. answer my fucking questions or i’ll tie you up and leave you to sit here in your own damn mess.”

xavier nodded quickly and brought himself back to his sense. “yes ma’am. i’m sorry-“ he whines loudly as your pace quickens, “i-i promise i’ll be your good boy, please, please fuck, let me cum.” you roll your hips as fast as you possibly can, watching with hooded eyes as he bit his lip and tried not to fall apart.

you were stuck with the decision of letting him cum or continuing your torture, but stopped thinking when you saw tears falling from his cheeks.

he looked so pretty crying and begging for your cum.

“mmm, momma- ma’am, please. i need it, i need it so bad. need all of you, need to cum inside you, i’ll be so good for you.” he’s starting to ramble, which he always did when he was close.

he started squirming, his hands almost hurting you in the face so you grabbed him and pinned his wrists above his head. “will you? you better be, slut. pathetic. stop fucking moving.”

your words made him whimper but stop his unnecessary movements. “good job, baby. you’re such a slut for my words, huh?” xavier felt his body tremble, “yes, i’m gonna cum, mommy, please.”

you smiled and cupped his face, “come. now.”

xavier’s entire body trembled, head hitting the wall dramatically as he felt euphoric. his hips shook and you watched his mouth open to an o shape; many whimpers falling from his pretty lips as he spilled inside of you.

after he came down from his high, xavier sat there with his eyes opening, beginning to zone out. “did i go too hard on you?” xavier shook his head, “maybe, but i enjoyed it.”

you got off of him, both wincing as you were both sensitively.

you went and got a damp, cold washcloth and came back to wipe it on his forehead, then switching sides and wiping away the remaining cum from his slender frame.

“i love you, xav, you know that?” xavier smiled, looking already sleepy, “yes, y/n i know. i love you so much, thank you.”

the two of you spent the rest of the night cuddling and watching scream movies, he felt so comfortable in your arms, so he fell asleep so easily.

[27dragons]

Countdown to 2025: Dec 18

You can consider this one an unofficial addition to tisfan's Also Prey story, since that's the 'verse I was thinking of while I wrote it. You don't need to have read it to read this, though.

Shapeshifters AU / Marvel - Winteriron / Ornament

Tony enjoyed the winter holidays, for the most part. More, since the team had moved in with him. There was always an enormous tree in the lobby of the tower, and smaller trees in the public areas of every floor, and a couple of them in his workshop. There were professional decorators who put up the decorations in most of the tower, but on the Avengers’ floors, Tony did the vast majority of it himself.

Sam theorized it was because all the shiny lights and sparkling baubles were irresistible to Tony’s cat. Steve thought it was because all the trees provided convenient hiding spots for the cat when it was feeling jumpy about being surrounded by so many larger predators.

Bucky didn’t really care why, as long as his boyfriend was happy. He went out and bought ornaments for the tree in the Avengers’ common space -- there were already several of the official ornaments on it, but the city was full of people selling bootleg varieties of varying quality that looked nothing like the staid, marketing-approved ones.

He hung them on the tree and watched as the others noticed them, one by one, exclaiming with delight or laughter.

The next day, Bucky stumbled over a shop that sold ornaments in animal shapes, and for a small extra fee, you could have them painted. Most people probably got paint jobs that matched their own natural markings, or those of their loved ones. But Bucky stood on the sidewalk for a good ten minutes, looking over all the examples, before finally giving up and yielding to the impulse.

A week or so later, he carefully hung ornaments on the tree that matched each of his teammates’ wyr forms -- and which had been painted to look like they were wearing versions of their hero costumes.

Those got even bigger reactions. Steve had done one of those whole-body laughs, his hand over his heart like he thought it was going to burst out of his chest with joy. Natasha had eyed hers from every angle before taking it down and re-hanging it in a different spot -- a little more shadowy, but, Bucky noticed, well-placed to be perfectly visible from her favorite spot on the couch. Sam had demanded to know where Bucky’d gotten them, and gone off to commission more for his family.

Tony, on the other hand... He walked all the way around the tree, several times, peering into the branches like he expected something to jump out at him. Then he’d blurred into his wyr and wriggled up under the lowest branches and started climbing the tree.

Bucky watched cautiously -- the trees were all well-braced against climbing creatures, but Tony frequently thought he could disobey the laws of physics in both of his forms.

Bucky was so careful watching for him that he almost missed it when Tony’s ornament fell off the tree to the floor, batted by one delicate paw.

“Hey,” he complained.

The branches rustled and Tony jumped to the floor, then delicately took the ornament’s hook in his mouth and padded off with it.

“Hey,” Bucky said again.

Tony ignored him, tail high and twitching, as he stalked out of the room.

Maybe Tony hadn’t found them quite as amusing as Bucky had.

The next day, Bucky came into the room to find Tony sitting on the couch, reading on his tablet. “Hey, babe,” he said.

Without looking up, Tony tossed something at him; Bucky fumbled a bit, catching it. It looked like a ball of bubble wrap and tissue paper. “This seems more your speed than mine,” Bucky said, grinning.

“Open it.”

Bucky turned the ball over and found a bit of tape holding the whole thing closed. He peeled it loose, then carefully unrolled everything to reveal... Tony’s Ironwyr ornament. Bucky blinked at it, then looked back up at Tony.

Tony turned off the tablet and dropped it onto the cushion beside him, then held up another ornament. A wolf, dark-furred, dressed to match Bucky’s black-and-silver costume. “You forgot one,” Tony said.

“Oh.” Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not--”

“Don’t say whatever you’re about to say,” Tony advised. “Go on and hang it,” he added, gesturing to the tree.

Bucky looked at Tony, then at the tree, then at the ornament, and back to the tree. “Okay...” He stepped over to the tree and carefully hung the little Ironwyr on a central branch.

Tony stepped up and hung the Winter Wyr next to it, carefully twisting the cord until the two ornaments were lightly bumping, nose to nose. Almost like they were kissing.

“Much better,” Tony said, and threaded his arm through Bucky’s. “Mine was lonely without yours there.”

[of-many-fandomss]

Request for Soldier Boy where he had a really rough day at work and all he wants to do is go home and cuddle the reader?

Thank you so much for my first Soldier Boy request- I got it out so quickly bc I'm really in the mood to write for him!!

----------

You perked up at the sound of the front door being closed, followed by a set of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs until your door was pushed open and your boyfriend came into view.

Grinning at the sight of Ben, you placed a bookmark on your page and gently closed your book, placing it on the side table.

"Hey, honey," You cooed, "How was work?"

You couldn't deny that you had missed him immensely in his time away.

He and the others had been sent on an overnight mission a couple states over, and to say that you had pouted when you found out would have been an understatement. After he received the call a few days ago at three in the morning, you had latched yourself onto him like a sleepy koala and refused to let go, grumbling words that neither you nor him could actually make out in your half-asleep state.

Ben only grunted in response though, moving past the bed and into the bathroom attached to your shared bathroom, causing a frown to begin pulling at the corners of yours lips.

After being away on a mission for longer than a day, the first thing Ben always did was make sure to give you a large kiss and show you just how much he missed you, so his dismissal to your greeting was a bit out of character for him.

Even if he liked to keep up his tough-guy charade, you knew him better than anyone and knew that he wouldn't be acting this way without a reason.

With concern still painted on your features, you slipped out a bed and padded gently after him, peaking into the bathroom to find him hunched over the sink, eyes squeezed shut and arms braced on either side of the counter.

It looked as though if he applied even a little bit more pressure to the counter, parts of it would snap off.

"Ben?" You called out softly, now frowning as you moved closer to your boyfriend, "Are you alright?" You placed a gentle hand on his back, almost as if to alert him of your presence.

With a sigh, Soldier Boy finally cracked his eyes open and turned to look at you. When he did so, you noticed the dark bags under his eyes. He may be a Supe, but even he had his limits. He looked physically and mentally drained.

"Oh, honey," You breathed out softly, worry sitting on your features as you moved a stray hair away from his face.

Despite himself, Ben found himself leaning into your touch, eyes almost fluttering shut at the feeling of your skin against his own.

He had thankfully already stripped himself of his suit and replaced it with low hanging sweatpants and an old t-shirt, making what you wanted to do next much easier.

"Come on," You gently took his hand in yours and pulled him out of the bathroom.

Ben was never one to take orders- from anyone- but between his tired state and the genuine concern sitting in your eyes, he was defenseless against your command.

You eased both of you onto the bed, dragging him down to lay beside you until you were both side by side, various limbs already tangled together.

Your leg was hooked around his and his arms and found their way across your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.

As you laid your head on his chest, Ben allowed himself to dip his own head, resting it on top of yours and his eyes closed, a small sigh escaping from his lips.

It was a sigh of contempt- though he would shoot anyone in the fucking face if they ever dared say so.

Slowly, you began tracing shapes on his clothed chest before placing a chaste kiss on it, "Get some rest, Ben."

Again, he was not one to take orders, but he felt himself tightening his hold on you as he placed a kiss in your hair, "Yes, ma'am." He obliged, his voice already heavy with sleep.

[screamingseeker]

DARK WATERS

merformer megatron x marine biologist!reader

If you knew what was waiting for you when you went into the water that day, you would've stayed in and start packing to go home.

But there were only a few weeks left of your summer research trip left and the Troian Isles were home to the one of the most unique ecosystems in the world. It would be a crime not to spend as much time in the water as possible.

So, armed with your trusty underwater camera, you hopped into the old speedboat tied to the dock and sped away from shore.

You slowed down just before you were out of swimming distance from the docks. You had learned the hard way to keep close to land.

You tossed the anchor overboard and while it made it's way to the ocean floor, you suited up in your fullbody swimsuit and oxygen tank, complete with goggles. You sat on the edge of the boat and let yourself fall backwards, quickly descending with the extra weight of the tank.

You reached the ocean floor. The coral reefs glittered in the sun and colorful fish swam around you in every direction, but you paid special attention to a small octopus that moved towards you on the ocean floor.

It was curious, but kept it's distance and you didn't try to get closer to it. You took several photos and lost your in your favorite place in the world.

You didn't even notice how much time had passed until the water became darker around you and you looked up to see a purple sky.

There were no sharks anywhere near the Troian Isles, but as a rule of thumb, it wasn't a good idea to be in the water at night. So you put your camera's strap around your neck and swam up towards the surface.

By the time you pulled yourself back onto your boat, the sun was dipping below the horizon and you took a moment to just admire the view. Purple and orange hues painted the sky, slowly being overtaken by a deep blue.

You really were lucky to have gotten the chance to spend your summer here.

You grabbed the steering wheel and turned the boat towards the docks, speeding away as the sun set behind you.

The boat reached the dock just as night fell. You securely tied the boat to the dock and were just about to get off when you noticed something in the water.

Below the dock, something gray and shiny shape was thrashing around.

It must be a dolphin, you realized in horror.

You immediately shrugged off the oxygen tank and dove into the water before it even hit the floor. Swimming blind, you followed the warped sound of the dolphin moving until you felt sleek skin beneath your outstretched hand. You also felt the netting holding it down.

You reached for the knife strapped to your hip and the dolphin thrashed harder, which made it that much harder to make sure you didn't hurt it as you cut away at the net.

You could barely see in the dark, but you felt the net give way and you gave it some space so it could swm away.

But it stayed where it was.

You realized much too late it was too large to be a dolphin.

It looked at you and red eyes glowed in the dark water.

You gasped and water filled your mouth and nose, immediately making you scream in your mind. You needed air. Kicking your legs, you fought your way to the surface and away from the creature, but you were already lightheaded and black spots were filling your vision.

You were going to die with water in your lungs and no one knowing where you were.

Claws suddenly hooked into your arms and you screamed as you sped upwards, exploding out of the water and landing hard on the dock.

Sea water burned as it rushed out of you, nearly making you throw up from gagging so much. You just laid there, grateful for every breath and once you had the strength, you lifted your head to look back at the ocean.

Unblinking red eyes stared up at you, the rest of the creature's face hidden in the water.

You stared at each other for several moments, your heart pounding in your ears.

It spoke.

"I am in your debt." It said in a low, rumbling voice.

Before you could get a word out, it's head dipped below the water, disappearing into the dark. Like it had never even been there.

You should've just stayed home.

[theesirenteller]

𝔓𝔞𝔴𝔫𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔭 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢𝔰.

"I'm here to get my hair braided."

It wasn't every day that a tall, dark, and handsome beach bum-biker hybrid came strolling into Emerald's closet-sized braiding shop. But, she wasn't complaining. Not at all, not even in the slightest.

"Okay, Well come on in then." A shy smile spreads across Emerald's lips as she steps aside the threshold, "I'm Emerald."

"Dwayne."

Ducking his head down Dwayne made his way inside. His broad shoulders and arms scrunched inwards as he slithered through the door. His gloomy-raven hair fell over his shoulders and eyes as he did so. It didn't take many steps to be fully inside the shop. It was new to the boardwalk. Located near Max's video store. And a little bit bigger than a walk-in closet. Painted baby blue with handmade seashell drapes that were in between Christmas string lights down the walls. A single leather salon chair sat a few feet away from the door, facing it. Perhaps to give clients a good view of the beach and boardwalk. The leather of the chair was worn down with ripples and scratches along the sides. Neon-colored bins stacked in the corner filled with various beads, feathers, seashells, and a plethora of other accessories that were fun to attach to braids. A sparkly sea urchin green makeup pouch sat on top of the bins alongside an unopened can of cherry cola.

"So Dwayne, what would you like? all of your hair braided or just a certain section?" Emerald inquired as he took a seat. Instantly the scent of burned incense and murky beach water with a lingering hint of cinnamon hit her nostrils. A metallic after scent lingered. When she had gotten a better look at him; his rugged style of baggy, faded black jeans and patchwork leather jacket gave off a smokey allure that reminded her of a stormy night in the woods

At first, he was silent. The silence lasted no longer than Not a creepy type of silence but more so introverted.' A quiet thinker' was what Emerald gathered.

His fingers snapped and his pointer finger narrowed towards the sign outside. "The merman special. Just the back of my hair." His hands bunched up the top portion of his hair creating a messy half up half down style. Emerald couldn't help but notice the layers of chunky metal rings across the majority of his fingers.

"Okay! It'll look great on you." She blurted out. Her cheeks instantly warmed as words slipped from her lips, "I mean um you've got really pretty hair so it'll be beautiful."

The pregnant silence that followed caused her to swallow down any more embarrassing remarks. She quickly grasped a large pink clap clip and sectioned off the top part of his hair away from the rest. Her fingertips brushed along his knuckles. A soft gasp escaped her pouty lips. His flesh was ice cold. Deadly cold. Sickly cold. Dwayne's shoulders tensed. his posture straightening causing Emerald to quickly remove her hand.

She kept her comments to herself for the remainder of their time together. She used a wide-toothed pitchfork-shaped comb to untangle his locks. Ever so often she'd raise a brow when bits of sand, pebbles, and dark red flesh-like scabs would fall out. Perhaps he hunted and got animal guts in his hair? The braider wasn't sure and didn't bother to ask. Eventually, she'd smoothed out his hair with a spritz of rosewater and a wooden brush. Emerald was known for being heavy-handed yet Dwayne didn't seem to mind. He kept quiet and didn't move an inch. Completely unfazed she couldn't even hear him breathe.

Emerald braided small-sized fishtail braids at the nap of his neck. Hooking small-sized turquoise beads to some of the braids. and others she'd simply attach seashells or peacock feathers to larger-sized braids. There was a comforting silence that overlayed the atmosphere. The roaring of the waves crashing and the laughter of children running along the boardwalk was the perfect background music.

Time passed by quickly and it wasn't long before Emerald was drenching the once-clipped portion of his hair in rose water. Her heartbeat sped up as she stood at his side brushing through his hair. Vibrantly, she could hear her heart beating. The feeling was unfamiliar to her. The urge to gaze into his eyes and not look elsewhere was strong. Feeling a forceful tug within her stomach and chest made her mouth grow dry.

"You shouldn't close so late." his rich and husky voice broke her out of the trance she once was in.

"Huh? What'd ya say?"

"I said you shouldn't close so late. The Broadwalk isn't safe at night. late night all kinds of things can happen." Dwayne repeated. His eyes were a deep shade of expresso brown. His brows were thick and bushy.

"You're right." she agreed while sweeping her brush through his long bangs, "I like the night though…there's something about it that's so beautiful and peaceful. Also, some type of thrill I think…knowing that danger just lurks in the shadows."

"And sometimes reveals itself."

Their gaze synced in union with one another. Drinking each other in. Although it felt more like he was drinking her in. Taking in her every thought, desire, and fear. Intrigue lingered in her eyes. An unspoken attraction that made her pupils dilate. She saw something primal in him. It was unmistakable to miss. Something that Emerald couldn't seem to look away from. His almost unbearable beauty created a lingering allure in her mind. Unintentional they both leaned in closer. Nearly chest to chest. A low deep-buried low growl buzzed in her ear. and perhaps she had been staring a little too long because his eyes were starting to change from brown to a bright golden color.

The events that followed happened so suddenly that Emerald couldn't be sure it was real. Suddenly arms were tightly in his iron-clad grip. With zero effort she was picked up off the floor and slammed against a nearby wall. Dwayne's lips peeled back and his fang-shaped teeth were displayed.

Emerald grew choked up on air as she froze up at the sight. Her hands began to tremble rapidly. The moment she blinked he was gone. As if he hadn't ever existed. The whole shop rattled loudly as the front door slammed shut behind him. Fear stricken, Emerald stood there frozen not even feeling her feet hitting the floor.

She couldn't help but question if that was even real.

𝕰 𝖒 𝖊 𝖗 𝖆 𝖑 𝖉

[echo-goes-mmm]

Alive

Juno Collection Masterpost

Previous

Warnings: implied torture, implied minor whump, implied past noncon, past starvation

“-and the poachers disturbing the silver heron sanctuary have been dealt with, but-”

The door slammed open, and Jason looked up. A servant stood in the doorway, chest heaving.

“He’s- they found-” he panted.

“Jadith’s Grace, man,” snapped Jason, irritated. “Spit it out.”

“The prince-”

Eight years of despair slammed into Jason like a merchant ship, and he lost his breath.

“He’s alive-”

Jason leapt up from his chair. “Where?” 

___________________

He’d never saddled his horse so fast before, and had never rode so quickly.

The poor animal was exhausted by the time he reached Lady Diana’s estate, nearly lame from galloping so hard.

Jason was still thrumming with adrenaline, sprinting up the stairs and throwing open the front doors.

“Where is he?”

The startled slaves stared.

“Where is Juno?” he demanded.

One of them pointed wordlessly, and Jason ran down the hall. 

A team of people huddled around a room, and Jason knew.

“Jason,” breathed out Lady Diana. “Jason, just a moment.”

He could take a moment later.

Jason pushed through the crowd, desperate.

In the center of the room, his missing nephew sat on the edge of the bed, a healer writing on a pad beside him.

Jason swept Juno up into his arms, nuzzling into his filthy hair. He was alive.

Juno flinched, hard and violent.

“It’s me,” soothed Jason, his voice cracking. “I’ve got you; I’m here-”

___________________

The first thing- the first thing Jason noticed was the flinching. Understandable, no matter how much it hurt. Juno was shaken, and the sudden hug had frightened him.

The second thing was how small he was.

Juno had disappeared when he was barely fifteen. He’d been gone for seven years, six months, nineteen days.

He was twenty two now.

Why did he still look fifteen?

He hadn’t grown at all. And more than that- he was starved.

Juno’s skin was pale and almost translucent, blue and purple veins like paint against white. 

His eyes were sunken and dull; Jason could see plum shadows underneath them in those rare moments he glanced up from the floor.

The clothes hung off him as sheets on a hook. 

Even worse, Jason had seen the bruises and marks before the clothes were offered.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them.

An angry circle around his neck. Boot-sized black and blue on his chest and ribs. Nauseating pairs of yellow and green on his hips. Welts and scars peeking out from around his back.

His beloved nephew looked like the corpse he’d never gotten to bury. As if just a week later, they’d have something to finally fill the empty coffin he had placed in the family crypt, next to Juno’s mother and father.

The healer had put him to sleep. A harmless sedative, mixed with the water laced with vitamins and minerals they’d given him.

No matter how the healer reassured him, Jason wasn’t sure if he was going to wake at all.

Jason held Juno’s hand like it was glass.

“He’s so small,” he choked out, for the upteenth time. 

Juno had never gotten to his last growth spurt, and now he never would.

“He’ll live, Your Excellency,” the healer repeated. “He’s stronger than you think.”

I know, thought Jason. Gods, I know.

He should never have stopped looking. How could he have stopped looking? Two years of searching- He should have done more.

How many nights had Juno wished to come home? Did he call for his mother? For someone to save him? 

How long was it until Juno had given up hope? How long until he realized no one was coming?

Jason had failed him. Left him to suffer.

“I’m so sorry,” he told his sleeping nephew. 

He wouldn’t fail him again.

___________________

The carriage ride back to the castle was slow. 

Juno was in no shape to ride a horse, and in no condition for anything faster than a walking gait.

Jason couldn’t care less.

Juno didn’t say much when he’d woken.

That was fine. The healer explained enough.

Jason would have stolen the moon for him in that moment, or perhaps murdered the whole world, but Juno’s only wish was to go home.

So after a careful meal of porridge and more enriched water, they left.

“It won’t be long now,” Jason told him, his thumb running over Juno’s hand.

“I- I don’t want to see anyone.” Juno’s blue eyes were wide and wet, as if he was a small child again and hadn’t yet grown into them. “Please.”

Gods, his voice was soft and small and so unlike the Juno that had left them years ago. 

But that Juno didn’t matter. He’d already mourned him.

What mattered was the Juno right in front of him; the Juno who was both alive and here.

“I sent word,” he said. “Jackal has taken care of it. You don’t have to see anyone besides the healers.”

According to the messengers, Jackal was vibrating out of her skin with the desire to see him, but she would have to wait. She would understand.

“Not- not even-” he went quiet.

“Who?”

“Not even Aspen?” Juno’s voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the sound of the horses.

“You will never see him again,” Jason swore. 

“What if- what if he comes for me?”

Jason’s heart shattered. “I’ve sent him far away,” he soothed, brushing away a long strand of dark hair from Juno’s face. “He won’t be back. He’ll die before he makes it even a step closer to you.”

Juno’s eyes fluttered. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

___________________

Aspen had been sent to Mount Kar’eth; a mountain fortress quite literally on the other side of the empire.

It had been part of a defense line hundreds of years ago, but currently it was nothing but a training ground for soldiers to get used to mountainous combat and terrain.

And now it was a prison. With a single prisoner.

Aspen wasn’t sent alone.

Jason’s only instructions to Aspen’s jailer was to keep him alive, and keep him suffering.

He didn’t ask for specifics. 

An eye for an eye.

Juno didn’t ask what happened to Aspen. He asked after the slaves and servants.

At first, Jason didn’t understand Juno’s request to have mercy.

They watched him suffer, listened to him scream and plead and cry out and did nothing.

“They couldn’t,” Juno had quietly explained from his bed. “He- he would have killed them. Or done worse.”

He almost killed you, Jason thought, but didn’t say. He did do worse.

The bruises on Juno’s hips, the healer describing the torture-

Jason agreed with him. It wasn’t their fault.

In the end, the staff and slaves were left alone. 

And maybe, more of the Juno he remembered had survived than he thought.

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979

[riddles-fiddles]

I was wondering if I could request a riddle fic? Riddle and his "Least" favorite ruler breaker! Idk I thought it'd be super cute to watch a rule breaking Yuu be let off the hook just because Riddle has a soft spot for them while Ace gets the full punishment. Ace would probs get so annoyed at that lol

YESSS I love the idea of Riddle slowly developing a soft spot for a slightly rebellious Yuu, because! It surely brings a flicker of warmth to him to be remebered that breaking rules or not abidding by the extremes isn't the end of the world, and that he's allowed to be imperfect, just like his little adored troublemaker.

Roses Beyond Thorns

Synopsis: Riddle isn't as pissed as you might think from the way you deliberately breaks rules. Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, minor appearance of Ace Trappola Tags: fluff, comedy, SFW Notes: gender neutral reader, I am so sorry for the long wait akjdhajshd life has been a bitch recently

•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The corner of Riddle's nose twitches, a motion almost left unnoticed as he stares blankly at your uniform — at first glance, nothing looked too out of the ordinary, but Riddle has a sharp eyesight and meticulously picks on the smallest of details. He knows you purposely swapped the colours from the school's bowtie (black to white stripes) and the way your funky socks peeked through your hem was merely part of your antics to test his tolerance.

Yet, after the blot incident, he promised to go easy with the strictness he had previously showed regarding the Queen's rules, so he watches in silence as you roam around Heartslabyul with your offending clothing, an innocent spring to your feet - like you're not purposely teasing him.

He also knows everyone is discreetly (or not so much) exchanging side eyes between you two, awaiting for their housewarden to burst some censoring comment about your uniform, but it never comes, and it makes everyone on the dorm hold their breaths. Riddle keeps the nagging thoughts to himself, circling his thumbs as he leans back against the cushioned surface of his seat, gaze burning against your back.

It's another unbirthday to celebrate, and as expected, Riddle keeps the diligent housewarden stance, eventually engulfed from the responsibilities and the many people to greet and talk to. And that's the cue you need to drag Ace away from the crowd, pulling him towards the Rose Maze.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to paint the roses a darker shade of red over their ends? It would highlight their blooming glow," you muse, hand waving around the heart-shaped bushes. Ace winces from a moment, wary of your antics; normally, he wouldn't be hesitant to join you on your pranks, but his neck still strained from Riddle's punishing collar, earned after skipping feeding-the-flamingos duty. "Come on, Ace. I didn't know you were a chicken-head."

The smug grin on your face followed by the teasing comment was enough to brush away any ounce of meticulous restraint - nobody calls Ace a chicken-head! He's not a coward, and he's definitely not afraid of his housewarden's rage...! Liar, and he would soon regret it.

Riddle notices how giggly you and Ace look, and that's enough to stir some suspicion. Nothing good comes out of a humorous Ace.

Riddle has a sharp eyesight and easily picks up on the smallest of details. It only takes him two minutes of staring into the delicate petals, fingers brushing off the cheap paint out of the edges to realize what you have been up to.

"So, whose idea was it to stain the roses perfect cherry colour with maroon? Did you two really think I would not notice the contrasting tones?" Riddle's voice drips with a tame commanding tone - he's really containing himself to not straight out blurt Off With Your Head, and it shows on his cold, stoic features. You can't help but let the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of your lips, amusement mixed with surprise. Of course Riddle would be able to discern the colours, even name them.

Ace remains silent, his gaze fixated on the floor. He was a real friend, despite his loudness and mischievous personality, not even mumbling out your name.

"I just thought a darker colour along the petals would make them look prettier, bringing out their core and the lucid glow of their youth, since they have just finished blooming." You confess, tone innocent and soft. You're ready to face the consequences, so your voice comes sincere, though there's not much regret on the shy, minimal smile that graces the corner of your lips.

And Riddle notices it. He notices it, and can't help but feel his stoned heart warm up, melting away from the way you look so proud of it. You had a special and weird way to tug at his heartstrigs without even meaning it. He always felt a strong sense of righteousness, to live by rules - or else everything would descend into chaos - but then you would stand guiltless in front of him after some prank that conflicted with the Queen's sayings, and he would find your boldness amusing... hopeful, even.

Riddle stays silent, grey eyes searching for any lies or foul, hidden intents alongside your features, the intensity of his nimbus-colored irises sending electricity all through your skin. Though he looks severe, he secretly revels on the way your eyes glisten against his office's light, how your cheeks are graced with a light rosy tint, and most important - how you look genuinely proud of your work.

"Fine," he sighs out, long gloved fingers coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, head moving to the sides in an exasperated, dramatic motion - his hand casting shadows over his face in time to conceal a blush that slowly creeped up his cheeks, complexion easing. "I can recognize your... creative approach regarding the roses, and although I don't appreciate it, I can't find a reason to punish you for it."

He waves you off, allowing you to exit his office. What you fail to notice, however, is the small, longing smile that tugs at Riddle's features the moment you turn your back, the hint of a shy sparkle of admiration growing on his pupils. Ace comes to reach for the door, but is quickly stopped by a hand coiling around his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Trappola, I'm not done with you."

The next day you visit, you find Ace working on the Rose Maze, the heart-shaped red collar matching his current position - the flowers had been stripped from their lively colour, going back to their usual white selves, and now Ace was tasked to paint them all until tea time. No shortcut with his magic allowed thanks to the collar, he was expected to comply with excellency, merely relying on his bare skills with a brush and a can of paint.

"This is so unfair! All you have to do is look pretty and bat your eyelashes and Riddle spares you the collar?! No way, you're helping me out since I wouldn't be in hot water again if it wasn't for your stupid idea!"

You can't help but laugh with a mix of mischief and solidarity, deciding out of the goodness of your heart to help the poor guy out - but not before having a good laugh out of it, and even a photo. For memories sake, you tell him.