#give me blisters and peel my skin off

[butchcharliee]

🤠

[jaybirdscoffee]

can someone explain to me why binding in any form when you have a large chest is hell no matter what you do

[thetriumphantpanda]

in his healing hands | joel miller

Summary | You come back from patrol with a broken body - knees and feet aching with age and the physical toll of the world. Joel knows exactly how to help you, putting his hands (and mouth) to good use.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count | 1.8K

Warnings | Foot massage (not in a fetish way), knee massage, soft!Joel, oral sex (f receiving), Jackson-era, no use of y/n, no explicit reference to age but reader does say the line 'I'm getting too old for this' so make of that what you will (I’m 28 and I say this, so make her whatever age you wish!), nothing else, just porn without much plot tbh.

Authors note | So, I did a 25km charity trek yesterday and when I tell you my body is wrecked? My body is wrecked. My knees are shot, my feet have never known pain like it, my lower back is screaming at me. So, naturally, Joel massaging my aches and pains and then eating my pussy was the natural thing for my brain to come up with. Slight shoutout to @mvtthewmurdvck for the massage oil idea here... I couldn't resist. Enjoy - this was written and edited on my phone in about 3 hours so be kind.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’re too old for this. You’d been on your feet for what felt like a lifetime, though it hadn’t been more than twelve hours. Still, it was enough for the new boots Tommy had given you to cause blisters on the balls of your feet, and for your knees to feel like they had shattered under your skin. You had to speak to him, you think, as you hand your rifle back to the weapon store. Tommy needed to find a job for you that didn’t require you traipsing through the forest, up and down hills, otherwise your body was seriously going to give up on you. 

One foot in front of the other, it’s slow moving to his house. To your house. That’s still something you’re getting used to, the fact that your belongings, though they are few and far between, are now entangled with his. Your boots sit next to his by the door, your clothes hang alongside his in the wardrobe, you have a bedside table on your side of the bed. It’s strangely domestic, but you wouldn’t be without him, without Joel. He is what keeps your feet moving, no matter how much you want to collapse onto the ground and cry from the pain. 

The sun is setting, the slow pace back down your final hill and into the gun store mean you’re later than usual. When you push the door open, Joel is stood in the kitchen, his back to you, broad and straining against his t-shirt. You think you could watch him from behind forever. Immediately, you feel the stress you’d been holding in your shoulders dissipate from your body. The pain is still there though. 

Joel turns around slowly, smiling at you gently, his hands are clutching two steaming mugs of coffee. You’re still scared to ask what exactly he traded for it, but you’re grateful for it none-the-less when it’s pressed into your hand, and he’s kissing your forehead, pushing a gentle hand on your back, driving you towards the couch. He sits down, his own age showing in the way his knees audibly creak as he sits. 

You follow suit, a sharp gasp of pain leaving your lips as you sink into the couch cushions, legs sticking out straight because you can’t bare to bend them anymore. Joel is sitting up, concern across his face, because you never let on when you’re hurting, so for you to audibly wince when you try and get comfortable, he knows it must be bad. 

“Where are ya hurtin’, baby?” He asks, setting his coffee cup down on the table. 

“Backs of my knees,” You grumble, tipping your head back in pain as you try and shift into a comfortable position, “And my feet.” 

Joel slowly moves off the couch, sinking to his knees in front of you. His deft hands are unlacing your boots, pulling them off your feet, peeling off your socks after them. He has his hand wrapped around one of your ankles, tilting your foot to look at it, “What did I tell ya about breakin’ these in?” He scolds, head tilting to the boots on the floor, “Told ya you’d get blisters.” 

“The only place I ever go is on patrol Joel, I can only wear them in on patrol.” You shoot back, frustration in your voice. 

“Alright baby.” He lets this one go, realising you don’t need chastising, just helping. 

He takes your left foot in his hand and presses him thumb into the arch of your foot and you moan. You actually moan in relief as he works his thumb up to the ball of your foot, avoiding the blister that’s built there, pressing a thumb into the skin next to it. 

“Jesus fuck, Miller,” You groan, starting to press your foot into the pressure of his thumb, “Do the other one.” You ask, gesturing your hand to your other foot. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

He shifts his hand, repeating the same movements as before, thumbs digging into the arch of your foot, moving upwards slowly, until he presses slightly too hard into the ball of this foot, making you hiss instead of groan. He squeezes your ankle, knowing that he’s probably now causing more pain than anything else. 

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He murmurs from his knees, “Then we can get you nice and comfy in bed.” 

The warm water had gone some way to soothing you, but as you hobble from the bathroom down to your bedroom, the searing ache in your kneecaps is causing small tears to bloom at the edge of your vision. In the bedroom, Joel is already propped up against his pillows, glasses perched on the end of his nose with a book in his lap. It’s still warm, so he’s not put a sleep shirt on, he looks positively delicious and if your whole body wasn’t pain, you’d straddle his hips and show him just how much you needed him. 

He looks up from his book when he hears your heavy footsteps coming towards the bed, “Hot water help?” He asks, chuckling slightly when you flop, unceremoniously, down onto the bed, face-first, groaning in relief at the weight finally being off your body. 

“Will you…” You mumble into the sheets under your mouth, turning your head to him to he can hear you properly, “Will you do the backs of my knees?” You ask, “Just massage them a bit and see if it’ll help?” 

He shuts his book and drags his glasses off his face, setting them both down on his bedside table, pushing the sheets back from his lap, moving himself up on his knees next to you. He reaches over and sinks his fingers under the edge of the towel you’ve got wrapped around you, pulling it out from under you to drop it to the floor, leaving your backside naked to him. 

He runs his hands down your back, wide palms skimming over your warm skin, he stops to squeeze the globes of your ass as his hands continue their path down the backs of your thighs, all the way down to the crook of your knee. He leans over you, body pressed gently to yours as he fishes around in the bedside drawer for a moment, pulling out the small vial of oil he keeps there. 

Tommy had given it to him months ago, during the winter, when Joel’s joints seized up with the cold – you’d been the one massaging his back and his shoulders then – with the rosemary scented oil that someone in town cooked up, meaning the hard-to-find pills stayed in the hospital for emergencies only. 

You listen as he squeezes a tiny amount of oil into his palms, rubbing them together to warm and loosen the oil, before he’s got those palms wrapped around one of your knees, pads of his thumbs gently pressing into the aching muscle there. 

“You tell me if I’m too hard, okay?” He speaks softly behind you, a pattern of dragging one thumb, and then the other, across the plane of skin there, swapping between each knee until you’re a mouldable mess of a human. 

“Feels good,” You breathe out, head pillowed on your arm, “I ever tell you how good you are with your hands?” 

Joel laughs now, “Feelin’ better, huh?” He speaks, oily hands leaving the backs of your knees to trail back up to your ass, giving you another squeeze to see if you’re going to tell him to fuck off or not. 

He leans forward, lips pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of your back, “Think you told me once or twice,” He comments, answering your earlier question about his hands, “But, if I remember correctly, you think I’m better with my mouth.” 

His lips press a kiss to one of the cheeks of your ass, then the other, before he’s gripping the meat of you in his hands, squeezing and spreading you open for him, he notices you tense a little, and that simply won’t do, “Relax, will ya?” He encourages, “Promise I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby.” 

He knows that he can’t shift you up onto your knees, or bend them much as all, but God he has to taste you. He shifts himself a little, from straddling your legs, to shifting them open a little so he can rest between them. You’re still led on your front, head resting on your arms, tilted round gently to look at him as much as you can. 

He settles in between your thighs, body spread out much like yours is, with his mouth just inches from your weeping core, that’s been gradually gathering slick since he started touching you downstairs on the couch. His hands are back gripping the meat of your ass, using them to spread you apart so he can finally see you already dripping for him. 

“Can you lift up a little, baby?” He asks, watching with satisfaction as you move a little so he can finally get his mouth on you. 

He dips his tongue into your aching cunt first, using his tongue to lap up the delicious slick he’s already drawn from you. It’s already obscene, the sounds of his slurping, the way he literally drinks from you, tasting every part of you. Then, from his place behind you, he moves his head so he’s lapping at your clit. Soft, gentle flicks with the tip of his tongue, swirling the mix of his saliva and your slick over the little bundle of nerves in such a way that you’re crying out for him already. 

“Easy baby,” He grins into your cunt, “You that worked up, huh?” He pulls away slightly, “Do I need to make you come? Will that make everythin’ better?” 

You push yourself back onto his mouth and he obliges, because he can never deny you, especially when you’re this delicate and pliable, all from his hands helping to stop you hurting. He’s giving you wider, longer swipes of his tongue across your clit now, alternating when he wants back to those tight circles with the tip of his tongue until you are literally a quivering mess, teetering on the edge, waiting for him to tip you over. 

“Joel,” You whimper, hips chasing at his tongue as it sweeps across your swollen clit, “Make me come, please.” 

He doesn’t even bother to reply, just latches his lips around your clit, sucking for pressure, but still driving his tongue over it, until you finally let go, body shaking and a chorus of his name and pleas for him not to stop echoing through the room. And he doesn’t, not until he’s sure that his tongue has worked every ounce of your orgasm from you. He pulls away from you, wiping the slick from his face onto the back of your thigh before he collapses down on the bed next to you. 

He rolls you gently onto your side, pulling your body into his. His hand pulls at your knee gently, bringing one of your legs across his body to rest on him, hand staying warm and solid on your still painful knee, as his other arm snaked under your neck and around your shoulders to anchor you to him. 

He is still in awe, as you fall asleep against him, with his hands wide against your clammy skin, that these were once the same hands that killed people, tortured some of them even, the same hands that cradled his dying daughter all those years ago, now used to ease someone else’s pain, to make someone else feel better. He uses those hands now, running gentle patterns across your skin as you fall asleep, hoping that when you wake up, it’s made all the difference, even though he knows if you’re still hurting, he would stay here forever, running those hands over your aches and pains to heal you. 

[emotional-moss]

psa cause i’m seeing WAY too many people saying “ow taking off trans tape hurts so bad” “it’s peeling my skin/leaving abrasions” etc etc

TAKING OFF TRANS TAPE SHOULD NOT HURT

as someone who has incorrectly taken it off multiple times before to the point where it left huge red patches, blistering, and sometimes even bleeding: TAKE YOUR TRANS TAPE OFF CORRECTLY!!!

so here’s my guide as someone who’s been wearing it for around 2 years now, pretty much daily.

it takes time to do it correctly. it’s very time consuming and requires a lot of patience which is why i often wear tape for 5-7 days at a time instead of the recommended 3-4 days, because the removal process takes takes so fucking long. for me it can take around 15-20 minutes, however i do use 3 layers while some people might use 2.

you have to slather your tape in oil. like soak that shit. even if you think it’s enough oil, it’s not enough oil. oil up. you need more oil.

i recommend peeling from the corners first rather than just peeling from any old side. (if you round out the edges of your tape with scissors this doesn’t really apply).

pull SLOWLY. SLOWLY!!! yanking hard will leave abrasions and irritate your skin no matter how lubricated the tape itself is. it’s not like ripping off a bandaid. especially considering breasts are a generally pretty sensitive area. so always tug very slowly.

it should not hurt. it should not hurt. IT SHOULD NOT HURT!!! it’s perfectly normal for it to pinch a little bit, be itchy, or be uncomfortable, but actual stinging pain means you’re doing something wrong. usually because you’re pulling too fast or too hard or you didn’t use enough oil. if it starts to sting or hurt when you’re removing it, let go and apply more oil to the area.

massaging the edges of the tape and areas that you’re peeling from will loosen it a lot. ive found this to be particularly helpful when you start, so i usually apply slightly more oil to the borders and edges of the tape, so that the beginning removal is painless.

be careful around the areas under your arm - like sideboob areas. since trans tape pulls your breasts to the side rather than flattening them in front, if you remove it too harshly, it can cause severe abrasions where the boob has been pulled it to the side. it’s NOT fun and is painful pretty much every time you raise your arms etc. so be very careful and patient with those areas.

always wear nipple covers. this is a given but just in case anyone out there is going to be stupid: do NOT apply it directly over your nipples. the skin there is extremely delicate and it will get damaged even if you’re extremely careful. use nipple covers.

above all, be patient. it is a time consuming process and can be annoying or uncomfortable, but don’t rush. it is not worth it!! it is NOT fun to walk around with your boob areas stinging and irritated!! and it can make future trans tape application more difficult!! so give yourself ample time to do it.

good luck and i hope this helps ! stop taking off your trans tape incorrectly friends

[renecdote]

everything that touches us

Yes I am posting more fic for In Another Life idk what to say it did something to my brain. This one is for BTHB: burns.

[Read on AO3]

The bandages peel away easily. First one hand, then the other, then the gauze underneath.

Eddie doesn’t really need to be here for this, but the doctor asked Buck if he’d prefer if his visitor left, and Buck’s, “no,” was so quick that Eddie got goosebumps. So he’s here, standing in the corner of the room with one arm folded across his chest, chewing on his thumb nail and reminding himself that he’s not squeamish. That he’s an EMT, for fuck’s sake. He was an army medic. Just because it’s Buck—

Except there is nothing just about Buck.

“These are healing well,” the doctor says, and Eddie makes himself look as well. The skin on Buck’s palms is red and blistering, and he winces when the doctor gently moves his hand to check the damage, but she’s right: the burns are healing well. In a few weeks, they probably won’t be visible at all. Not even a scar to remember them by.

Buck’s eyes stay on his hands while antibiotic cream is applied and the gauze pads replaced.

“No more bandages?” he asks when the doctor starts packing up the supplies.

“I think you’ll be okay without them,” she smiles, “just try not to touch the burn area too much, okay?”

Buck nods. He’s a little paler than he was when the doctor came in, Eddie thinks, but she either doesn’t notice or isn’t concerned. He tells himself that means he doesn’t need to be concerned either, but. It’s Buck. He’s not sure he knows how to turn off concern.

“I can go,” he offers, when it’s just the two of them again, “if you want to get some rest.”

Buck shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “‘M sick of resting.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “You remember you got struck by lightning, right?”

Buck huffs, then coughs, knuckles digging into his chest. Eddie’s heart stutters for a moment, his own breath held while he waits for Buck to catch his, and he has to grip his arms tight to stop himself from—he doesn’t even know what. Leaping forward, running away, putting his hands over his ears so he doesn’t have to listen to his best friend struggling to breathe again.

God, the things he would give to never have to listen to that again. To never feel the dead weight of Buck’s body in his hands again. Never have to feel the crack of ribs under his hands trying to get Buck’s heart to start beating again.

To never have to go home to his son and say, “Buck is in the hospital, it’s bad,” again.

Eddie swallows, and blinks back the itchiness in his eyes, and forces himself not to look away.

“Rest,” he repeats when Buck has caught his breath, non-negotiable this time. “I’ll call Bobby if I have to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Buck shoots back immediately, but the way he glares at Eddie says he knows the threat is real.

“Please?” Eddie tries, gentler this time. “Just lie down, close your eyes. You don’t have to sleep.”

Buck’s glare turns suspicious. He knows that trick—has used it on Christopher himself, maybe even on Jee-Yun—but Eddie stands his ground and doesn’t squirm.

Buck gives in first.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll rest.”

He says the word like it has a bad taste, but he lies down. Closes his eyes. Opens them a moment later to sit up slightly and fuss with the blankets, pinching with his fingers so he doesn’t have to move his hands too much.

Definitely hurting, Eddie concludes.

“Let me,” he says, and he steps forward before Buck can argue, taking the blanket and tucking it more comfortably around him. “Better?”

“You’re staying?” Buck asks instead of answering, head turned toward him on the pillow.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, pulling up a chair, “I’m staying.”

Buck hums—good—and lets his eyes closed. “’S better.”

When I’m not alone, Eddie thinks he means.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he says, reaching out one more time to readjust the blanket, even though it doesn’t really need readjusting. “Are you going to sleep?”

“No,” Buck answers, but he already sounds like he’s fading. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” Buck yawns, then winces, rubbing at his brow. “Have you seen It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“Everyone has seen It’s a Wonderful Life, Buck,” Eddie answers, even though he’s pretty sure that’s not true. Statistically or whatever. He only watched it because he had an English teacher who said she’d give extra credit to anyone who wrote an essay about the motifs, or metaphors, or something like that. He remembers crying in front of the TV, and trying to pretend that he wasn’t, acutely aware that his dad might get home from work at any moment.

“Chimney made me watch it,” Buck tells him, smiling a little at the memory it brings up. “I fell asleep halfway through and he was so annoyed that he wouldn’t tell me how it ends.”

Eddie laughs. That sounds exactly like something Chimney would do. He’s had plenty of his own Chimney-enforced movie nights since joining the 118.

“You’ll be laid up for a few weeks,” he reminds Buck, “I’m sure Chim can find some time to watch it with you again.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, tiredness making his voice fuzzy. “Maybe.”

Quiet falls and stretches between them for long enough that Eddie thinks Buck has fallen asleep when he rouses himself to ask, “It’s got a happy ending, right?”

There’s something in the way he says it—something in his voice, in the way he curls his hands on top of the thin hospital blanket—that makes Eddie think he’s not just talking about the movie.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on Buck’s wrist, touching for the first time since the doctors swept Buck away in the ER. “It’s got a happy ending.”

“Good,” little more than an exhalation. Buck’s chest rises and falls, and rises and falls, and rises and falls. Under Eddie’s hand, his heart beats steady.

Good, Eddie’s mind echoes, because it is now. Buck is okay now. Not healed, not yet, but okay.

When he’s sure Buck is asleep, he pulls out his phone and goes straight to the group chat he has with Chimney, Bobby, Hen and Maddie. Patient is okay, he texts. Burns are healing well, bandages came off. He’s sleeping now.

And then, after another moment’s thought: We should have a movie night when Buck is home.

Then he sits back, while his phone buzzes with a burst of hearts, an omg yes from Chimney, and a slew of planning details that follow. He can’t help but smile, watching Buck’s eyelashes flutter, his nose scrunching in his sleep, and for the first time since that lightning struck, Eddie feels like he can breathe.

[crushedgraham]

Hi again! Can you do a dva x fem! Reader fic which reader is a dps agent, and they take care of each other after a rough mission?

Kiss it Better

D.Va x fem! DPS Agent

"Hey, you okay?"

Hana's voice calls out to you but she sounds like she's miles away from you. Your gaze is stuck on your bloody hands, the callouses on your palms are peeled and ripped off, leaving pads of blood and raw flesh. The skin on your knuckles aren't any better. Shades of purples and reds have overtaken your natural skin color, dried blood caked into certain areas too. There isn't an inch of you that doesn't ache; your feet blistered, your legs sore, your torso bruised, your face cut, everything hurt.

You're pulled back to reality when a softer hand squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Y/N?"

It's worrying how much effort it takes to look up at the Korean girl but you do so anyways. A small cut decorates her bottom lip and you wish you had the strength to stand up and kiss it better but you would probably collapse if you tried.

"Honestly I feel like I'm dying."

The stupid, lopsided smile you give her is meant to lighten what you just said but it only makes her frown grow bigger.

"Should we stop by the Overwatch base?? I can call Angela and tell her it's an emergency"

"Wait Hana no- I was joking"

"That's not funny Jagi! I'm worried, you look like shit"

"You say you feel like you're dying all the time"

"It's funny when I do it"

The conversation distracts you from the ache in your bones and you two keep talking until you physically can't keep your eyes open any longer. Somewhere during the conversation Hana had sat down next to you in the ship which allowed you to rest your head on her shoulder. About an hour or so was left until you reached Korea so Hana pulled out her phone and started playing random games until you landed.

A small nudge to your head wakes you up. You grunt from the pain in your neck after having to lean down at an awkward angle to rest on Hana but it was worth it. Hana gets up first, she had only gotten a few minor bruises since she was shielded in her Mech. Her hand outstretches to you and you take it gratefully, boosting yourself with your free hand for extra support.

The walk through your headquarters is a painful one. Your arm is wrapped around Hana's shoulders as you limp to your shared room. Every now and then she glances at you with a worried gaze but you meet it with a half smile.

Once you two reach the room, your mind is set on hibernating for the next few weeks but Hana has other plans. She drags you to the bathroom, grumbling something about cleaning you up.

You sit on the toilet lid as you watch the small girl pull out the med kit from the drawers.

"How long do you think we're gonna do this?"

The words escape you faster than you thought they would. Hana glances up at you with a confused expression.

"What do you mean?"

"Like..Missions and protecting the world. I love it but I don't think it's sustainable for my body. Next thing you know I'm gonna be losing a body part like Cass or Rein."

A small punch is delivered to your arm at the joke.

"But doesn't it feel hard for you too? And I mean mentally"

Hana pulls out a cotton pad and dabs saline solution onto it, she brings it up to a cut on your nose bridge.

"Yeah, I'm definitely a lot safer because of my Mech but I get the mental part. Sometimes I feel like my youth and "golden years" have been stolen away from me to protect Korea but it was my choice, you know?"

The sting from the saline disinfecting your wounds makes it hard to respond but you nod with shut eyes.

"But don't stress, I'm sure we can retire at some point. Then we can be old and domestic like your cheesy movies."

Hana kisses the tip of your nose at the end of her sentence which makes you smile.

"I can't wait to grow old with you"

She rolls her eyes at the corny line but her smile grows from it. Once she's done disinfecting everything, she nudges you towards the shower. Hana strips first and turns on the hot water. Normally you would be jumping up and down at a chance to shower with her but the effort it takes to stand makes you dread it.

Throughout the shower Hana washes your body gently, making sure to kiss your cheek apologetically whenever you wince from the pain. You both towel off and you launch yourself at the bed, content to just lay there naked.

A cool gel being applied to your body makes you jump. You look towards your torso to see Hana rubbing the gel along your ribs and stomach to help the bruising. She applies bandages on those spots to lock in the gel. The way she pokes out the tip of her tongue as she concentrates makes you smile adoringly at her.

When she packs up the med kit you pull her down to lay next to you.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine, I probably got one bruise at most"

"Oh! That reminds me-"

You lean down to kiss her lips softly. When the kiss ends you kiss only her bottom lip which makes her giggle.

"What're you doing weirdo?"

"Kissing your lip better"

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Embrace

Summary: Written for Day 11 of Augusnippets 2024. Modern AU, Sci-fi AU. With the help of the Defenders of the Wing and the heatstroke he suffered, Astrid can finally have a moment with Hiccup.

Warnings: Implied Child Abuse

Rating: Teen and Up

Dead Dove: No

Words: 440

Prompts: Escape, Breaking the Conditioning, Safe and Sound

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid

Pairing: Slight Hiccstrid

Author's Notes: One of my favorite whump tropes is when the whumpees loved ones can see what was done to them. So good!

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Astrid can’t look at him the same now that she knows some of the things that have been done to him.

The leg he lost to a Skrill, the surgeries to place implants that were meant to help enhance his mental capacity to tap into a dragon’s brain, the painful injections meant to enhance him further, the sedatives when those implants gave him unbearable migraines. The kind that made him feel like his skull was splitting open day in and day out.

And yet he still defends her.

“She’s my mother! She loves me!” Hiccup snaps at her.

After that heatstroke made him collapse, his dragons were forced to allow them to help, they brought him here. Underground, far away from his dragons inside a room lined with something that interfered with the implants. His connection isn’t cut off, just back to normal. Suddenly, he can talk.

And feel his recent back injury.

Astrid wishes she could tell him how wrong he is. That mothers who love their children don’t turn them into science experiments, they don’t exploit them for an innate ability, it’s not normal to put them through so much pain that he’s been caught on camera begging for death. The Defenders of the Wing, a group that protects dragons without putting baby boys through actual Hell, have every second of footage. They also own this facility and have funding.

Astrid stares at him, at his sunburned face, where his skin peels, where there are burst blisters, where the raw skin of his wrists have been bloodied by the cuffs. His ability to sense his own body so ruined he still can’t feel any of that. His back he does feel, sitting there like he can hardly breathe. She notices that there are two white, raised scars on his right forearm that look like they could’ve been caused by human teeth.

After watching all of that footage, even Snotlout can’t help but be upset.

But fighting him won’t help him escape his mother’s control. She’s lucky Mala allowed her this moment. So instead of instigating him further, Astrid rises from her chair and walks over to his side to capture him in a hug.

He draws away from her, tenses up within her arms. Not like he’s averse to her touch, but like he expects something bad to happen. Normally, conditions are tied to hugs like these.

Astrid allows the embrace to linger, gives him time, until eventually he settles and his chin rests on her shoulder.

On the other side of the one-way window, Mala, Throk and the rest of her friends, Heather and Dagur included, watch.

[dotchi18]

Hi! I like your writing :) I dunno if you're still doing the flower prompts, but could I request H (hyraendga) with the demon of your choice? If not, then have a nice day :))

Hey there!

Thank you so much for the compliment, sure you can request that!

It was a bit tricky picking a demon and a situation, so I kind of took an embarrassingly long time, but I Hope you like this! :D

H - Hydrangea (heartfeltness, gratitude): “I thank every divine being that exists for having guided me to you.”

Yandere!Asmodeus x Reader

(Anyone who says regular Asmodeus is plenty Yandere is absolutely correct, but since the Flower prompts are Yandere, I might as well tag him with it <3 )

Also, I usually put the prompts at the very start of the Yandere with the first meeting, so I thought it would be nice to put it a little further in! <3

Warnings: Mentions of Reader Death, Manipulative and Delusional Behavior, Reader being Called 'Darling' and 'Hon'

--------------

When your senses came back to you, your entire body pulsed in utter and complete agony.

Where were you?

Honestly the effort it was taking you to open your eyes led you to give up on that pretty quickly, you can get back to it later.

What was the last thing you remembered?

You remembered exiting a store with your friends and walking along the sidewalk, but what happened after...

You weren't too sure.

It was then, laying where you were, you heard humming.

Cheery and in tune, it was a sound from a voice you remembered.

Your friend.

It was your friend Asmo.

With an effort that felt like you put a crowbar under them, you finally forced open your eyes.

The first thing you saw was pink-red sheets you laid upon, the smoothness really blossoming on your skin now that things were coming back to you as your eyes casted up.

And there he was, sitting on a chair with a pink seat and a barred back in the shape of a heart, clad in a fluffy robe you recognized.

You had joked in that robe he looked like someone who was 'mourning the 'mysterious' disappearance of their rich husband'.

It was fluffy around the edges, almost angelic in vision as the rest of it hugged his slender body as he was slowly peeling away his face mask to smooth skin, admiring his beautiful face with his champagne-colored eyes until his eyes turned and met with yours.

His whole countenance brightened and he pushed away from the table, turning his body to you as he beamed.

" Oh my Darling, How wonderful you're awake!"

He strode over almost toe to toe causing a swing to his hips, his eyes sparkling as he pressed a well-manicured hand into the blankets before you.

" How are you feeling Hon? After what had happened, you're going to need some rest."

What was he talking about?

" What happened?" You finally managed after some pause, your throat feeling achy, " Where is everyone else?"

" Oh Darling, don't worry about anything else anymore." Asmo ran his other hand over your hair, combing his fingers through it in a soothing gesture that made your eyes feel heavy again, but you fought off the comforting gesture for some answers.

" No, Asmo... what happened?"

He sighed indulgently as if you had asked him thing, reclining right beside you as his eyes stared into yours with a small smile on his face.

" You died, Hon."

The words were like receiving a cold splash of water to your face, your body jolting as you sat up, pain blistering through you as you gasped, Asmo's eyes wide as he sat up with you, his arms wrapping around you as you shook. " Shh Shh... Darling, it will take you some time for your body to adjust to what happened-"

" I died?"

Your head pounded as you tried to think about what had happened just earlier.

You had been walking with your friends... You all had just went browsing in a store, Asmo was there as well, you remembered that.

You remembered walking down the sidewalk, talking and laughing with your friends.

And then you remember looking beside yourself to Asmo.

He was holding a drink in his hand, something that he had offered a sip to you earlier, the taste on your tongue as he smiled to you, a smooth, knowing smile.

Then you felt his hand, so manicured and delicate looking, go to your shoulder, and with a force your mortal brain couldn't comprehend he shoved you.

You remembered stumbling over the curb in surprise, and then... everything went black.

Your body felt like ice, and you were unsure if it was because you were dead or if the blood you had simply just went cold from the realization.

" You?"

" Aw Hon, don't look at me like that~" Asmodeus huffed as he sat up, the look of betrayal on your face making him pout, " It was the only way for me to preserve you as you are.

Waiting any longer and who knows what might have happened to you, you know?"

His tone was almost scolding, as if you were a doll that someone could handle improperly and bring you back in a worse state than the perfection you already were to him.

" What in the hell is going on?" You were too stunned to do much at the moment.

Why were you here?

Where was here anyways?

You were definitely angry, but what could you even do with all of that when you were dead?

" Hell is a rather correct term my lovely!" Asmo giggled as he stood, his attention still fully on you, " You see, this is probably hard to believe, but I am a very important person in this place, and I just had to pull a few strings to get you right here, where you belong!"

You could only stare at him in shock as Asmo laughed and went back to the make-up table, cleaning up what he had worked on, glancing in the mirror for a moment before grabbing at a few more things, gathering it as he snapped his fingers and you felt your upper body being lifted from the bed as if a doll being picked up by an invisible hand, your body too sore and disused to do more than hang limply as you tried to shake your head.

" Why? "

" Why? Well why not?" Asmo flounced back with a smile, placing a few silk pillows underneath you to eventually prop your head up as he unscrewed the caps to the make-up he had brought over and laid by himself on the bed, gently gripping you by the jaw, where his warm and soft hands made contact filling you with the feeling of pins and needles as he rubbed against your flesh, trying to massage feeling back into it, but putting more effort into the make-up he brought.

" I do love you so much after all! Now, I know you're upset, but you'll get over it."

Your mind was a mess. How does one even comprehend the horrible mess one was in?

It was hard enough to truly believe in a life after death, but to know that you were in Hell, and a friend of yours specifically sent you there for themselves, it was too much.

The make-up felt like he was painting a shell upon your face, more than likely because you barely had any feeling in your face, so this new stuff felt unnatural as Asmo happily pampered your limp body.

He wouldn't let you speak when you tried to voice your frustrations, sealing your mouth shut.

" You can vent your frustrations at me when you feel better tomorrow.

For today we're just going to get you all dolled up in a way I know you'll look good in, and we're going to rest together!

Then, we'll see if you're fit to walk tomorrow!"

Tears of frustration burned in your eyes, but Asmo merely smiled his poisonously sweet smile, cupping your face with both his hands this time, mostly settled in your hair and under your jaw to not ruin the make-up, his champagne-colored eyes settled on yours.

" I thank every divine being that exists for having guided me to you.

I'm going to make sure that after everything blows over, we're going to have the best time together!"

A tear started to streak from your eye, and Asmo wiggled a bit before leaning close and licking the tear from your cheek.

" I promise!"

[nightraiderwrites]

Pearl lays in bed, her suit torn to shreds. Queen Gem is sitting in a chair next to her, carefully peeling the remains of the beautiful midnight blue cloth.

Everything hurts. The explosion had ripped through the wall, and Pearl had vaulted over people to the Queen. She remembers wrapping her arms around Gem as the heat had torn through her. Then�� nothing.

"You're such an idiot," Gem mutters as she inspects the skin. It's red and blistered, and the skin around the left side of her face is full of pain.

She coughs. "Well," she replies weakly. "I couldn't let the Queen die. You're too important to Eden."

"There's a reason Eden chose me to be her Queen," Gem replies, applying a salve. Her hands glow faintly green, as she moves them down Pearl's body. "She won't let me die so easily. You, on the other hand…"

Gem hesitates, before applying the salve to her eye. "You don't know that, Gem," Pearl says. "You don't know when the blessing of Eden will run out." Her hand is cool against Pearl's eyelid. She doesn't think she'll be able to see Gen's beautiful face with it ever again.

A knock on the door sounds. "It's me," comes Impulse’s soft voice. "Come in," the Queen orders.

The door opens silently, revealing a short man dressed in beaten up armor. "Hey Pearlie," he says. "I brought you soup."

"Thanks Impy," Pearl replies. She pauses. "Why're you still in your armor?" He chuckles, placing the steaming bowl on her bedside table. "Paranoia," he says. "They might launch a counter attack. And with you bedridden…"

Gem grumbles from where she's wrapping the last of Pearl’s wounds. "You're both idiots," she grouches. She sniffles suddenly. "I can't run this kingdom without both of you." 

Impulse exchanges a quick look of panic with Pearl, who tries to sit up. Her ribs scream, but she moves to sit at the edge of her bed. Impulse moves to stand on Gem's right.

Pearl takes her hands. There are little flecks of gold in her antlers. She thinks about Eden, and magic, and claims. "I swore I'd always stay by your side," she says. Her soft hands are cold in Pearl’s. She brings them up to kiss it softly. "I do not intend to leave."

Impulse kneels. "I swore I'd always be here too, my Queen," he says. Gold still gleams above his heart. “My axe will always be there for you.” Pearl nods, "You'll have us until we die," she adds.

Her emerald eyes stare at Pearl darkly. “Impulse,” the Queen says. “You can go to bed. Or check the guards stationed around the palace.” He starts to protest, but gives up as soon as he sees her focus is all on Pearl. Good luck, he mouths as he exits the room.

“Pearl,” she says. Pearl thinks about gold and magic and claims. “You can’t do that again. You can’t keep throwing yourself in danger for me.” Her antlers are flecked with gold, just like the necklace burnt into Pearl’s neck. “Eden’s blessing will keep me safe,” she continues. “But you-!”

She cuts herself off as Pearl surges forward in a kiss. Her lips are dry and cracked, Pearl notices. Gem tastes like wine. Pearl kisses deeper, moving to sit on Gem's lap and wrapping her arms around her neck.

Pearl thinks of gold and magic and claims. Gem tastes like wine and hope and love. 

They part, and Pearl presses her forehead to Gem's, as they both gasp for breath.

"I can't lose you," she whispers. Gem's eyes are emerald green, flecked with little slivers of gold. Droplets of tears color the corners blue."I love you," she murmurs, rough and real and desperate. "I love you, and I can't lose you."

"I can't lose you either," Gem replies, voice low and raspy. "I- I don't want to see you go." She wraps her arms around Pearl’s waist, moving her head to rest on her shoulder. Pearl clutches the base of her neck, terrified to let her go.

“I don’t want to die,” Pearl says. “But I would do it if it meant you would be safe.” She watches as Gem gasps for breath, gulping the air like a fish gulps water, and feels her earthquake under her fingertips.

Gem's dress is streaked with soot. "I can't lose you," she repeats. "You've all I've got left." Pearl shakes her head, ignoring the way it makes her ribs feel like they're being torn apart. "You've got Impulse," she says. "You have the rest of the Court."

"But it won't be you," Gem says. Her lip quivers. "I won't have you." 

Pearl thinks again of gold and magic and claims. Have Gem says. Like she’s something to put a claim on. She's got her wrapped tightly in her fist.

She thinks as she hugs Gem again, that she's gotten herself into a half dug grave.

~

Day 3 for @mcyt-yuri-week ! This is once again from the soup group au, because I have been hooked and brain rotting about it deeply.

It is later today, because I had a horrible exam, but thankfully I made it through to write women kissing.

[henrysglock]

Ohhh my god so re: what i remember you for as a writer theres SOSOSO much to choose from, but I have to go with Ptolemaea!!!!!

And even though there’s SO many iconic scenes/lines in Ptolemaea that stuck wirh me/that I remember you by, the shower scene from Ptolemaea is the one I’m going to talk about right now because it stuck with me and i was flashbanged by it again last night when rereading it HWBDBFN

Like, this part specifically:

“That didn’t mean it was any less appreciated, though, even as the blisters on his ankles burned with it. Hot water meant that the dirt, grime, and blood melted off him with minimal effort. Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

First of all, the line about how the water is making the blisters on his ankles burn is so strong/physical/it’s like I can feel it.

And it’s also such a fantastic line/fantastic use of word choice when it comes to the fact that Ptolemaea being a “Henry got out of the lab early” AU and therefore also a “Henry didnt get sent to Dimension x” AU versus the use of the word “burned” here, especially in the context of Henry trying to scrub off the lab/leave the lab behind versus the way that Henry physically leaves the lab behind in canon being getting sent to Dimension X & getting burned there.

It just works so well to give this subtle vibe/subtle reminded of “what couldve been” and how even though what Henry’s going through right now sucks (ie all of the Ptolemaea horrors, and even just the water from a nice shower hurts his blisters), it could’ve been so much worse/it really nails that “full of horrors but also full of Hope” vibe that Ptolemaea has.

And second of all, specifically looking at this part:

“Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

I cant even describe how much I love this part. There’s so many little layers to the comparison between Henry in the shower vs a spider shedding its carapace, snd how its not just “oh yeah yk hes got the same vibes as a spider shedding its carapace because hes trying to start anew” but instead the comparison *also* so Physical and the mental/emotional change/struggle is convey so Physically and how it’s specifically connected to the way that Henry scrubs himself pink, and the way that this line about how Henry scrubs himself pink evokes the visual of new skin being pink and “sore”/sensitive because it’s new, much like the new flesh under an old carapace.

And then how Henry towels himself off roughly vs that also working so perfectly to really convey that feeling of shedding a carapace in a very very physical way and the Movements of it and im just!!! The WORD CHOICES here are so perfect to convey a really visceral/physical feeling, like with the use of the word “peeling” and with how that use of the word” peeling” is where it all then connects to the mental aspect of it/the bridge between physical vs mental re: henry trying to peel the last three years off of his body (especially with the imagery re: peeling skin off/peeling years off vs all of the mental/supernatural “flaying” in ST vs the peeling skin imagery tying to the idea of literal flaying in the sense of flaying skin off).

And the “last three years” thing always gets me, it’s not only such a good reminder of how long he spent in the lab/how many years he’s lost, But then also, specifically in the context of shedding a carapace/molting, the implication that Henry hasn’t “molted” in three years/that this carapace that’s stuck to him is three years old/literally made up of the past three years really hits me every time re: the fact that spiders shed their carapaces/molt wayy more often than that so he hasnt been Allowed to molt & also the fact that some types of spiders stop molting entirety once they reach maturity (this is the case for black widows)/other types just molt less frequently (once a year) when they reach maturity vs the last three years in the lab being what makes up Henry’s “carapace” & Henry not having “molted” at all in the lab/at all in the last 3 years vs the way that Henry was forced to grow up quickly in the lab but how it Also stunted him & how not molting anymore is a sign of “maturity” /adulthood in spiders.

And especially with all of that/the idea of being forced to grow up quickly but also having your growth stunted as a result vs using the imagery of shedding a three year old carapace to convey that & the way that having a built-up old caparace/unshedded layers would make him seem “bigger”/more grown” when in reality, it’s a sign of *not* having grown/not being allowed to shed it is *stunting* his ability to grow/it’s like he was being forced to “grow” by not shedding (which then also ties SO PERFECTLY into Henry’s canon regen healing & the way that there’s all of this tumor imagery associated with it/unwanted growths) and that weighing up down/the extra “weight”/“size”/“growth” on him re: not “shedding his skin” & how his/a spider’s limbs aren’t going to grow properly unless they shed their skin so then there’s the whole visual of him not growing in a typical Growth way/his metaphorical limbs not getting longer but instead just “growing” by having all of these extra layers/“skin” that hes now trapped in/cant shed to properly grow vs the idea of Brenner wanting him to be like a child and like an adult simultaneously (ie being a Freak & Liking the fact that Henry’s a child vs also stealing his childhood/putting him in a lab/making him behave Like An Adult/making him grow up quickly).

Especially with black widows no longer molting once they reach sexual maturity vs the idea of Henry not being *allowed* to molt/stopped early from molting/being forced to reach that maturity early (smash cut to the SA imagery in the lab) when he hasnt Actually reached it physically.

And then that all also ties so well into the idea of being a Child Forced To Behave Like An Adult/Forced Into Adult Activities rather than Actually Becoming An Adult.

I just!! The line about a spider shedding its carapace as a way of describing Henry’s attempts to leave the lab behind is literally such a perfect line, like there’s something so physical and visceral about it, not only is it such a perfect description of the situation, but the spider aspect then ties so perfectly into Henry’s character specifically.

Especially with the next context TFS Henry & the visual of those spider legs bursting out of his back during the attic scene with Virginia & how that’s Also very Physical in a similar way to this scene (and yet again, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine.)

And then also, specifically looking at the “To grow,” line, this line specifically always feels like so perfectly like Henry reassuring himself/tears in my eyes over little 15 year old henry “spider guy” creel reminding himself of how spiders grow and how it’s okay even though it hurts, because it just means he’s in Spider Mode and Spider Coded and Based and Spiderpilled HWHDBDDNHEHD like he’s reminding himself that not only do spiders shed their carapaces, but they do so in order to grow/it’s Necessary in order for them to grow. Like it almost feels like the way a parent would try and get a child to do something (ie if a kid loved superheroes, the whole “superman would clean his room 🤨🤨🤨😌😌😌😌” vibe/“a spider would go and clean himself in the shower because spiders need to shed their skin in order to grow-“) but it’s coming from Henry and directed at Himself, which then emphasizes how lonely he is/the lack of parents/Virginia being dead & Victor being locked up & Henry having to parent himself (but then also the other side of the coin and the lowkey Freedom of Henry getting to parent himself in the context of Brenner/no longer being forcibly “parented” by Brenner).

And it works so perfectly with the “grow together” stuff from the VR (yet AGAIN, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine) vs what I said earlier re: Brenner “forcing” him to grow by making him keep all those unshed layers/giving the illusion of growth when in reality in order to Actually grow, he’d need to shed those layers vs the way that VR Henry is described as “eager to please” etc vs the idea of him not properly growing/not shedding his carapace in order to please Brenner…

Like I just can’t express enough how much I love that part- it that makes me feel like I’m back to when I was first getting interested in Henry as a character (in a very very good way) and is just this instant, perfectly encapsulated reminder of what I love about his whole story/the vibe of it.

Especially with this being Henry’s POV vs the way that not only is this whole part such a perfectly, artistic, extremely thought-out line on behalf of the writer, but it’s also such a perfect insight into Henry’s character & his spider nerdiness & what I said earlier re: spiders not molting anymore being a sign of them reaching adulthood vs when he does finally “shed his carapace”/scrub himself in the shower, he’s comparing it to a spider molting/his “childish” little spider nerd vibes are coming back, he’s both growing and “regressing” because he’s growing into the Child/15 year old that he Is rather than being a child forced to behave like an adult- especially then with adult teacher Henry’s continued love of spiders/the way that “childish” interest remains even when he Is an actual adult.

Anyway! Ptolemaea my beloved….. <333333

it's why he's so small in canon actually. bro hasn't molted in years we can all give him a break for being the world's Tiniest boy.

anyway alkdjflsd WOW

When I was writing that part the biggest thing in my mind was a combination of not molting/being held back/being trapped under the layers of what he had to do to survive but specifically in the way of protective layers being added with each trauma/him being forced to grow this thick outer shell layer by layer specifically to defend against what was being done to him/retain his sanity and dignity. Which speaks to a degree of removal from what was done to him, in my mind, this kind of

"It happened to me, and I'm self-aware enough to acknowledge that...but it was done to an outer layer that I can shed, so is it really something I have to live with? Or is it something i can just put away somewhere out of sight and never actually deal with in a healthy, meaningful way?"

and so while he's peeling the carapace that's stunting him, it's like...every light has its shadow. He's able to grow into a normal boy, now, and even though it's sore and tender all over at the moment, it's a good thing. But is the way he's doing it healthy? Is he discarding his carapace without addressing and accepting/healing the ways its weight and prolonged presence warped him?

Or is he hobbling around on eight misshapen legs like

"Lalalala...It doesn't exist because I can walk on these legs. They're a little weirdly shaped, but I can hide them well enough if I make a home in the neatly-trimmed Kentucky bluegrass lawns of suburban America. Could a damaged spider walk around as well as I do? I'm so normal and also healthy. Being prevented from molting definitely had no lingering effects on my well-being. Haha, no there's no reason why I refuse to go out on the pavement and show you guys my totally normal legs. I just don't want to. No other reason. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm a normal spider :) Anyway, look at my web. Could a broken spider make a web this nice? Didn't think so. I'm totally normal and there's NOTHING in my past that I need to heal from."

Something something "I'm not a freak. I'm normal. I'm Henry Creel."

There's also the more surface aspect of the Will-Henry Mindflayer-Brenner "I felt it everywhere/I still feel him" and Henry thinking that if he scrubs hard enough, he can rid himself of the lingering memories, the same way Will thought that if he could just keep running, he could escape the Mindflayer/the lingering trauma of what happened to him in the UD/the slug stuff.

They're both running away from looming, lingering CSA trauma, just in different ways. Will can run all he wants, but the Mindflayer is going to catch him anyway. His trauma will always catch up to him. Henry can scrub all he wants, he can peel off that outer shell and pretend like he's getting rid of everything that happened to him, but the damage was mental. It's something that's inevitably going to catch up with him until he can't ignore it anymore.

That's also where the burning came from in my mind: Will being rid of the Mindflayer by burning, but him still being able to feel it/it coming back later vs Henry trying to rid himself of his history with Brenner via scrubbing himself raw with burning water because he's still able to feel that history physically/that history will come back to haunt him later much like the Mindflayer haunts Will.

—————

Tell me what fic or line of writing you remember me by

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 5

I had a 500 word drabble and then it sprouted a plot to double the length. Come for physical whump and stay for emotional I suppose!

Sunburn

“Ouch… maybe I should’ve brought you in sooner.” A hand reached for their neck and they flinched away, hissing from the pain.

“That’s what I told you,” they gritted out. 

“Yeah, but you’re always saying shit like that. How was I supposed to know you’d blister?”

They touched their victim again and got smacked away this time, fiery eyes trying to judge how they’d react. 

“You said yourself that you started stalking me at the height of summer. Did you ever see me tan? Matter of fact- have you even seen the shade of my hair?!” Even in captivity they couldn’t escape these stupid questions. A startled grunt came out as that same scarlet hair was twisted and pulled up.

“Ah, fascinating! You know what other myths I’ve heard about gingers?” They hissed in their ear, answered by silence and pained breathing. “I’ve heard they have higher pain tolerances. Should we test that too?” 

“Compared to whom? Are you volunteering?” They were thrown to the floor for that and quickly pounced on, pinning them by bare, swollen shoulders. “Don’t touch those, asshole!”

“Or what?” Despite the knowledge that they were being egged on, they squirmed and struggled beneath unyielding force. “Yeah, that’s what I tho- oh!” One hand moved and they saw an opening, but the other clamped hastily over their neck. Then there were long, sharp nails digging into their sunburn and a horrific sensation they recognized all too well.

“Hey-! Don’t peel, that’s gonna make it worse!” 

“It’ll come off anyway. Plus, it’s fun!” They flicked away a piece of dead skin and pulled at another part, feeling the other cringe at the feeling. “And I’m not cleaning up after you if you get little flakes all over the place.”

“Just give me a shirt! Problem solved!” 

“Aw shit, most of these are just tiny pieces…” they murmured, completely ignoring their sensible suggestion. After trying and failing to grip onto them, they pressed their palm down instead and rubbed back and forth on the inflamed skin.

“Ahhhhh- hhhngh!” It felt as if they were touching an open wound, and in some sense they were. Underneath the layer of dead skin was a fragile, damaged one that screamed at the friction, no doubt even redder than before. 

“See? That got it off.” They smiled and swiped their shoulder clean, but wouldn’t stop touching the injured area. “Now those blisters.” 

A finger pressed down, then rocked up to the nail and swiped down the skin, eliciting a scream. Hands reached up blindly, but a well placed zip tie solved that problem rather handily. 

“Fuck off! Fuck all the way off!!” Now it was all five nails, pulling through and- Christ, did they draw blood? The sting was unbearable and they shook, still trying to free themself by any means possible. 

Somehow they were ridiculously dehydrated. And weak because of it. 

Those godforsaken nails tore through to the other shoulder, finally coaxing out two pathetic tears as they busied themselves with the dead skin all over again. 

“I’ll bite off your nails myself, you bastard!” they practically screeched. The harder they fought, the more they were convinced that the plastic would sooner split their skin than break.

“God, I knew you were weak, but you can’t even handle a little burn? Pathetic.”

“I am not!” Their voice cracked. “I know what you’re trying to do! You want me just like everyone else you’ve kept here, you want me to say I deserved all this shit, and then you’re gonna throw me out on the street to be another corpse, just another fucking victim with the same MO!” 

“...oh.” The aggressor leaned back.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ feel bad yet?! One of your precious little projects finally knows who you are, what’s gonna happen to them?! Is that what it takes to knock some sense into that dense fucking skull?!” 

“No, it’s just… mmh. I have a schedule to keep. And if I’m being honest, I really thought you’d break quicker than this. I wanted to enjoy my time with you.” 

Rustling sounds, a cap, and liquid pouring out onto their back. Thick, but runny like water. 

“I may have even gone easy because I do like you. You’re a lot of fun. But we have a long drive to your drop location if I’m to keep my name in the news and not triangulate my location. Well, not my name. The one they’ve given me. The one you know, don’t you?”

They spread it all across their back and down their arms. Cooking oil. That’s what it was.

“Despite your resilience you've definitely been a wimp, you know. You’re still biting angry quips out but complaining about a sunburn. There are worse ways to be burned, you know.” 

That comment finally snapped their captive out of their daze, and wide eyes followed the matchbox out of their pocket. 

“NO! NONONO!” 

“Finally. I didn’t think you were such an idiot on top of everything!” A match slid out and teased the strike pad.

“DON’T!” Despite the thousands of words overwhelming their thoughts, it was nearly impossible to speak. 

“In exchange for what, huh? What would you do to make me stop?”

“Anything, I’ll do anything,” they breathed, hope twinkling beneath fear. Consideration was a mercy, finally understood in this moment.

“After this? Oh, sweetheart, I know you will.”

They struck the match and

let

it

go.

[curekibouka-writing]

The Day is Won (Twst one-shot fanfic)

**Warning: Major character death and mild Book 7 spoilers**

Summary: His last magic was a very gentle one.

Word count: 1073

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

A/N: This was somewhat a request(?) Someone on Twst amino asked me to write a fic where Lilia dies because then maybe it won’t happen in canon XD Yes I’m posting this before Book 7 chapter 2 drops tomorrow it carries all my hopes Liliaaaaaaaa T^T

*This fic is also on Ao3

They say dark faes are born from darkness and will perish into darkness as well. 

And now as Silver watches his father fight with his last breaths, those sayings ominously echo in his head, pricking all his thoughts with thorns. 

He sees mighty green flames towering over Lilia, yet his pale skin is still pale as always. After all, he had not survived centuries on the battlefield for nothing. 

The dragon screeches, swinging his tail, razing half of the courtyard he loved to take nightly walks in. The clouds stir as he breathes in, and the thunder strikes as, in a blinding instance, a pillar of fire shoots out from its horrendous maw and brings Lilia to his knees. 

Lilia screams. A low, ugly voice it is. He drops his weapon and claws at his arms, skin peeling and healing and blistering and recovering all at the same time. He was trying to preserve what little of his remaining magic and not squander it on healing, but even he could not stand unscathed in the hellish Draconic flames. 

Yet stand he still would. He reaches for his weapon once again, with none of his usual swiftness, he rises to his feet with the blade as support. He wipes at his lower lips, wipes at the blood he drew when he dug his fangs too deep into his lips to keep himself going, and its colour goes to his eyes, a mighty flame burning crimson. 

Contrary to Lilia’s soldierly demeanour however, Silver sees the magic that rises from Lilia’s feet and spirals around his body is rose-coloured, and quiet like a creek near their home, and gentle like the blessings he’d give on holidays, and sad, immensely sad. 

Silver’s voice pierced through the crackling of flames, “Father!” He ran towards the ancient fae, only to be reminded that a magic wall had been laid between him and the battlefield. Yet he still pounds his fists on the invisible divide, “Father, please!” 

Lilia flinches, and it’s not out of pain. With his back to his son, he says, “Forgive me, Silver.” 

He speaks with some pensiveness and some confidence as the beautiful magic accumulates around his arms, “For all the centuries of battles I have fought in, I never intended to return as a hero. But today,” Lilia looks back at Silver, there is a tear streak on his cheek glistening in fire light, “today I hope to depart as one. I must protect what I wish to protect.” 

He faces the dragon again, taking a step forward with certainty. But he breathes as if there’s still something stuck in his throat, and he adds, “I’m sorry, my child, I am truly sorry.” 

He has made his choice. He chose one over another. 

And Silver bites his tongue, uttering no word because he knows both his father’s selfishness and selflessness well, too well. His father is an unstoppable force. 

Lilia’s magic reaches out to the dragon like growing flowers, holding the dragon in place. He takes another step forward, unyielding to the flames scorching his skin, he stares into the dragon’s eyes. 

He smiles clumsily. He has seen those eyes when they first opened, curious and innocent. He has filled those eyes with joy and wonder with stories and gifts from foreign lands. He has looked down on those eyes, tired and peaceful, as the young prince had drifted off to sleep. He has been there to look up at those sad, lonely eyes when he had told them he was going to leave.

He smiles clumsily, remembering those eyes filled with so many things that are not monstrosity. He swears he will bring Malleus back. 

One more step, and Lilia’s feet are off the ground. His blade drops with a clear clang as he flies toward the dragon’s head. His magic swirling around him all the while. 

The dragon manages a small whimper as Lilia lays a hand on his snout. The dragon softly closes his eyes, the magic around Lilia flows toward the beast, embracing the both of them in a blossoming light. 

For a few moments it was almost as if the sun was shining right before their eyes, until the light dissipates like sakura petals in spring, slowly bringing Malleus to the ground. 

And next to the prince still in slumber, Lilia falls with a heavy thud. 

His last magic was a very gentle one. 

Before anyone could react, Silver and Sebek rush to their fallen dorm leaders. Sebek scrambles to his liege, checking his condition, shouting worriedly. Silver quietly sits by Lilia’s side, wrapping his arm around the back of his father’s small shoulders. He shakes Lilia softly, hesitantly, feeling that Lilia weighs nothing and everything at the same time. 

“Father,” Silver mouths, but finds that no voice comes out. He rasps in a dry, breathy cry as he falls onto Lilia’s chest, all the while tightening his arms around Lilia’s torso until he was sure nothing small enough could possibly slipping away anymore. 

“Lilia…” the first word Malleus utters as he begins to come to his sense. He wastes not a moment to try inching closer to his guardian, who had caused and resolved all this. He reaches for Lilia’s stone pale hand, burnt by his own flames, yet cold as the biting breezes on that night they stood gazing at the aligned stars together. He recalls Lilia’s gentle touch on his snout, and he presses his thumb against Lilia’s knuckles, as if he could make him come back the same way. 

Sebek stands straight beside his teacher, and listens for the unfamiliarity such silence creates. He bows deeply, and makes no sound. Then he sits beside Silver, and waits.

Silver breathes in, trying to control himself. He knows he cannot hold on forever, he knows. All the dignity, respect, strength, Lilia had taught him in time. Trembling, he brushes Lilia’s hair out of his face, and softly plants his lips against Lilia’s forehead just like Lilia would long ago when sending Silver off to sleep in his childhood. 

The rosy light of the dawn shines upon the family. For the first time the children manage to look clearly at his face, his eyes peacefully closed, his lips folded in a mundane, content smile. The body of the ancient fae begins to crumble, not into ashes, but into glimmers, dissipating like flower petals in spring.

The day is won. 

[i-cant-sing]

Y’know what I feel like venting and your my favorite writer so Im going to vent to you

I have eczema and the MOST annoying thing is When people tell you not to scratch it like

WHAT THE FUCK have you ever felt what its like to be itchy all the fucking time

And a second thing Im tiered of going somewhere meeting new people and someone asking me ”whats wrong with your skin”

Thanks for listening bye

I have a skin condition too where I can't stay in the sun for more than a few minutes or else my skin will blister up and start peeling off like a rattlesnake. And yeah, people stare (which I never understood how because I don't even look at people directly unless they talk to me) and they ask what's wrong with me? And then try to offer their two cents on how to fix it.

What I have learned to do is that since they wanna make me feel embarrassed, I'm gonna... double it and give it to them. For example:

"Why is your skin peeling off and all red?"

Me: my mother threw hot water on me.

Them: WHAT?

Me: yeah... she- I think it was an accident- maybe, but I was asleep on the couch 1 sec and then the next- nvm, can we not talk about it?

Them, uncomfortable: o-oh yeah, sorry for asking-

And then they never do😃

I also have this pretty birthmark on my foot that looks like a hedgehog but ever since I was a kid, a lot of elders used to ask me what it was in that god awful, pitiful voice and idk why, but it seemed appropriate to answer:

Me: oh this? My mom dropped her cup of hot tea on it. (Or, sometimes I'd replace it with) my dad dropped his barbecue skewers and it stabbed right into my foot- *gets thwacked on the head by mom after I tell this story for the 4th time*

So make up a horrible lie and have fun with your disease!

[toungeandteeth]

11/28/2023

I wonder how capable I ever was about keeping her out of my mind. I long for something I don't know if it exists. If I indulge, I create the mindscape of a reality altered by a longing. Desire is a cruel act.

Even a moment glance at her face, and again, I'm smitten all over again, my chest doing a curl, my mind swirling the silent pond into ripples once again. The echoing ghost of the itch in my fingers. Ringing, like the sound her voice had, like the laugh from the other side of the room, I always managed to carve out, like the frying of my nerves, knowing I was not acting logically. That I was a fumbling, pathetic mess of a person, and trying to hold it inside; but it was liquid, it was vicious and without reason, spilling out of my arms and sloshing into crevasses. I haven't deleted the playlist I had, with Her in the veins of each lyric. I know Passing Papers like a tattoo I'll never get etched out of me yet. Songs I listened to while fixated on the meaning behind souls, songs I used as an explanation. I don't know if this longing will ever become something different. I don't know if this longing was ever meant to be anything different. How could I gently give it back to the universe after I coped with believing the connection was a sure sign of it?

Perhaps I am still positioned with the thought that she could be in a less-than-perfect situation, a world giving her hands to feed upon rotten fruit and act as if it's satiating. How could She, be with arms not perfect for her frame, that clank as they walk and pinch her skin and blister her knees. How could she claim love for something not For her soul? The universe is playing sick tricks by letting the hands of the unwashed come hold her skin and force my eyes with acknowledgment to be focused. And how selfish can I act like that's a slot I deserve, like my brittle hands are perfect for it as if my skin isn't aware of how she's far, far too beautiful for me? She will always be too beautiful for me. I have her image ingrained in my skull and a longing so entire.

I crave the thoughts in her mind like they're the nectar of dreams and will satiate even the sickest, coldest of days. 

Devotion. What a word that runs inside my skin, neurons revolving around the world, skipping to the tips of my body and wrapping around into my being. 

There have been months since the moments we've had and upcoming upon years without properly acknowledging each other's existence. I still have her text messages available on my phone, and her Instagram is blocked but not unfounded. I know how I could reach out to hear her voice with a touch. Is this a sign of my being? I've gone days, weeks, and months without thinking of her. And the entirety of the hand wrap still controls the direction I can face at times of weakness, and I open that playlist again, where I wonder how her face looks again, and I let the pain sting just a bit more.

And now, my playlists surround a completely different life. The songs that have her name written within the words are gathering dust. I know the way bony fingers feel in mine. Thighs of different types under my hands. Smiles blossomed from me, me taking a hook and catching the sides of them and making them smile harder. Hands I use to pin chests against the walls, grab the collars of shirts, curl onto the belt loops, hold a body. To hold a body. To grasp onto a mind so gently, softly, entirely, the care within similarity that there's love within the spaces we radiate inside. I'm expanding my mind with each day and letting the crust the past put onto me slowly peel itself off. I don't want to wonder how she's doing; maybe I must.

[blueskiesrry]

an ode to sad songs

“It’s getting late,” Louis says over a yawn. “We should sleep. Come on, you can stay here. I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

Harry protests as Louis stands from the couch. “Lou, no, it’s fine. I should get home.” He rubs at his eyes before widening them to show Louis how awake and sober he is. The air is sharp on his eyes the more he exposes them, and he can feel the alcohol pumping through his veins, making his bones heavy.

Louis chuckles, shaking his head with a bemused smile, turning to make his way to his room. “Don’t be silly. Come on, get movin’ before I change my mind.” He’s gone before Harry can object further.

Harry shakes out his limbs with a deep sigh, reminding himself of all of the countless times he slept next to Louis when they were younger. When they were eight and Harry was going through an embarrassing bedwetting stage but Louis spent the night anyway. When Harry snuck into Louis’ room in the middle of the night after receiving a frantic phone call from fifteen-year-old Louis, concerned about his parents fighting downstairs. When Louis would end up squeezing into Harry’s tiny twin bed in college after a night out, unsure of how he got there in the morning. He could lay in the same bed as Louis tonight. It should be as easy as breathing.

Harry takes another deep breath to collect himself before making his way to Louis’ room. Louis is already in bed so he makes quick work of peeling off his jeans and pulling on the sweatpants Louis has set out for him. He avoids looking at Louis until he’s crawled into bed himself, and he only spares a glance to ask silent permission to turn off the lamp. Louis nods wordlessly, so Harry bathes the room in darkness.

Laying on his back and staring at the ceiling makes Harry feel more sober than he had a few minutes ago. Harry is unsure of how long they lay there. He knows that Louis is still awake, his breathing not yet evened out. Harry knows exactly how Louis sounds when he’s asleep.

The next day, Harry won’t know what it was that led him to say anything. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought and the wine had been liquid courage, or maybe it was simply the proximity of Louis. Regardless, there is something that makes him blurt out, “I think I might be in love with you,” as if there would be no consequences. The next day, he’ll reason with himself that he didn’t mean to say it, but deep down he’ll know he did.

Louis’ breathing pounds in Harry’s ears, and he’s suddenly thankful that it’s too dark to see Louis’ face.

And then Louis laughs. “Harry, you’re funny.” He continues to chuckle.

Harry’s whole body is covered in chills, and the pile of blankets on top of him feels suffocating. While usually inviting, the warmth radiating off of Louis’ body burns. He visualizes his bones and muscles turning to stone like that one disease he read about a few months ago.

“I’m not joking,” he says after swallowing down every thought screaming at him for opening his big mouth. The little man in his head might have a point.

“Harry, please,” Louis quips, his tone airy and light. “As if you’re in love with me.”

Harry stays quiet and so does Louis. The silence is far louder than speaking could ever be, and Harry can’t help but feel that it says a thousand more words, too. It sticks to his skin and feels like cotton in his mouth.

“You’re drunk and you haven’t been with anyone in a while, but it’s alright.” Harry jumps when Louis pats his hand. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who adores you, soon. Really. It can’t be that hard. Who wouldn’t be in love with you?”

Apparently you, Harry bitterly thinks. “That’s not it at all.” Harry cringes at the roughness to his voice, giving away the tears pressing against the back of his eyes.

The bed bounces slightly when Louis shifts to lay on his side, his eyes a laser through Harry’s skull.

“H, I’m flattered. Really, I am.” Louis’ breath is hot against the side of his neck. Harry imagines blisters coating the area. “But you’re not in love with me. I–” Louis pauses to collect himself– “I mean, of course you love me. I’m your best friend. But you’re not in love with me.”

But what if I am? Harry’s brain screams. He tries to blink away the tears filling his eyes, searching the ceiling as if it has the answer. The wet cement at the bottom of his lungs starts to dry.

“Oh, my Harry,” Louis says with a soft laugh, no doubt finding out Harry is crying when he caresses his cheek, catching some of the tears on his thumb. How could this be so funny to him? “Someone like you can’t be in love with someone like me. It just doesn’t work that way. Now come on, have a cuddle, it’ll make you feel better.”

Harry doesn’t stop Louis from maneuvering him until his back is pressed to Louis’ chest. A few more silent tears slip down Harry’s face, but he reaches up to wipe them away. Louis’ hand is pressed right above the pit in his stomach. Maybe he can feel it.

Louis eventually falls asleep, his even breaths scattering more blisters along the back of Harry’s neck. Harry allows himself a few more tears.

In the morning, when Harry wakes up to the light shining through the windows, a jackhammer in his head, and puffy, cotton eyes, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t slept a wink. Louis doesn’t mention it, so neither does Harry, but that doesn’t stop the mantra in his head, hung up on a banner in his frontal lobe. 

Someone like you can’t be in love with someone like me.

[heaithandbeauty]

At war with my own skin: my life with eczema — and how I found the key to keeping it away

Beauty writer Anita Bhagwandas reflects on the lessons she has learned, from childhood to adulthood, about eczema — a condition that imposes daily physical and psychological tests

Anita Bhagwandas

Sat 30 Sep 2023 14.00 BST

How do you scratch an itch that’s underneath your skin? The truth is, you can’t. At 15, I’d look down at my hands and see bubbles forming under the skin on my hands, becoming liquid-filled blisters that ached and itched until they popped. Grim, I know — and it didn’t get better as they healed; peeling the dressings off to change them was agony, while the claggy coldness of the wet wrap treatments is seared into my memory. What’s more, my now gauze-covered fingers were exactly the kicker my teenage self-esteem didn’t need.

My eczema, which is in its most basic terms a skin barrier malfunction as the result of genetics and environmental factors, began aged four. It was more rash-like then. I’d wonder why I was afflicted with it, and nobody else seemed to be. Kids would ask what it was, usually with mild disgust, which only made me feel ashamed. I had one ace up my sleeve though — my father was a dermatologist. “We tried everything to heal and manage it, but the only big difference I saw was after rounds of homoeopathy,” he recalls, after it was recommended by an old medic friend of his. And it did work; until I hit my teens.

Since then, I’ve never not had eczema, even if it’s just a small patch; but it’s also behaved completely differently each time it flared up. I started with more rash-like atopic eczema, while the ultra-itchy discoid eczema has also come and gone. Contact dermatitis, which I’ve had on/off too, occurs when the body touches a particular substance (nickel for me — I paint clear nail polish on the metal buttons on my jeans so it doesn’t touch my skin), and I’ve had patches of red, scaly seborrhoeic eczema on my scalp and brows. That horrendous blistering eczema from my teen years is dyshidrotic eczema (or pompholyx). As yet, there’s no sign of varicose eczema which commonly affects the lower legs, but I’m never one to do things half-heartedly, so, give it time.

There doesn’t seem to be a cure. I’ve been told it’s just a case of controlling it, which feels unfair, especially when it seems to affect children more — 1 in 5 children, and 1 in 10 adults in the UK suffer from eczema due to a mix of our “naive infant immune systems, sensitive skin barrier and exposure to potential environmental triggers,” Dr Derrick Phillips, consultant dermatologist at Montrose London tells me.

Women are more likely than men to develop eczema. Photograph: champja/Getty Images/iStockphoto

Studies have found that women are more likely to get it, as are those with a family history or who have hayfever and asthma too. Interestingly, US research has shown that the ethnic groups most affected are Native Americans, Pacific islanders and Asians, followed by white people, and black people are the least likely to have it. Other studies show that people in high-income regions, or those in higher social and economic classes are more prone to eczema — both attributed to environmental issues such as car pollution. Anecdotally, I realised that my ADHD medication — although useful for my focus — was dialling up my anxiety too (and research has shown a link between ADHD and eczema in children.)

My most recent and ongoing flare-up started in 2020 as I worked on my proposal for my book, Ugly. The stress of writing it caused a flare-up on my face and body but I thought it would just subside once I signed the book deal. Instead, it seemed to worsen. The timing was dire; at the time I was on TV regularly, trying to jovially give beauty advice with my face in weeping, flaking agony. At night, my body was so raw I would slather myself in multiple creams, wearing a onesie because the waistband and buttons of pyjamas hurt my skin.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it’s not that red,” a harried GP told me during my eight-minute appointment, despite telling them of the above. But the truth is, if I’d been white, 70% of my body would have been bright red; it was a stark reminder, like so other areas of health, the needs and differences of people of colour are so rarely considered.

I’ve often struggled to post on social media; doing a makeup tutorial when half my face is flaking off feels the opposite of inspiring

I finally sought specialist help. The dermatologist was shocked that I’d been ‘putting up’ with my eczema for so long. After two courses of oral steroids, topical steroid creams, Milton bleach baths (used to help lessen the itching and reduce bacteria growth) the symptoms abated briefly, only to return again.

Having eczema and working in the beauty industry has been a rollercoaster. I’ve often struggled to post on social media, where your face is often your currency; doing a makeup tutorial when half my face is flaking off feels the opposite of inspiring. But I’ve tried to do it regardless, to challenge the idea that we need to look perfect to be of value in the world.

A case of trial and error … Anita Bhagwandas. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

When my eczema flared up again in 2020, among the steps suggested were phototherapy, a UV light therapy that needs weekly treatments over a couple of months, or drugs that control inflammation by suppressing the immune system such as cyclosporin or methotrexate, neither of which I wanted to try, especially during the pandemic.

It’s been a case of trial and error. Alongside potent topical steroid creams, I’ve removed most of the fragrances from my detergent and shower gels to minimise irritation. When my skin becomes irritated, I use the gentle Avène Tolerance range. Before I’d need to apply heavy moisturisers and oils twice a day, but the ceramides in CeraVe moisturising cream have made a huge difference. I now use it once a day.

I also realised that despite having been fine with them previously, dairy and gluten now seem to cause a flare-up. “The unpredictability of eczema is a real challenge: it can be hard to pinpoint the triggers. Although food is unlikely to be the cause of eczema, food allergies can make eczema worse. We now also understand that the gut microbiome can influence eczema,” says Dr Thivi Maruthappu, consultant dermatoliogist and author of Skin Food. “People with eczema can also have low vitamin D levels and this seems to contribute to more severe skin inflammation, so it is important that you take vitamin D supplements through the winter months.” She also recommends omega-3, if you don’t get enough through your diet.

Traditional Chinese medicine practitioner Dr Mazin Al-Khafaji, founder of Dermatology M, specialises in bespoke skin management using herbs, topical products and acupuncture. “There is no question that sufferers of atopic eczema have a disordered skin barrier, but that is not the end of the story. Topical and systemic use of steroids really only address the acute phase of the inflammatory process. In contrast, Chinese medicine is able to very successfully treat the inflammatory stages to subdue eczema and beyond.”

Now my eczema largely under control, but I’ve been looking for triggers to avoid any further flare-ups. The common thread for me seems to be stress; my earliest bouts coincided with starting a new school, others coincided with pressure-filled points in my life, so I’ve made serious lifestyle changes, namely meditation and slower, mindful movement like yoga — although that’s still a work in progress.

There have been other unexpected downsides including my skin thinning in some areas from the steroid creams: “There has been an explosion of eczema treatments in the past five years,” says Dr Phillips, citing the oral treatments dupilumab and JAK inhibitors plus tralokinumab injections that all aim to treat eczema internally, “and there are more novel treatments in the pipeline.”

So most of all I try to prioritise stress management. “The kind of pill you really need is chill pill,” my dad adds. Begrudgingly, I think he’s right.

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Source — https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2023/sep/30/my-life-with-eczema-anita-bhagwandas

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