#i got one of the wood burning tools but instead of using it to. burn wood. im just using it to melt the edges of the cording

[oflgtfol]

bracelets as a christmas gift for michaels coworker #1

[sosuigeneris]

Socialite Series: Cherry’s Master Post

Things that have helped me, that could help you. Here is a master list of my softmaxxing journey!

Body:

J*hn Bent*n’s workouts: Yes he’s an asshole but his workouts really do work. He used to train models and his workouts are life changing.

2. B-12 Lipo salines: These you can consume in a shot (like an injection) or in a saline (go to a GOOD DOCTOR for this). I prefer the saline, and my doctor recommended the 6 week course for me (one saline every week). It burns subQ fat and that was the main reason why I began using those. There is zero side effect to these, acc to my doc.  edit: don’t really recommend these anymore. I’ll update this list when I finish my Emsculpt.

3. Diet: More protein, more vegetables, more water and lesser intake of carbs. Carbs are important but i used to over-consume them. Cutting down has helped me a lot. I also did a gut bacteria test (you basically sent a piece of your shit to a lab and they analyse it) to understand what foods worked for me and what didnt. 

4. Probiotics for metabolism management 

5. Measuring: I stopped tracking weight and began tracking body fat % instead. I feel that this works better for me. 

6. Wood therapy: I KNOW. You lot will think its bogus but it helped me and im sticking to it, so there. There’s no wood therapy spa near me, so i ordered the wood therapy tools from amazon, plastic wrap, a waist trainer, almond oil. I looked up videos on wood therapy and lymphatic drainage, and i do it for about 5 mins on my tummy and thighs before my work outs, wrap my torso with plastic wrap, throw the waist trainer on top. 

✨

Skin:

Accutane: this helped me tremendously with my acne and my skin is 95% blemish free now. If you are taking this, remember to be disciplined and regular. 

Zero alcohol: I stopped drinking completely and its done my skin and health wonders.

Products: Sunscreen + Vitamin C combo in the AM. Retinol + moisturiser at night. Recommended by my dermat. 

Hair removal: I refuse to shave because its so uncomfortable so i prefer to wax once in 2 months. Personally, when I began exfoliating my body twice a week - I use a scrub by the Body Shop - I noticed that the hair was growing back slower than it used to. I use a loofah for everyday too. I don’t believe in laser because it’s never just 6 sessions; you do have to have “maintenance” sessions as well post the 6.

Face sculpting: Gua sha on alternative nights. I dont know if this works or is placebo, but I felt like it did. 

Body lotion every day. Twice a day sometimes. I swear, it makes you smell good and feel so soft. 

Expensive make up: specially, foundation. I’m sorry, i know this could be controversial. But idk what cow semen Charlotte Tilbury puts in her make up, it seriously makes me glow. I’m yet to find a good drug store alternative. A while back, I stopped wearing concealer, and I began using a lighter shade of CT’s foundation as concealer over my normal shade. I feel that because the products are chemically the same, they blend better and don’t react and “peel.” Highly recommend that too. For the rest of my face like powder, blush, eyeliner, I do use normal drug store make up.  

✨

Oral hygiene:

I used to have braces. After taking them off, I noticed a difference in my jaw.

Brush, floss, Listrine, tongue cleaner

Mild whitening. I think Hollywood level teeth whitening looks crazy and I want to look as “naturally” beautiful as possible.

✨

Hair care:

For hair growth: as recommended by my doc: minoxidil hair foam 5% w/w Tugain Foam.

High frequency wand before wash days on my scalp. 

Moroccan hair oil. I use a tiny amount everyday on my ends after I finish my make up for the day and I swear it makes my hair shine like crazy.

I also got hair Botox done because i used to have curly but absolutely unmanageable hair. I tried to make it work for years but i gave up and caved in to having permanent straight hair and I love it. 

I only shampoo twice a day so on days when i workout but don’t shampoo, i use hair perfume. I spray some of it on my brush and run it through my hair. I swear it works. 

✨

Overall:

The colour palette theory seriously works. I didn’t realise that wearing the right colours can impact you so much.

Confidence is absolutely key. I seriously recommend going to a group class of some sort if you have the time and just mingling with random people. Social situations are important to gauge your “standing.”

Random but if you have a big nose: grow out your eyebrows / fill them in slightly thicker. I noticed that when I had thin eyebrows, my nose would stand out more but when I made them thicker, it balanced my face out better. 

Steam iron your clothes before you wear them. You will look 100% put together. 

*IF* you’re aesthetically challenged when it comes to picking clothes, use my rule of thumb: never wear any more than 3 colours at once  (remember: IF you can’t put outfits together). 

[florianniss]

Dungeons and Drag Queens

RatedE, Identityporn, Drag Queen Eddie

“Gah!”

Steve has a tight-knuckled grip on his ‘Oh shit’ bar and his brake pedal is pressed all the way to the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the crunch of metal, the crushing of glass, the impact that throws him into the windshield and puts him in the hospital in a full-body cast.

It never comes.

“Jeezus, Steve. Lighten up, will you?”

Somehow, miraculously, Dustin has managed to swerve and miss the parked delivery van and is tooling proudly down the street like he didn’t almost send Steve’s life flashing before his eyes.

“You’re not my Dad, you know.”

Dustin turns the wheel back and forth, like he’s in one of those grocery store ride-ons that you put quarters in to make it move. He comes up on a stop sign way too fast and slams on the brakes at the very last second. Steve has to throw his hands on the dash to stay in his seat. 

“That’s right,” Steve says, pulse rapid and thready, and he’s sure his veins are popping out all over the place. “I’m your Mom. And you’re a menace.”

Dustin rolls his head dramatically and steps on the gas. The old fake-wood-grocery-getter he’s borrowed from his folks spits up gravel from its back tires. Steve wishes he’d ridden separately, taken his bike instead.

“Why are you such a chicken lately, anyway?” Dustin whines. “You used to be fun.”

Steve bristles. “I’m still fun.” It comes out as a growl, like a cantankerous old bear woken way too early from slumber.

Dustin laughs and lays down another screeching halt. Steve swears he can smell the brake pads burned and disintegrated into dust. He grins like he’s done it on purpose, takes a corner and heads out of town, and Steve forces himself to relax. 

He would never admit it, but he has become rather — conservative — these past few weeks. Like, his body is still twenty-two but his brain is thirty years older.

“Do I need to run through any rules with you before we get there?”

Steve gives a long-suffering sigh. It’s Saturday, and it’s the first day he’s had off in two weeks. And, like the soft-serve (coward) he is, he’s agreed to stand in for Dustin’s girlfriend, Suzie, at their little gang’s weekly board game. 

“I got it.”

It’s not true, of course. He has no idea what the hell he’s getting into. What he does know is the second he found out Dustin and Mike and Max and Lucas and Will were secretly meeting in some random guy’s garage, his Mother Hen transformed into Mother Lion.

“OK.” Dustin doesn’t sound convinced.

He picks up the other kids and they pile into the back two rows, punching the back of Steve’s seat playfully as they pass. They pair off naturally, Mike with Will and Lucas with Max. Steve’s chest twinges a bit when he thinks about how Suzie rounds out their little group nicely.

Meanwhile, he’s the third wheel. (Or rather, the sixth? Seventh?)

Dustin and the others have been trying to get Steve to come for weeks. He explains nicely that he’s an adult and he has responsibilities: job, rent, groceries. Recuperating from life. The kids try to make him feel guilty by telling him everyone they invite always says ‘no.’ So, of course, he’s got to prove them wrong.

He also wants to meet this guy whose garage they meet in. What if he’s a creep or a kidnapper? Or a killer. The kids don’t even know how old he is.

Steve intends to find out.

Dustin pulls into the trailer park and Steve definitely gets Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes from the place. He kinda wishes he’d brought his Leatherman. Or his bat.

The kids spill out of the car and hurry down the dirt driveway toward the mandoor on a faded puke-green metal building. Behind it, there’s a trailer in the same color and condition. A rusted van is parked crooked near the garage, an old Chevy truck has been pulled right up to the front porch. Steve notes the plate numbers in case he needs to report a crime.

He opens the station wagon’s back door and lifts the cooler. He’s packed healthy stuff like string cheese and peanuts, a bag of grapes and a few apples. It’s not just for his wards; it’s for him too. Ain’t no way he’s eating some serial killer’s pork rinds. No sir.

Steve follows the rest into the garage and isn’t half surprised to find it smells exactly like a garage. Rubber and oil and musty rust and something sweet — radiator fluid? He takes in the large open space, scanning the boxes and tools and spare parts before settling on a large, heavy, claw-footed dining table that looks like it belonged to somebody’s dead grandmother.

The boys pull out folding chairs and begin to set them up around the table, all talking as loud as they possibly can to make sure they’re heard over the others. Max smiles and hangs her gray tote bag with the rainbow straps over the back of her chair. Steve is pretty sure she’s wearing a Care Bear shirt, and he loves her for it.

Steve sets the cooler on the floor next to the table and realizes he’s forgotten something.

“Oh, shit, guys! I forgot the pop!”

Groans circle the table and Steve feels horrible. He’s about to volunteer to take the wagon to the 7-11 and pick up Slushies to make up for it, when a voice behind him offers another solution.

“I got drinks in the trailer.”

Dustin cheers and Steve spins around, hair prickling on his arms because this guy sounds much older than seventeen. And when he lays eyes on a very adult face, his stomach does a very convincing leap off a highrise. It’s nothing like he expected.

Apparently, neither is Steve, because the guy drops the opened box of dice he’s carrying in the crook of one arm and they clatter onto the floor like hailstones and roll under the table. A stunned set of dark eyes pop out of a narrow, handsome face, and his mouth falls open. For a second, Steve feels embarrassed for the guy.

Dustin, however, flies in from the side and hugs him. “Thanks, Eddie! We’ll just run in and —“

This Eddie shakes himself like a wet dog, and a stern frown creases his forehead as he narrows his eyes “Not you, Henderson. Or you two.” He points at Will and Mike. “Max. You and Lucas grab some and haul them out.”

Lucas grins at Max, who returns the smile with something mischievous. Eddie catches it and shakes his head. “And no beer. I ain’t serving minors, here.”

Steve watches the whole exchange with a little jealousy. He’s supposed to be the only one who gets to boss these kids around. But he can’t possibly say anything; the guy’s logic is sound, and even if he’s just covering because Steve is here, it’s one less thing to worry about.

Because there’s definitely something about this Eddie that has sent Steve’s pulse racing.

He realizes he’s staring and quickly crouches to help the others collect the escaped dice. Down on hands and knees, he notes how sweaty his palms are, the nervous shimmy behind his navel.

What the hell is wrong with him lately?

When everything’s been collected and he crawls back from under the table, Eddie and Dustin are standing in the same spot. Except Dustin has a shit-eating grin on his face. And Eddie is looking like he’s been hit with a baseball bat.

His eyes are – well, they’re captivating.

“Uh,” Eddie says, and he folds both arms over his chest, hugs himself tightly. “I’ll go check on Max.”

He spins on his heel and high-tails it outside, like he’s seen a ghost or something.

Dustin continues to smile as he approaches the table and chooses a chair. He carefully spills out his little figurines and bag of matching dice, and Steve wants to throttle him for how smug he’s being.

The conversation returns to the volume levels from inside the car. Everyone is going on about what happened last time, all of them trying to fill Steve in. He tries to listen to each of them in turn, catches phrases like, ‘That demon was so sick, man!’ And ‘I can’t believe you tried to open the chest with a shovel!’ They were really getting into it, saying, ‘OK, then, next time you open the damn thing!’ and, ‘But nobody’s got lockpicking!’ when the door opens, and Eddie and Max and Lucas walk in.

Steve’s eyes flit over the Mountain Dew piled in both kids’ arms (they’re gonna be a handful on the ride home) and settle on the fact that Eddie has changed his shirt.

It’s long-sleeved, less wrinkled, and newer-looking. It’s like his hair has been combed; all the tight curls have separated and they seem softer somehow. He swaggers, yes, swaggers, across the floor right up to Steve and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. Jeans that hug his frame a little too well.

“I’m Eddie Munson. Hey.” It’s cocky.

Steve stands so quickly that he almost knocks his chair back. Someone at the table snickers.

He slips his hands in his own pockets. “Steve Harrington. Hey.”

They exchange hard-focused glares and brief nods, and then Eddie moves away to take a chair at what’s clearly the head of the table. It’s directly across from Steve.

Eddie sits, and Steve sits, and he tries not to think anything at all. Tries to clear his brain and make it an empty space. Because, if he doesn’t, he’s bound to think this guy is threatening him in some way. There are some pretty territorial vibes coming off him.

Chaos ensues. Everyone scrambles to spread things out on the table. They lean over it, sometimes standing on their chairs to reach. And they argue, of course, because they always argue.

“That’s not where the garden was! It was over there! Next to the rowboat!”

“No. That’s where the temple statue was, remember?”

Steve tears his gaze away from their host’s and finds the tablecloth he thought was a honeycomb-themed covering, is actually the mat they’re playing their game on.

He checks to see if Eddie is still watching him, and, he is. Looking over the top of a large manilla envelope as he slides white sheets of paper out, one at a time. It’s eerie, really. The way his eyes seem so deep. As if he’s some sort of —

Well, Steve doesn’t know.

Eddie passes out character sheets and Steve’s instructed to read his. He scans through it, reading about a man who’s a noble who worships some kind of dragon god. He doesn’t understand all the stuff on the front; it’s a lot of reading. More than he’s done since college. Even then, he needed a quiet room with no distractions to understand what he was reading.

Eddie’s garage is far from that.

Dustin leans over and hands him a velvet pouch. “You can use some of my dice.”

Steve leans into him. “You’re gonna have to help me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Dustin laughs, but he does help. All of them do, actually. More than enough. At one point, when his character “Rodrick” is standing on a half-sunken pirate ship, and it’s his turn to decide whether he should investigate a dark, dank, waterlogged room, even though apparently he can’t see into it, Max pats him reassuringly on the back and says, “Don’t worry. We’ll cover you.”

Steve isn’t worried about some fictional character in some fantasy game, who can’t die anyway because he’s got a biblical laying hands spell. He’s worried about making a fool of himself in front of –

Yeah.

Eddie’s murder stare eases eventually. He lords over the board, hunkered down behind a makeshift barrier he’s set up on his end. Steve catches on that he’s not playing, he’s leading the game. He’s sarcastic and loud, swears like a sailor, and it’s clear he knows his shit. It’s like he knows how everything is supposed to play out ahead of time, and he lures the other players into his trap.

It doesn’t go as he expects either, because Dustin challenges him on everything. He argues that in real play some character wouldn’t really do that. He corrects Eddie on how many hits someone gets, or whether spells can be used in certain instances. They bicker like a couple of old, long-married people, while the rest of the kids dive into notes they’ve taken, share each other’s sheets and basically work together to overcome and defeat monsters. And if Steve hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, hadn’t been there to watch the playful back and forth that was actually whimsical and light-hearted, he wouldn’t have believed it.

After Dustin throws a fit when an undead monster stays dead by Max a second time, when it should have resurrected once more to be killed a third, Eddie loses his cool. He picks up the suspect monster and hurls it across the garage, where it slides over the concrete floor and ends up in a pile of junk.

“He’s dead because I say so, got it?”

Steve watches fire dance in the guy’s eyes, but he’s not fooled. He understands, just like the kids do, that he’s not really angry. He’s enjoying this.

They’re a few hours in when Steve dies. And it’s not the fact that he’s dead, really. No. It’s the humiliating way it happens.

“Why the hell did you do it that way, you idiot?” Dustin shouts at Mike, who has made the decision to take a fancy bow-and-arrow shot between his legs, aiming for the space under Steve’s character’s arm where it sits on his hip. Unfortunately, it hits Roderick directly in the ass, and the following roll of the dice lands on the ‘twenty’ side. And the table erupts into shrieks and complaints in every direction. 

“You killed him!”

Steve sits back in his chair, shocked and not quite understanding what happened, when Eddie begins to laugh.

It’s not your typical everyday ha-ha funny thing. This is a full-bodied, chair tipped on two legs, clutching your stomach because you’re about to piss your pants, raucously mirthful and fucking joyful laugh.

And it goes on. And on. And on. It continues for so long, in fact, that Steve finds himself grinning. Dustin has his head in his hands, Will is defending Mike, and Max and Lucas are looking over Steve’s shoulder at his sheet to see how they can bring him back to life (because apparently, nobody else has healing spells).

Eventually, Eddie sets his chair back on four legs and gets out of it. He steps away from the table and motions for Steve. He walks right out of the garage.

Steve follows, because how can he not?

The trailer house is filled to the gills with old-people stuff, trinkets and wall hangings and lots of Catholic mementos. It smells like cigarette smoke, but it’s basically clean. Small and cramped, well-lived in, but not the kidnapper’s lair Steve imagined.

Eddie is in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, just his backside showing. He slams it closed and comes out with two PBRs. Eyebrows raised in question, he waits for Steve to open receptive hands before he tosses it over.

“Thanks,” Steve says. 

Eddie cracks his open and leans sideways against the counter, crossing one long leg over the other. He lifts his beer as acknowledgement and tips it back, watching Steve as he pops his open too. A grin lingers at the corner of his mouth.

“How do you know Dustin?” he asks once Steve has had a chance for a swallow. “Believe it or not, he hasn’t told me that yet.”

Steve imagines the breakneck speed at which Dustin talks, especially with someone he’s just met. And he hadn’t even considered that Dustin would have told Eddie about him.

“His mom knows mine. We went to the same school.”

Eddie tips his head slightly, like he needs a different angle to be able to understand. “How old are you?”

Steve considers the beer the guy tossed him and figures he must have an idea. “Twenty-two.”

Eddie smirks, eyes glinting. “Seems kinda suspicious for two guys to live together. Especially when you’re so much older than him.”

And Steve gets it. Eddie is making sure Steve isn’t hurting Dustin, just like Steve’s been trying to do with Eddie.

He counters with, “Well, how old are you? People might get the wrong idea, seeing as you’re an adult, and all, and these kids keep coming over to your house.”

Eddie’s smile widens and he takes another sip instead of answering. Steve decides to push the envelope a little.

“How do I know you’re not giving them drugs?”

Eddie chokes on his beer, but catches himself before it spews all over the kitchen. He coughs as he’s smiling, wipes his mouth off with a towel that’s threaded through the oven door handle. And when he looks at Steve, there’s some self-preservation bleeding through.

“Why do you think I invite them to play DnD here, huh? All sorts of shit goes down in this community that no one even knows about. They’re good kids, Steve. I just wanna keep ‘em safe.”

It’s the first time he’s said Steve’s name, and it feels – well, it feels, strangely intimate.

“I just didn’t realize they already had a babysitter,” Eddie teases, and the tense atmosphere lifts.

They share a look and a smile and it goes on for far too long.

That’s when Lucas slams the screen door open and leaps into the hallway. “We figured out how to save you!”

Steve catches Eddie’s eye before giving in to Lucas’ incessant tugging on his elbow.

“I’ll be there in a sec. Gotta take a piss,” Eddie says, burping into the back of his hand and crushing the can against his thigh. It’s something that shouldn’t make Steve’s brain fizz out. But it does.

Steve is bombarded when he enters the garage with a plan the group of them worked out together. It seems Will is still mad at Dustin, scowling over Mike’s shoulder, but the rest of them are enthusiastically escorting Steve to the table while explaining their plot to resurrect him.

Eddie strolls in, not five minutes later, with more beer. This time, instead of tossing it, he sets it on the table at Steve’s elbow and smiles down at him. Steve smiles back because he’s honestly over his head here.

They continue on, successfully completing that quest and jumping headlong into another, until Steve’s ass is sore and he has to pee, and he steps out into the now-night air to piss behind the garage.

Two beers in and his thoughts are making connections he really doesn’t need at the moment. Like how twice now he’s become completely enamored with someone the first time they meet. Like how he’s a sucker for a big, wet, expressive pair of eyes and an intelligent mind. Like how it doesn’t matter that Eddie’s a guy, because he’s not picky. And he’s suddenly sinking into the horrifying feeling that he’s cheating on –

But that’s ridiculous. He’s not going steady with anyone to be feeling that way.

When he returns, Eddie is telling a gory story about some chick in space who’s encountered alien things with acid blood. The kids are ‘ewing’ and ‘grossing’ and Dustin is on the edge of his seat listening to the tale. Eddie eyes Steve and winks, then dives into a graphic description of something called a ‘chestburster.’

Eddie laughs at their disgusted groans. “Ellen Ripley is fucking badass, and I love her.”

Steve feels a strange swoop in his gut. He doesn’t know who this Ellen Ripley is, but he’s suddenly jealous of her.

“I have an idea!” Max shouts over the din, waving her hands to get everyone’s attention. “We should go see the movie. All of us. Together. Suzie too”

“What movie?” Steve asks, and everyone answers in unison.

“Aliens!”

Steve makes eye contact with Eddie, who is watching him with amusement. He’s heard of the movie, but isn’t sure it’s the type of thing the kids would enjoy. He doesn’t even know what it’s rated, and if they can even get in to see it.

But the kids are already making plans for the following weekend. Dustin rounds on Steve and says he absolutely has to go with them.

“Yeah, Steve,” Eddie says, teasing from across the table. “You just have to go.”

Steve knows a challenge when he sees one. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to go, too.”

And that’s how Steve Harrington drives a carload of kids home, hopped up on caffeine and sugar, wondering how he’s gotten himself a group date with a bunch of teenagers and Eddie, of all things.

Read on AO3

[tobyislame]

some more ticci toby headcanons

once again consider this a headcanon salad i'm still figuring out how to format these

- in my canon he's from minnesota. he just feels like a minnesotan

- also in my canon he lives in a shoddy little abandoned cabin in the woods (header image is along the lines of what i think it would look like). the mansion still exists he just chooses not to reside there cus he'd much rather have his own space that he can control

- never has the big lights on in his house cus it makes him crazy. instead there's just headless lamps/lanterns/candles strewn all over

- best believe the place is messy as shit. imagine if a 16 year old boy was allowed to be a homeowner. yea pretty fucking vile right

- his place just smells like raw wood and weed you walk in it just slaps you in the face

- all of his clothes have that vague cigarette smell on them

- he smells like pinecones and wet soil (on a good day)

- thinks axe masks the fact that he hardly showers unfortunately

- also thinks just using mouthwash is the same as brushing your teeth unfortunately

- honestly he's just super shit at taking care of himself, especially since his body lacks the tools to queue him in on some stuff

- like how cipa causes him not to feel hunger. he can't recognize when he's hungry so he often goes way too long between meals

- he has a little notebook where he keeps track of when he eats. it's meant to help him know when he should eat something but he consistently forgets to keep up with it

- he just isn't equipped with any of the tools necessary to take care of himself, both physically and mentally. he's in pretty bad shape, some extra help would probably do him good

- realistically with how much he disregards self-preservation he'd be fucking dead by now so he isn't entirely helpless. he knows he's accident-prone so he keeps first aid shit with him at all times, he knows blood means bad and that he should probably stop what he's doing that is making the blood happen, he knows to scan over himself every once in a while to check for unnoticed injuries and such, etc etc.

- cus of the gaping gash in his cheek he has to eat foods that are compatible with his disfigurement. he also always has to drink through a straw

- he does not like waffles. he does like pancakes however

- interestingly those with cipa have a lower sensitivity to capsaicin so he eats spicy stuff like a fuckin CHAMP. someone gave him one of those samyang noodles to try yk the one that's hot as BALLS and he was just like "i mean yea it's good"

- he's kind of just always covered head to toe with bandages. i think he'd have an excoriation (skin picking) disorder so he HAS to keep his arms and hands wrapped up, otherwise he'll just obsessively pick/bite/gnaw at his skin

- the rest of his body is perpetually scattered with bandaids and such on account of how scraped up he gets just being himself

- on the night of The Incident he got caught up in the fire. flaring up his chest and a section of the left side of his body are burn scars. there are a conglomerate of reasons as to why toby doesn't like to have his shirt off in front of ANYBODY and that's just one of them

- his motor tics tend to be on the more violent side (throwing things, hitting himself, hitting others, etc). however, he's learned how to sort of guide his tics from being one thing to another if that makes sense? idk i'm speaking from my own experience here and tics are a really difficult thing to put into words but like. if he can tell he's about to throw the thing that's in his hand he'll take that feeling and try to turn it into something smaller, so instead of throwing the thing a less destructive tic will occur instead. if any of that made sense

- more often than not he's got an earbud in or his headphones on listening to music. he finds that it makes it much easier for him to make his way through the world. that and when he's listening to music he's noticed that he hardly ever tics (usually) so yk that's also a bonus

- spends a lot of his time climbing trees and hanging out in them. also spends a lot of his time trying to make friends with the animals of the forest. he's gotten a lot better at knowing how to approach raccoons and possums and stuff. he likes to leave food out for birds and squirrels and such

- it's funny because he tries to be this hard-ass dude but as soon as he spots a deer he becomes the most gentle thing on earth in that moment. he'd probably grab your shoulders whispering all like "oh dude deer- shhh shh" and force you to crouch with him and stuff lmao

- he's dubbed the one rabbit in those woods that isn't afraid of him "dandy warhol". yea he's real good with names

- he leaves food trails for dandy that lead to his house because he thinks that's how people get pets. he does not realize he's also leading every other animal in that forest to his home

- he may be stupid .

[selamat-linting]

its been a while since i write abt terrafirmacraft... well its because i've been busy rebuilding the house. its a two story house with a wing dedicated for cooking and forging. the roof was burnt down twice until i replaced it with mudbricks instead of wood blocks. it also has a basement where i kept barrels of limewater, tallows, and preserved foods. limewater is useful for a lot of things, but right now im using it just for leather. tallows are candles. turns out whale hunting is a lot easier than i think. i crossed the ocean many times during my move, and some of them lingers and follow you on boat. candles are better light source than torches. you cant exactly hang it off the walls or ceiling, but it lasts longer. i'll be using candles until i finally get materials to make lamp glass.

as i get settled, i started farming. plants grow better here, and i can forage things from the forest, but they overheat fast so i need to provide crops with lots of fertilizers. i planted tomatoes, but i forgot they need a stick to prop them up. and then i find some animals, a cow, horse, and a llama i think? idk. i also got some chicken but it dies lol.

the cow was probably the worst animal i had to drag back. theyre so stupid! i brought three, but only one survives because one of them escaped the leash and ran off while the other fell in a hole and gets bit to death by crocodiles. i hate crocodiles so much, theyre demons that trap you in swamps.

winter came, and i started preparing for a trek to find graphite. i found a bunch of coppers, cooked, don my leather armor, i vaguely remember that there was an exposed bit of rock that might contain graphite in one of the lakes near my super super first base. i spent at least one and a half prospective pick just to get graphite. its tedious, long, and arduous. i think it took me two weeks to get it. i play the game in 2 hour duration twice a week so yea im a casual. its super satisfying to hit a super large stack though and coming home with a bonus of pyrite and beets. also now i know how to mine deep underwater <3

my plan here is to make glass for lamps and jars. to do that i need tools like paddle, jacks, blowpipe, and gem saw. i need brass to make jacks. and for gem saw i would need gems like pyrite and brass rod. to make brass you need a tin and copper and a way to process said tin and copper to be brass. by that i mean i need a crucible. its made out of fire clay. fire clay is made out of kaolinite clay and graphite. i just need One Thing.

but of course finding kaolinite isnt as easy as it sounds. it took me a week before i start using cheats. i already live SOMEHWERE where kao is supposed to spawn. but all i see is sylvite and saltpeters. its drudget i use locate biome to see other places like highlands and old mountains that might give me what i need, but so far i found zero. im starting to think my world just doesnt have kao. so i just give up and type give tfc:kaolin_clay.

i gave myself just enough to make a crucible. i made my brass rods and once i got it, i have to weld and work said rods on the anvil to make my blowpipe.

i blew all my coal and brass ingots to zero results. i just suck, suck so bad at working the anvil. so i took a long break. i didnt touch tfc for quite a while. i focused on making gifsets and such. but i get bored with only dabbling with photoshop so i look up tips on anvil working on tfc. there's no way around it. the mod is meant to slow you down and make you learn and explore. some suggested i practiced working on an anvil using copper. some suggested i work on other shit before coming back to the anvil.

so, i went back, and realized how much i neglected my house. my animals still doesnt have a barn. i havent fixed the burned kitchen roof. my bookshelves are empty. my leather armor have been worn down to a nub. my inventory shelves are a mess. i havent restored the decorations that got burned down on the third (or was it fourth?) house fire. i went to work slowly fixing those things. i made copper armor again, a helmet and boots. to tell you the truth, i think i did metalworking better when im just going by vibes instead of overthinking the maths.

im gonna complete the armor i wear, but for now i think i want to make a proper barn first and a warehouse. as i was working, the chest near the forge caught fire. i realized then the space im working in is too small. i need to make a storage space and a building dedicating for forging.

[eclipse-studios]

Tutoriel Bendy Props (Part 2 )

Hello and welcome ( back ) onto this ongoing series of BATIM props tutorial. Today, we’ll make the radio ! And a working one.

This time, Orion was a big helper. He deisgned the patterns, took all the measurements and worked out a way for that radio to swing !

This tutorial will only cover the radio because the process is kinda different from the other props ( that you can find here ), we took extra time and care because we DO wanna listen to Sammy Jam on loop. Best OST, can’t change my mind.

So, you’ll need :

EVA Foam, 5, 7 and 10mm ( or you can use cardboard. Like really, don’t feel pressured into buying those pricey materials if it’s JUST for the radio. Go ham on empty amazon packages and have fun. )

Foam Clay & Kwik Seal, those two are to buy only if you’re using EVA foam. They’re meant to seal the irregularities in foam.

Contact Cement & Hot Glue. Same here, Contact Cement is hardcore glue and isn’t that useful for cardboard, so use Hot Glue instead ! If you use extra-strong glue ( the ones in tiny packages ), be really careful not to put any on your skin ( it burns like hell ).

Yellow Ochre & Black acrylic paint

Cutter & Rotary Tool

little pieces of wood ( like lollipop sticks. )

Snap buttons

Strap ( anything from a rigid piece of cloth to leather is good for what we’re doing here. )

Hinge ( take it from a small box you don’t use anymore. oh, and maybe a screwdriver. )

a mini speaker ! the only thing you’re supposed to buy for the craft. Purchase the cheapest speaker you can find, since low quality speakers perfectly replicate the “no bass” feel of old radios. :)

If you’re looking for the cosplay materials we talked about, visit CosplayShop ( especially if you’re from Europe since they’re Belgian ), but don’t forget, you can use cardboard !

Step 1 : The pattern

The first thing to do is figuring out the pattern. If you already have your Bluetooth speaker, take it in account for the overall size of the radio.

You don’t need to understand all that complicated stuff, Orion figured it out for you.

Sorry for the shaky hand, I did it with my PC’s trackpad.

Step 2 : Cut the foam around your pattern.

The face and back sides will be cut in 0,7mm EVA Foam ( High Density ) ; then you cut the grill cloth in thinner foam, or using a real cloth. It’s important that part stays thin, for the sound to come out of it.

Above, you also have the pattern for the relief, that I also cut in 0,5mm Foam. Use a cutter for this !

The buttons are just two cylinders. Since they don’t need to be working, they’re pretty simple to make. Just make sure you don’t use a material that’s too thick, else it’ll be hard to bend.

The depth of the radio is just a 10cm wide piece of material, cut to the right size, that’ll vary with the perimeter of your own radio : don’t bother with the calculus, just test and cut a bit more each time until you got the right size.

After everything is cut nicely, you have to glue it with hot glue or contact cement. For perfect seams, I recommend you sand it gently before filling the holes with Foam Clay or Kwik Seal.

Now that your radio is in 3D, you have to make the base ! Use rigid, thicker foam / cardboard, or double it and stick it together. There should be around a centimetre between the edge of the base and the edge of the radio.

Now, don’t glue it if you wanna have access to the speaker inside. Screw and / or glue the hinge in order to open it. Place the hinge on the back side of the radio.

Now, the inside of the radio ! You gotta put a strap to stitch the speaker in place : we used a piece of leather but anything will do. To make it sit nicely, you can build a base to put it on. We built ours with both small pieces of wood and foam, because foam is easier to glue on foam than wood.

Now, it’s painting time ! This step is explained in the first part of these tutorials, but I’m sure you can figure it out with reference pictures !

Ta-da !

We personally use this radio as a prop when roleplaying to develop our Alternate Universe, Eclipse Studios ! By the way, we’re working on a new comic I think people will love…

Don’t forget to ask me if you need help for your own props, since I keep all my patterns and techniques.

I hope you enjoyed this post and this technic radio, and I’ll tell you soon about Eclipse Studios !

[hawkepockets]

i’m finally getting to those tav asks. thanks everyone who sent one!! the lovely @dragonologist-phd asked for #1, which includes birthplace & family, and i Got To Thinking in too much detail, much too much detail by far, too detailed, so here’s a separate post for just those elements.

jove grew up in baldur’s gate. they did have a clan, but it wasn’t a biological family unit—it was an all dragonborn craftsmen’s guild! most members were copper, brass, red or gold dragonborn who used their fire or acid breath to manipulate metal and glass. jove wasn’t born with that skill. their mother was a vagabond blue dragonborn, and although jove inherited their father’s brassy scales, they also manifested their mother’s electrical breath type, which wasn’t of any use in metalworking. the clan was warm to insiders but highly competitive and proud of their handiwork, and judged members’ worth almost solely by what they could craft. jove knew they’d be fed and cared for, but only tolerated, unless they excelled at a trade.

as a teenager, jove struck up a friendship with ritika estis, a much older gold dwarf metallurgist from a rival crafting guild. estis taught jove how to use a dwarven forge to work with metal, glass, and jewels using tools instead of relying on naturally heatproof hands and melting breath. estis was tough on jove, working them hard and giving praise sparingly, but every compliment meant the world to the young dragonborn. she built up their confidence to apply for a jeweler’s apprenticeship with their clan.

but estis also noticed that despite their dogged devotion to learning their father’s trade, jove was much more moved by folk songs and carved wood than any bauble made for a baldurian noble. jewelrymaking made them focus and sweat; music made them tap their foot, twitch their tail, and part their lips to try to taste it. it was a different kind of love. the day jove won their jeweling apprenticeship, estis went to them and, in a rare moment of open encouragement, urged them to forget the forge and learn to make music and instruments instead.

jove took up a secret, second apprenticeship with a human master luthier, learning to craft and repair string instruments and, tentatively, how to play the fiddle with their big, clawed hands. when the clan found out, jove was pressured to choose one trade and master it, instead of burning themself out to fail at both. with the self-assurance they’d learned from estis, jove committed to making instruments. many of their older clanmates were deeply embittered toward ritika and her guild for molding a promising young metalworker just to turn them against the family trade, but jove was happy.

after years of practice under the luthier, jove achieved the rank of journeyman and started to make gold for their clan selling handcrafted string instruments and repair services. they were much better at working on instruments than playing them, but had achieved enough skill on the fiddle to play gigs at local taverns and make passersby smile at them on festival days. they were more than content, and would have lived happily as an amateur musician and aspiring master luthier in the gate for the rest of their days.

and then came the bar fight.

fights weren’t that unusual for the cheaper inns and alehouses jove played music at, but this particular brawl started with a human woman harrassing a tiefling bachelor party, talking loudly about how they brought crime and sour luck on baldur’s gate, and shouldn’t be allowed to marry lest their offspring overrun the city. when she implied they killed and ate human children, one of the prouder and drunker tieflings took a swing at the woman. she reacted as though she’d been attacked, unprovoked, by the whole party, and other non-tieflings sprung to her defense. within seconds, the taproom turned into a battlefield, and within minutes all the celebrating tieflings were senseless on the floor. when the guards arrived, it was the tieflings who were arrested for disturbing the peace.

jove watched the whole thing, their bow sliding uselessly off the strings, unsure what they could do short of belching out a cone of lightning that would hit attackers, tieflings, and bystanders indiscriminately—so they did nothing.

when they told their master what happened, he was unsympathetic to the tieflings, saying that the other humans had taken things too far but that they hadn’t been wrong about the “foulbloods.”

jove got up before sunrise, stole their favorite of the violins they’d crafted and a simple glaive from estis’s forge (she would have given it freely if they’d woken her to ask, but jove couldn’t risk talking to her—if estis was as callous about the tieflings as their other mentor had been, it would break their faith completely), and left baldur’s gate. they’ve been roving the sword coast ever since, a vagabond like their mother, determined to protect strangers’ right to live and celebrate life loudly, especially those from “monstrous” races. this became the foundation of their paladin’s oath.

they’ve gotten rusty on the fiddle. but on the night of celebrating peace between the druids and tieflings, they’re compelled to play again.

[gazlocked]

Prologue - Quietude

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Nikolai x John Price

𝐱: alternate universe - different first meeting, construction worker john price, mail carrier nikolai, mentioned kate laswell + her wife, slow burn, light angst, mentions of death. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 (3.6k words)

series masterlist || next: chapter 1

When John first moved into town, he was certain about the comforts of silence.

It was a complete one-eighty from the restless, crowded cities he grew accustomed to—a quaint area surrounded by nature on the outskirts of a historic town. John had always been fond of nature, so when he found a one-story, two-bed, two-bath with a crisp green door and a thick woodsy yard, he didn’t hesitate to claim it as his own.

It wasn’t too secluded, not to his liking anyway, but John still had a job to do. The thirty minutes allocated to drive to the nearest city for work had to be the exception. Regardless, it was quiet here, providing the comfort he had longed for.

Working as a contractor meant his ears were constantly being bullied by the cacophony of drills and saws, slamming wood, and grating metal. Even on the nights he would spend acquainting himself with his new front yard, his ears would ring dully, a consequence of his novice years. He had been stubborn and had to learn the hard way the importance of earplugs.

So far, separating himself from the sound pollution had already proven helpful.

Much like this afternoon, as he quietly studied his empty living room with pursed lips and narrow eyes. A finger tapped against the belt loop of his jeans as his hands rested on his hips, deep in thought as birds chirred outside his window.

“Couch could fit here,” he mumbled to no one, tracing the open space with a calculated precision as if a measuring tool was built into his sights. “Or would it look better…there?”

He brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing calloused fingers back and forth in frustration. The lines in his palms were deep, containing stories of all that had been wielded, fixed, or created over the years. The healed cuts littering his skin sang out the verses of the hard work—and hardships—they had managed.

But being a contractor didn’t automatically make him an interior designer. Only one person came to mind when he needed help figuring out the fine details of such aesthetics.

John took wide strides to the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. He grabbed his cell from the ledge, punching in the lock code with his thumb before navigating the contacts. He worked the flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth as he listened to the rings, hoping against hope that the six-hour time difference wouldn't be getting in the way.

Just when he was about to hang up, deeming it pointless to leave a voicemail for something this trivial, the line connected.

“Your timing is impeccable. Per usual.”

That last part was meant to be sarcastic, John was sure of it.

“I could use your expert advice,” he scratched at his temple. “You busy?”

“I just got to my studio. What’s up?”

John pulled the phone away from his ear and switched to a video call, greeted by the face of his oldest friend, Kate Laswell. He flashed her a quick, close-lipped smile before flipping to the back camera, giving her a clear display of his living room.

“Kind of stumped on where to put the couch when it comes in,” he sighed. Kate hummed as she leaned forward, watching from a large desktop monitor.

“I was thinkin’ either here,” he pointed a finger in the frame, outlining a space against the wall before pointing adjacently, “or here.”

Kate furrowed her brows, and John could see the gears turning in her head.

“What kind of couch is it?”

John flipped the camera back on his frowning face. “Pardon?”

“Is it a sectional? Loveseat? How long is it? Is it curved?”

He rubbed at his beard, wiping away the childish grin that tried forcing its way across his lips at her wording. Instead, he said,

“Sectional, I guess.”

A solution was offered in a slew of terminology that John would later find himself looking up. She told him to “let it float”, and to center the couch so it would divide the room on its own. Reminding him to account for a TV stand whenever it would arrive.

John grunted. Kate was the expert on this, after all.

“And while you’re at it? Grow up,” she rolled her eyes, but John could see the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

They had spent another few minutes with check-ins. John asked about her wife, Charlotte, and the two followed a routine that became easier to navigate with each day now being a sea apart. They had been on call for almost ten minutes before Kate had to start her day, scheduled to meet with a client.

“Residential,” she tilted her head with a nonchalant shrug.

“You always knew how to handle ‘em. Give Lottie a word for me, yeah?”

And then John was in silence once more.

—

He decided to shift gears and get out of the house to enjoy his day off. Not that he had anywhere to lounge in the house, aside from his mattress and a wooden rocking chair on his porch that he purchased on his first day in town.

John climbed into his truck and drove off, using his surroundings to navigate the historic downtown area. After about a minute of looping the same two blocks, he found parking along the side of the main road and eased his truck parallel into the space.

Even walking the strip, it was still far more quiet. There was peace between the brick-and-mortar shops as people came and went or lingered in the outdoor sitting areas. John balled his fists in his jacket pockets, continuing his stroll with no real destination. He had been here for three days now—he was determined to get familiar with the area sooner rather than later.

He took in details, remembering this particular street as the one where he found the thrift shop. It was serendipitous; he had been driving home from getting groceries when he realized he didn’t even have a place to sit. Just as he was about to give way to his frustrations, THRIFT caught his attention. Curious, he had turned into the lot and walked out with a well-crafted, and even better persevered, wooden rocking chair.

And for no more than five bucks.

To his relief, the open sign was plugged in and flashing, beckoning him to enter. John answered without hesitation, finding a little more energy in his steps as he drew closer.

Without any reason other than being painfully observant, his eye caught on a white transport truck parked parallel in front of the shop. There was a large, orange decal of a symbol he immediately recognized as Postal Services.

He couldn't help but linger on the dark grey line stretching across the side of the transport, tracing it down to the dent in the bumper. He counted the digs into the metal doors. Four, from what he could see. And through the clear tint of the window, John could also see the mess of the cab. A string of beads hung from the rearview mirror, supporting a pair of aviators. The floor was littered with crushed cans of energy drinks, with a plastic shopping bag used poorly for trash. John scoffed quietly to himself as he pushed into the shop.

A bell chimed overhead as he opened the door, but John was not properly greeted today. The owner didn’t look up, engrossed in a fast conversation with the customer at the front counter. The guest wore a tan leather jacket over the broad stretch of his shoulders. Raven-black hair nearly touched the wrap-around collar, slicked back and shiny from what John could only assume had been gel.

There were brief switches between English and what sounded like—and was quickly confirmed to be—Russian, causing John to perk up unintentionally as he sidestepped the displays of furniture. He could decipher a few of the terms, a skill he picked up some odd years ago while working with a man named Yuri, a contractor from his old team. He gossiped and gave John a hard time more than anything, but was a damn good asset before going independent.

John picked up on the terms “friend” and “bullshit”, though not in the same sentence, and decided that the two were close, especially to be sharing such informalities. The whole time, the raven-haired man kept his back to John, who shifted on his feet near a display of antique cameras longer than he intended to. He was cradling a wide-point lens when a voice raised in his direction.

“The Captain!”

It was the shop’s owner who called out to him. John looked up to find that the other man was no longer at the counter, and instead striding to the front of the shop. He set the lens down carefully and stretched his fingers, taking the man’s place at the counter.

As he approached, he could smell the cologne from where Raven stood. It was a deep, intoxicating musk that made John’s eyebrow twitch with curiosity. He glanced off to the side, swearing to himself that he saw the bulk of the man unmoving in the corner of his eye for a beat before disappearing with the chime of the bell.

“With all due respect, why Captain?” John asked, shifting his focus back to the conversation. The owner gave a wry grin, his square, angular face carrying faint signs of humor within its wrinkles.

“You bleed command. Just like my military days,” the man explained through a thick accent, leaning forward on the counter with his elbows. “You are good to your soldiers, yes?”

John tilted his chin up, watching the owner on his elevated perch. “If by soldiers you mean contractors, then yeah. I suppose I am.”

“Like a good Captain. Though you are not military?” There was genuine surprise in the man’s tone. John reached for the back of his head, scratching through the shorter hairs.

“I’m just a simple man who loves to build,” he replied sheepishly. “Father was SAS, if that helps?”

The man made a dismissive sound, a soft ‘pah’ in the back of his throat, with a quick wave of his hand that made John smile. “How is old seat treating you? Up to standards?”

“Oh, it’s perfect! Fits well on my porch.”

“Very good.”

John wandered through the displays for some time, having to constantly remind himself that he wasn’t there to shop, before waving a swift goodbye and returning to the streets.

The postal truck was gone when John stepped outside, but as he continued to pop in and out of the neighboring shops, he would see the deep, dark lines against white paint rounding corners up ahead.

On route, John thought passively.

The sky was pink overhead, giving to the setting sun as time crawled later into the evening. It wasn’t until John passed the bookstore again that he decided to turn around and find his truck.

—

In his kitchen, he hummed as he searched through the freezer for the night’s dinner. Always on the move and indecisive, John struggled to find cooking enjoyable. Instead, he settled for instant meals that allowed him to spend less time meal prepping and more time getting things done. It would be lasagna this time.

As he waited for the oven to heat, John picked through notifications on his phone. There were emails for upcoming projects, potential clients reaching out for his services, or references to contractors he had worked alongside. An update pinged then, reminding him of the moving company that would be arriving with more furniture from his previous flat. There was a soft grumble in his throat as he set an early alarm, then another for safe measure.

John carried a plate weighing a serving of lasagna to his porch and lowered into the rocking chair, sighing as it leaned back with him. He ate to the sound of wood knocking together, rhythmic and in tune with the easy beat of his heart.

With each forkful, he made a mental note of the area. The street was lined with houses of similar stature, all with quirks of their own. From his porch, he watched a sedan cruise down the street and turn two houses down, unloading a family. Across from that, John could see an older woman putting away equipment in her garage. The people were friendly enough from what he gathered in his brief introductions, even as they each lived in their own bubbles.

John remained on the porch long after he finished his dinner, rocking gently with his hands over his middle, fingers interlocked, and watching the setting sun. The sky resembled a grapefruit; blood oranges and dull pinks reflected off wispy clouds until the dying light was finally snuffed out.

The temperature dropped progressively, materializing John’s breath into faint puffs of heat under his nose. A shiver crawled up and back down his spine as the wood of the chair grew cold under him, the final encouragement to get him into the house.

Warmed by a quick shower, John kneeled down to his mattress. He hated how long it took to get down to and up from the floor, a displeased grunt echoing against the barren walls of his bedroom. Three days, and now three nights of an exerting climb.

This will be the last of it, he reminded himself as he pulled the covers up to his chest.

In the previous two nights, sleep came as swiftly as death. John would settle under the duvet, a quilted blanket thrown across his feet for the added warmth, and fall to the weight of unconsciousness.

Tonight was different.

On the third night, John stared blankly at the window as he lay awake. He had been so eager to revel in this new comfort that he had completely disregarded the presence that often followed. It was a different kind of weight falling over him, creeping between the blinds with the moonlight and working its way into bed with him as he tossed and turned.

So accustomed to the noise, he was ill-equipped for the raw loneliness within the newfound silence. No obnoxious residents to knock against a shared wall. No shrill cry of distant traffic. It was just John and the strange twist in his chest, an uncertainty he decided to store away for later.

That night, he nodded off to the ringing in his ears.

—

“Easy on the door there, mate,” John instructed, choking down the tension in his voice the best he could. He rubbed a hand down his face, pushing away sweat and smoothing down his beard with a deep sigh.

If he had to remind these muppets to be careful one more time, he might end up telling them to leave the furniture in the yard and finish the task himself.

John busied himself with setting boxes in their respective rooms instead, lingering in the kitchen to watch the front door as the movers came in and out of the home.

It was a considerably large team for the task at hand; four younger men split into pairs to carry the big pieces inside, but it got the job done by noon.

John did his best to ignore the scuff on his front door as he waved the moving team goodbye, jaw tight as his eyes landed on the line of black on the green paint. He took a damp rag to the imperfection, rubbing tight circles along the length of it. Only when the scuff melted away to nothing but shiny paint did he consider it fixed.

Box cutter in hand, John got to work.

He started in the front of the house, putting away smaller items first to get boxes out of the way. He worked diligently, humming and grunting to the sound of ripping cardboard and sellotape.

John would occasionally stop for a break, checking his phone to answer texts from Kate before starting again in a new room. The spare bedroom was the most challenging, planned to be treated as an office space. He would need a wide desk and enough storage for the hoard of paperwork he handled.

Another addition to his growing list of things to get.

John moved his head on a swivel, carefully assessing his belongings and the space granted to them. He clicked his tongue before descending over a box and pushing it against the wall.

Later, he decided.

In his bedroom, he had stripped his mattress of its bedding and flipped it on its side when he got up in the morning, giving the movers room to set the pieces of his bed frame. John kneeled amongst the carnage of wood and metal bolts, a bag of tools to his left as he pieced the slats together and assembled his bed.

This was what he was most excited about—to finally be elevated from the floor. He bit back a smile as he twisted the Allen key between his fingers, tightening one of the bolts snugly in place.

The previous night lingered mildly on his chest, that small inkling tainting his mind when he woke to his alarm.

He was happy here. There was no doubt about it, but John didn't pride himself in being so domestic. Where he could adjust to a grueling work schedule and the demands on his clients, that much didn’t come as easily within his own four walls.

He built homes, not settled in them.

When that feeling returned, demanding to be sorted, John sat back on his knees and let the tool fall from his hands, hissing when he noticed the ache of his fingers from gripping and twisting too tight. He cursed under his breath as he exhaled, ribs tight around his lungs.

“Pull it together, John,” he gritted, rubbing the back of his forearm across his brow. “S’just a bit of housework.”

But the pep talk didn’t quell the oncoming wave of thoughts, flooding him with memories of his childhood with his father. He could go months, nearly years, without thinking of the man. At the drop of a dime, he was back in his teens and arguing at the kitchen table.

There was hardly a point to any of the arguments—not that John cared to try and remember them in detail—but each one meant something and weighed heavier than the last as the chasm between them deepened.

John’s father treated him like he was a soldier under his command and not a child, pushing him around and squeezing him within the confines of unrealistic expectations. And at every turn, John rebelled back, losing himself on more than one occasion in the journey of acceptance.

It hit him at that moment why his heartbeat had increased, his mind sneaking away so abruptly. Father was SAS, he had told the old man.

John couldn’t recall the last time he mentioned his father so casually, cursing himself for allowing that to be what opened the wound. If it was ever closed in the first place. He brought a hand to his chest, scratching at the flesh over his sternum with a clearing of his throat before snatching up his tools and resuming his work.

Domestic life never came easy, but he would try. He promised himself that much, for his own damn sake.

John bit down on his tongue as he worked, eyes narrowing on the final leg of the frame as it continued to refuse to fit. He twisted the bolt in place, sweaty fingers slipping around the tool until he could hear the wood split from the force, but the leg remained loose.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, dropping the tool back into his bag. He released his death grip on the leg and lowered the corner to the floor, testing a little of his weight against it. It wobbled just as he thought it would.

When he lowered the mattress and slotted it in place with the frame, he was satisfied enough when it didn’t give too much of a sway. He cleared the extra nuts and bolts and put away his tool kit.

As he carried his bedding to the laundry room, John wondered what his father would think of the life he made for himself. After spending most of his life in the British service, John’s father passed away just before he graduated with his Bachelor’s—a goal he decided on before turning to his current career. It was to prove a point.

All of it was to prove a point, and his father wouldn’t even know it.

Not liking the heat of pride and spite burning in the pit of his gut, he closed that thought off immediately and shoved the load into the machine.

—

John fell asleep on the couch before his bedding could finish washing.

Golden daylight spilled into the living room, basking him in a faint warmth as he lifted his head from the armrest. He stretched out his neck with a grunt and rolled his shoulders back, peering out one of the windows to see the last traces of the sun before it laid itself to rest.

Having his furniture now, John knew he didn’t need to eat his dinner on the porch, but that didn’t stop him from carrying a warmed plate of lasagna to the front door out of a comfortable habit.

John stopped in his tracks, looking down at the small stack of mail taking his place in the rocking chair. Staring back at him was a bright white slip, branded with the orange symbol in its corner. Postal Services.

Welcome to the area – N.

John blinked, reading over the note again until he couldn’t ignore the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“How quaint,” he chuffed, carrying his mail inside.

read 'the walls we call home' on ao3

series masterlist || next: chapter 1

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞.

[heartrendcrs]

eavesdrop ace and eden

send me   “eavesdrop”   and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party. 

this wasn't her ideal saturday night. that old church on the highway about an hour from town. the one that always made her skittish now with solid reason. she's bound to a chair with the rope from the curtains and honestly it feels a cliche. she hadn't given him time to get the kit from the back of his truck. the one they always kept in a hidden truck compartment. zip ties, tasers, their gear. when you make people disappear you always have to be prepared with the tools to do such a thing. he can't hurt her though. well, scratch that. the busted lip and bruise forming on her cheek bone prove that he absolutely can hurt her. but he can't kill her. archibald amos inwood wouldn't let his girl die at the hands of someone else. father amos, inwood abandoned like she was. too weak to follow him into leadership. but by god if all the things he tried to bury hadn't pried themselves out of the dirt. she spits her blood at his feet, and he starts in. "it's been a while, sweet heart."

isaac zadok is a good soldier, turned great with time. he had to be to track her down. even if it was four towns from home. it was too close, way too fucking close. but she still has hope that maybe this could end peacefully.

"still lanky as a string bean, and fast. fuck, i remember when we used to practice tracking you through the woods." it's a fond memory for him, after all he wasn't the prey. she tries to swallow the lump in her throat, isaac was the kindest of the boys. when he caught her, he kept his hands around her waist instead of letting them roam. and back then, that meant everything to her. but a hunter's still a hunter, no matter how kind.

there's a moment of nostalgic silence that passes, and she thinks maybe he regrets this when his features drop.

"we need to talk about the warlock, baby girl." eden's gaze raises up at him with a bittersweet knowing in her eyes. isaac doesn't understand yet, but the second the word fell from his lips: he signed his death certificate.

"we can still save you." he starts and she remembers when she used to sound like that. so deep in it that she actually believed what they did was saving people. "nothing's taken root. there's plenty of ways we can-" "i don't want to be saved." she hissed, and for a moment he's actually taken back.

before the programming resets and he goes in for a second round. "what has happened can be washed clean. there are people who want to see you come home-"

"how's micah's eye?" came the cruel laugh and he almost lost himself. his hand raised and she flinched. knowing threats like that were never empty.

"you're still our girl," isaac replied cruelly, his hand falling back to his side. but his hand flexed, knowing it could raise again any second if it had too. "I fucked him, isaac." eden spat out at him. they both knew that clearly, but she needed him to hear her say it. "the things we've done. him to me, me to him. there's not enough holy water in the world to dose that fire."

"abby-" he starts but she gets louder. "he's in me. bone fucking deep, in my soul." there's a defiant purr in her tone. something lecherous. "we burn them at the stake, isaac. this one just got to burn me back, and i've never felt so fucking hot."

"you're talking crazy." he said marching over to grab her collar and yank it down to explode her shoulder, and the purple hue hidden there. "he did this to you. he's hurting you, baby girl."

"he calls me that too, with his hand around my throat." he shoves the shirt back, as if he's attempting to cover the shame of her sentence and she laughs.

"whatever spell your under that makes you think he gives a shit about you, we'll exorcise it. we're all water baby girl, we'll get it out even if we have to drown you to do it." isaac hissed, and that makes her pause. just enough for him to notice. "shit, you threw away your soul and you don't even know if he gives a fuck about you?"

"I get to choose my pain." her voice is quiet, but it burns. a fire sparked in her by the hellhound of a man she shared a bed with. "he is braver, stronger, and more vicious than any son of a bitch i've ever met. me killing you would be a fucking mercy in comparison to what he can do. but I choose my pain."

isaac's staring at her, trying to piece together what she's saying like she's talking in tongues. "every bruise he gives me is one i ask for. every touch is one i want. this world is full of fucking pain. isn't that what we're taught? that pain is the ultimate teacher?"

she quotes their scripture like a true preachers daughter. "with him: i get to choose. that's...that's everything."

[atlanticcanada]

'We're not going home': N.S. family flees 'apocalyptic' wildfire aims to build back safer

The church musician often napped after service. But on this Sunday in late May, it was a short rest.

She awoke to a message from her minister. "There's a wildfire raging. A nearby subdivision is being evacuated. Are you OK?"

Maureen McGee drew back her bedroom blinds. Thick plumes of smoke filled the sky.

She scrambled downstairs and told her daughter and son-in-law to pack a few things, thinking they'd be back once the fire was under control.

Instead, it will be years before they return home for good.

The McGee house and about 150 others burned to the ground during a devastating wildfire that ripped through a string of Halifax-area subdivisions nearly a month ago, one of the most catastrophic fires in Nova Scotia history.

In the aftermath, families are grappling with whether to rebuild or start a new life elsewhere.

It's a reality other communities in Canada could soon face during what officials say is an unprecedented start to wildfire season.

As climate change brings with it longer, drier summers, wildfires are expected to be more prevalent, grow larger and spread faster.

"Rising temperatures are directly tied to an increase in the number, duration, and severity of wildfires," a new report by the U.S.-based Urban Land Institute said.

Wildfires have already scorched roughly six million hectares of land this year across the country, according to the Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre. That's bigger than the entire province of Nova Scotia.

It raises the question of how homes and communities ravaged by wildfire can be rebuilt to mitigate or even prevent future destruction.

Using fire-resistant construction materials, removing flammable vegetation from around properties, improving access to fire suppression tools and greater education around campfire and barbecue use are all recommended by experts.

They also say subdivisions should include multiple exits and fire breaks.

It's a particularly a pressing issue in the McGee's neighbourhood, a suburban area with large, wooded lots and only one way in and out -- a shortcoming the family confronted head-on during a harrowing escape.

As she stepped outside her home, McGee saw ash falling on her deck. The sky turned a dystopian grey and pungent fumes filled the air.

She was gripped by fear, but tried to remain calm. The fire was on the other side of the lake. There was still no evacuation order. They would be fine.

They started to drive into the city, but something told her things could get worse. She didn't have her medication with her. She hadn't packed enough for her son and husband, both out that afternoon in separate cars.

So McGee turned around, figuring she had plenty of time to grab a few more things from her two-storey home in the Highland Park subdivision.

"It was like an apocalyptic movie," McGee recalled in an interview. "There was no sun in the sky."

Her son arrived home; they left the cars running and ran into the house. They could barely breathe from the smoke. They tossed essentials into a suitcase.

McGee rushed to a filing cabinet to grab mortgage documents and house plans. Then she heard shouting.

"I could hear my daughter's husband scream, 'You've got to get out now, the fire's in the yard,"' she said.

A towering wall of fire was quickly approaching. "You could feel the heat," McGee said.

There was still no evacuation order.

McGee jumped in the car with her son. Her daughter and son-in-law were in a car ahead of them with their dog. But the road -- the only way to flee the area -- was at a standstill.

"Traffic was stopped," she said. "It was terrifying."

Police had blocked the exit to keep the main road clear for Westwood Hills residents, who were under an evacuation order.

"RCMP weren't letting anybody in or out," McGee said. "I realized at that point that they didn't even know Highland Park was on fire."

Her husband, stuck on the other side of the blockade, pleaded with police to open the road to let his family escape. An officer threatened to arrest him if he didn't return to his car.

"We were on the phone together, and he told me to desert the car and run," McGee said. "But my son kept saying it would be OK, they would let us out soon."

McGee called her mother.

"I said, 'Mom, if we don't get out, I love you. Thank you for everything you've done for me,"' McGee said. "That was the worst 30 minutes of my entire life."

Eventually they heard sirens. Firefighters rushed into the subdivision. Police reopened the road to let people out.

The family reunited soon after in the parking lot of shopping area a few kilometres away.

"We were all hugging and crying," McGee said. "I realized at that point ... we're not going home."

It's been almost a month since the family's terrifying escape.

When she learned the house was gone, McGee found a long-term rental with the help of friends -- no easy task during Halifax's historic housing shortage.

Then she went about setting up a new home for her family with a mix of new, used and donated items.

"People have been so generous," McGee said. "The goodness of people is just unbelievable."

She's also spent hours on the phone with her insurance company as she confronts the looming issue of rebuilding.

"We heard it could be up to three years to rebuild, but our insurance company says we will be in long before that," she said. "At least we're safe. We have each other."

Many families are contending with the decision of whether to rebuild or move.

Yet the overarching issue for both individual homeowners and the community is how to rebuild.

"The neighbourhood shouldn't go back to the way it was," Dustin O' Leary, president of the Westwood Hills Residents Association, said in an interview. "We need to build back safer."

He is among the thousands of people that were displaced by the fire.

When he returned to the area, O'Leary said he was stunned by the scale of the incineration.

"There are swaths of land that are just black. Completely scorched," he said. "It's incredibly fortunate no one was injured, but there are important lessons learned."

Some residents have been advocating for changes to improve safety for years.

"The unfortunate thing is sometimes it takes a tragedy before people pay attention," said Duncan Williams, president of the Construction Association of Nova Scotia.

He lost a garage, a shed and some tools in the blaze. But his house is still standing.

"There's a number of these subdivisions that should never have been built the way they were," Williams said. "There's no fire suppression. There are no fire breaks. There are no emergency exits."

He called the one-way in, one-way out layout "a death trap."

The suburban area also has no city water or fire hydrants. But Williams said there could be pumping stations in the areas to improve the response time of fire crews.

"If we had a pumphouse, the fire trucks wouldn't have to run down through the woods and pump lake water up to the trucks," he said. "It doesn't make sense in the modern world. Our firefighters deserve better."

Another change needed relates to the more mundane task of property maintenance, experts say.

They say removing flammable vegetation from yards and near houses is critical in fire-prone areas.

"Research has shown that home ignitions are caused mostly by travelling embers, not necessarily by a wall of fire," said Marieke deRoos, a spokesperson for FireSmart Canada. "That's why it's important to focus on removing potential fuels and things can easily burn on and around your home and structures."

Homeowners should regularly remove debris from gutters, use rocks instead of mulch against a home and keep yards mowed and free of leaves, needles and branches, she said.

Burn barrels and fire pits should be placed far from structures and trees and surrounded by non-combustible material such as gravel, deRoos said.

Campfires should also be fully extinguished with water using a "soak and stir" method, experts say.

Meanwhile, there are also safer choices for fire-resistant construction materials for roofs, doors and siding, such as stucco, metal, brick, concrete and fibre cement cladding, experts say.

Longer term, environmental advocates say Canada needs to rethink how residential neighbourhoods are developed in forested areas and increase the protection of wetlands.

"There are a lot of allies in nature," said Mimi O'Handley, wetlands and water coordinator with the Ecology Action Centre in Halifax.

"When wetlands are healthy, they are natural sponges and soak up a huge amount of water," she said. "A wetland can act as a natural fire break and reduce intensity of a wildfire."

For now, McGee is trying to focus on "silver linings."

"You've just got to look for the bright lights and the good people," she said.

Safety is top of mind as her family begins the gargantuan task of rebuilding. But McGee also hopes the outcome will be better suited for her future grandchildren.

"Good things may come out of this," she said. "My kids might have a house that's more friendly for their toddlers."

McGee added: "And I get to live with my kids for longer. I love my kids."

This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 23, 2023.

For more Nova Scotia news visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/4K8iXp3

[springvaletales]

((Session 50 is here! A milestone!!))

We started off with a quick recap of last session, since Thiori’s player wasn’t able to attend it.

“Bagel learned several very important lessons, and then forgot them.”

Party debate: Did Bagelby use up his official meet-and-greet with folk hero Sebastian Winderwisp when they met him in the woods?

Answer: He didn’t get a photo or an autograph, so no.

I had them all roll a d20 to see what happened when they crossed the border from Kendara to Salance. Results are:

(7) Thiori was pulled aside for additional searching

(19) Sir Carl was asked for an autograph by a star-struck guard

(2) Bagelby tried and failed to steal said autograph

(16) and (15) Asahi and Lex get through fine, but have to wait for everyone else

(22) Ena intimidated another guard into eating an acorn

“Thiori is moving so stiffly that he appears to be dropping frames.”

Bagelby’s Player has this ridiculous ability to ask very specific lore-related questions that I would never think to prepare, such as the distance between unrelated cities, what kind of terrain the landscape we’re speeding past is, and how much it would cost to load themselves and all of their horses onto a barge instead of riding along the road.

Instead of the IRS, we have the KRS - Kendaran Revenue System.

“You guys have burned down at LEAST one major city.”

Bagelby got a very intense feeling of deja vu on the barge, as he’s had a lot of strange dreams that he thinks are from a past life, and this experience matches up.

The barge docked at Emon Crossing, a small town at a historic, three-mile bridge crossing the Skaadas river towards Port Covekeel. The bridge is too low for the barge to pass under at this water level, so the party disembarked here.

Only so many people are allowed on the bridge at any given time, however (for safety reasons, totally not for session pacing reasons), so the party had to sign up for a specific time slot.

Sir Carl tried to schmooze the party’s way into a faster time slot, but failed the roll, and just had a riveting conversation with the guardsman instead.

Ena convinced the party to sleep out under the stars on the riverbank, rather than try to find rooms at an inn.

They all slept well, and had dreams that ranged from literal nothing to downright bizarre; Bagelby especially had a dream about standing on a rooftop there in Emon Crossing, looking down the river to the Gourman Sea. He turned to look at the person beside him, and saw….Lord Wiggles.

Bagelby, jolting out of a dead sleep: “LORD WIGGLES!”

Thiori, quietly crying in the next bedroll over, petting his mimic like a cat: “Hey, keep it down. People are sleeping!”

Bagelby’s screaming woke the party up early, but most of them decided to just get an early start to the day.

Bagelby decided to pester Sir Carl about Lord Wiggles, even though Sir Carl would have only been in his early to mid teens before Lord Wiggles’ disappearance.

Bagelby’s Player: “Is there a way we can Blues Clues hop into Bagel’s dream?”

Me: “If you spend the night focusing on it I’ll let you make a spell for it.”

Bagelby’s Player: “DEAL!!!”

Bagelby did, in fact, spend the rest of the in-session day focused single-mindedly on crafting this spell.

Thiori, Ena, and Asahi all went out shopping, and only Ena passed the Perception check; she smacked the elven pickpocket in the face before he could steal anything, while Thiori lost a few vials of poison, and Asahi lost one of her glassblowing tools.

Ena ran around looking for a special pigment to gift Asahi along with her proposal necklace, not knowing that Asahi had already stopped at most of these shops and bought most of their pigments.

She almost cried at the last shop, so the shopkeep took pity on her, and sold her a broken jar of unique pigment at a discount.

She stuffed it between her tiddies to keep it safe from pickpockets as she made her way back to camp. This is important, I promise.

Back at camp, Ena found Thiori and Asahi freaking out over their stolen items, and gave the pigment jar to Bagelby ‘for safekeeping’.

This is when she discovered that the pigment is heat-reactive, and glows when heated up.

The glass jar was hot from being in such close proximity to a fire genasi, and sizzled when put into the slime pocket.

Maritza was very unhappy that her sleep was disturbed by something so hot, and chittered angrily at Ena until she was fed a Hucky Heese token.

Bagelby is now convinced that currency is mimic food.

Lex found a mysterious note stuck to her mace summoning the party to a location in town, and Thiori - having only listened long enough to get the address - immediately stormed off.

The party caught up with him just in time to see him kick the door open on the Thieves Guild leader and a room full of crossbows.

Federalis Ecks is unphased by Thiori’s appearance, and offered him a drink.

I named this man FedEx to make my players laugh and they won’t stop making cop jokes. ><

I had to bs a new quest - stealing the Blossom of Iskall (yes like the YouTuber shush don’t at me) - back from the Pirate of Pirate Island, bc my players refused to take my Thieves Guild leader seriously and I needed to pivot.

Any remnant of a serious mood was broken when a rat the size of a cat (from the Royal Library in Kendara) burst forth out of Bagelby’s slime pocket at the mere mention of the word ‘library’.

Thiori used the rat as a distraction to grab and electrify one of the crossbows pointed at the party, and got shot by the other five in return.

Asahi managed to catch four of the five crossbow bolts, though Thiori did end up with one stuck in his crab shoulder.

The party was politely asked to leave.

Everyone returned to the campsite, and settled down to try and sleep a few more hours before their crossing time.

Bagelby cast his new spell, “Bagelby’s Phantasmal Landscape”, without warning anybody, and now they all have to pass a Wisdom save come next session or else be dragged into his dreamscape. XD

[courtney-ganhador]

He nodded his acceptance of her terms. She was right. This was not a game of "ifs" and "maybes." It was a fight of "whens" and "sos". It was no longer a conversation about the what ifs, but rather one of the will dos. He was coming out alive.

He sucked in a tight breath and nodded. "I do, actually," he said, hating the answer. "The brigade trains us with axes. For cutting into homes, or through burning wood. I've got a good swing." The idea of using the tool he had saved lives with to end them instead turned his stomach, but it was needed.

"And I figure the technique carries over to whatever you want. Bats, clubs. I'm good at swingin' stuff."

Greer did believe him as much as she could allow herself to. She hated that she liked Courtney, respected him. Any other year and it would've been excited by a promising tribute, but for once she almost wished for a tribute that she could write off from the start. It would've been so much simpler on a team where Courtney could be delegated to someone else, so that he could have someone truly rooting for him like he deserved. But that was the thing about districts like theirs. "Good, then from here on out it's not a question." She'd said her piece about it, and he seemed confident enough not to have to harp on it.

"You got any ideas about a weapon you'll want? Anythin' you're used to usin' from home?"

[ihaveafandom-problem554]

Hey, could I request a upper three x milf reader. Like she's rui's human møther replacement, but she genuinely cares for her family. Shw calls oni her little 'koibito', or her sweetheart, and spoils all of her 'children' when she goes down to the village with sweet treats to make and little toys?

I read this so many times with the biggest smile on my face.

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

Older Spider Brother = Ani (It was the name I found on the Wiki)

Older Spider Sister = Ane ( Her name was actually Ane not Oni, I might go back to naming her Oni though-), Koibito (Sweetheart)

Ok lets just say Ani can switch from his spider form to a human-looking form

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

You exited the small market filled with your koibito's favorite pastries and sweets as you entered another market, this time filled with Ani's favorite snacks.

This continued until you had everyone's favorite snack or play thing.

Straight to the woods you went after finishing buying everyone’s desires. You lived near the Mountain where it was rumored to have demons.

Anyone who walked in never came back out.

Who ever did later died days later, their last words being

"I was disturbing their perfect family"

You only smiled at the thought of it happening to you. Your smile getting bigger at the words 'perfect family'.

You stopped walking once you reached a hot spring with clean spider themed kimono sitting next to it. You placed the treat filled bags under a tree as you took off your current kimono. Now undressed, you took a short bath in the hot spring to wash off all the wisteria from your body.

Once finished, you put on your spider kimono and grabbed the bags and proceed to walk towards your house.

And Once you open the door, the first thing you heard was-

“WOULD YOU STOP EATING MY SNACKS YOU FREAK!” Your spider daughter yelled at her older spider brother. Ani’s only response was to spit his poison at her and laugh. Thank goodness Ane missed just barely.

“WHAT THE HELL YOU PRICK!? THIS ISN’T FUNNY” Ane yelled. “Ani, What have I said about using your poison in the house? And apologize to your sister” You say as you walked inside.

Ani scoffed, “Why should I? She called me a freak-OW” he screamed as he turn into his more human like form to touch is head that just got backhand slapped. 

“OW! What was that for!?”

“Apologize to your sister, like your dear mother had ask.” your husband, Akaza, demanded as he held a sleeping Rui. Ani held the back of his head once more before reluctantly turning over to his sister, who now wore a smug smirk across her face. 

“Hmph, even though your very poor when it comes to apologizing. I guess I’ll take it.” Ane taunted. “Ok now your asking for more poison-”

“Keep the poison to yourself, or else you don’t get to see what’s in the bag” You threaten holding up the multiple bags you had in your hands. The two spider siblings quickly rushed over to you to see what was in the bag.

Treats, toys, tools (You don’t understand why they want those) Different teas and baked goods.

When the spider siblings walked away with their new belongings, you went over to your husband and youngest child. The second you sat down next to them, you got forced right back up.

“Akaza, I’m fine!” You playfully complained. “Nope, Stay still”

You giggled at Akaza being concerned for you. He checked you up and down to see if you had any bruises, cuts, burns, scratches, rashes, literally anything that doesn’t belong on your body.

As he looked around your body, you started to pose for him. “Can you stop posing, I can’t find any-”

“I’m putting on a show! you should be grateful!”

“Eh- Pose once more I need a camera!”

“Ani...broke the...last one with his poison..” A sleepy Rui said snuggling deeper into Akaza’s hold. “Hi Rui! how was your day?” You say taking him from Akaza. “Father backhand slapped Ani 13 times today”

“Why did you count?”

“AKAZA!”

“WHAT!? He can take it!”

“We spoke about this!”

“He’s a lower rank 2 in the making, he has potential!”

...

Both You and Rui gave Akaza a disappointed look.

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

No this is not ending yet. I just lost the courage to continue writing this so here are some headcanons..

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

Affection towards Older spider brother, Ani

Someone put a warning anytime this guy shows up like damn

- .....

- See, it's hard enough to even strike a conversation with him

- He favors Akaza more than you

- And he has no shame saying it out loud

- But-but even though he can be an ass, he has a weak spot for the snacks you buy him and when you cup his face

- He can't take physical affection well

- He's the only one who doesn't know what to do when you hug him, so he just stands there

- He loves the snacks you get him

- very different from human meat

- He doesn't like the toys you get him so he gives it to Rui

- But if you get Ane toys he takes hers and claims that her toys are better

- Do you take care of his spider underlings?

- No

- Akaza's really aggressive with him

- In his eyes, Ani is a lower moon in the making

- So, the second you leave the house

- Akaza enters the house to train him

- Ani loves Akaza more than you because Akaza allows him to spit his acid/poison around the house

- Yes you come home to holes in the walls

- Your little koibito

- Such an angel

- She favors you more than Akaza

- Loves literally anything you do

- Vows to become just like you

- You love to hug her the second you get the chance

- And she always accepts them

- She always by your side

- Loves to be held by you on bad days

- You both love to snuggle with each other

- Akaza loves to take pictures of you two when the both of you fall asleep

- Akaza doesn’t know what to with ‘little women’ so he spoils her with treats before bed (Which you forbid)

- For some strange reason, he’s an expert on hair, so he does Ane’s hair all the time

- If she wanted something you already said no to, she’s going straight to Akaza to ask the same question because she knows he’ll say yes

- Akaza also loves to carry her on his back

- But of course, this won’t be Akaza if he didn’t think she’ll be a perfect lower moon in the making

- So yes, she has to train too

- “Hug me”

- “Hold me”

- “I want affection”

- “Mother, carry me”

- “Father, Mother is choosing Ane over me... She claims she no longer loves me-”

- He’s adorable

- and clingy

- VERY clingy

- Needs to be held at least 9 times a day or else all hell is set free

- Doesn’t have a favorite

- But if he had to choose it would be you

- But then it’ll be Akaza

- He can’t decide

- He loves it when you sit down with him

- Mainly because he sees it as an opportunity to climb on you to cuddle

- “Jesus, Akaza can you stop trying to train the kids into being lower moons?”

- “I’m not just training them to be lower moons...Rui would make a great upper moon! He has-”

- “Potential? Yeah Akaza baby, no, that’s not happening”

- Once you leave, its training time

- He’s very aggressive when it comes to training Rui

- He personally thinks that Muzan mis-ranked the moons, he believes Rui should be lower moon 2 at least

- Akaza just wants his kids to be upper moons like him

- But they do have their cuddle moments

- Doesn’t understand why you bought him plushies

- But Once you offered to take it back and get him treats instead, he didn’t want to give it back

- ....

“Before you go out into the village, put wisteria all over your body to rid off any demons. I saw a hot spring not too far from here. Wash off the wisteria before you come in here”

“Ok Akaza”

“Always take the route Rui showed you. No shortcuts”

“Ok Akaza”

“Do not get injured on the way here. We might have to train harder if-”

“Akaza..Please shut up”

- You love him, but he’s very protective

- Sometimes he won’t let you leave the house

*Insert Protective Hugs* 

- You also have to train with the family, so Akaza doesn’t have to worry about you defending yourself

“NO! Baby look. The second the guy looks at you, you must give him a uppercut and break his nose. Then you tell him, if you ever look at me again.. I’ll get my stronger than Kokushibou sexy ass husband to beat your ass.”

“......I’m not doing that.”

“....Could you at least say it?”

- You have to start cuddle sessions because he sees it as a sign of weakness (he loves them though)

- He also loves the snacks you get him

- He loves Training  taking care of the kids

- He does the dad thing where he puts the all the kids on his back and does push up!

- Douma teases him for having a lower moon family

- Douma loves to come over To eat you

- Don’t worry Akaza deals with him

- Ngl Kokushibou also comes over

- Ani’s first reaction to him was-

“This motherfucker got 6 fucking eyes... Allergy season must be a pain in the ass-”

“ANI! Don’t say that to guests!”

- Kokushibou likes Ani for an odd reason

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

I think I went off topic-

[painsandconfusion]

Whump Prompts: Sand

Whelp. You asked for it.

Whumper buries Whumpee in sand at the beach. At first it doesn't seem so bad, but Whumpee soon realizes they cant move. They cant even wiggle their toes. The weight of the sand packs in around them, stealing away their breaths and holding them tight. "W-whumper please - this isn't fun anymore." "What do you mean? This is tons of fun.

Whumpee forced to walk through the desert. The blistering sand burns against their bare feet, but they are drug on anyway. Unable to pull. To fight. To stop. even if they try, the sand slides under them, letting them be drug easily by their captor. (@whumpawink Tielo vibessss)

Whumpee is frantically scrambling away. Whumper knocks them to the ground, and they clutch and random fistfuls of sand, chucking them over their shoulder. Whumper cried out and lets go as it litters into their eyes.

Whumper tries to make Whumpee as uncomfortable as possible to keep them on edge at all times. One of their more subtle methods is filling Whumpee's clothes (especially socks) with sand. (This one courtesy of @wormwriting - you may have meant it as a joke but I love it lol).

Whumper gets a standard sander. They hold it to Whumpee's thigh. "This can stop anytime. You know what I want to hear." They turn the device on. It hardly takes a few seconds for the skin to rub away. Then the blood starts to mist off the edges of the vibrating tool. Whumper only presses in harder as Whumpee screams.

Whumpee claws at the sand, desperately digging in the desert to escape the burning sun. The sand wedges under their fingernails, cutting and searing, but they keep going. Clawing down down down in their delirium until they find cool dirt. They get in the hole. And start to fill it up over them.

Whumpee who has to sprint barefoot across the sand in their escape. It shouldn't be painful - sand is so soft and smooth - but it burs. Tiny fragments of glass slicing into their skin. Rubbing the tender soles raw as they force themself to keep running, desperately trying to ignore the numb burning.

Whumpee using their finger or a jagged stick to write their name in the sand. A name they no longer own. One they cannot speak. They stare at the letters, praying it will feel familiar again. Like them again. Whumper's footsteps approach, and Whumpee quickly smooths over the word before Whumper sees it.

Whumper forces Whumpee to eat sand as a punishment. Whumpee writhes and tries to claw away as Whumper wrenches their jaw open, scooping fist-fulls into their mouth. It sucks away the moisture, sticking to their throat. They can't swallow it. Their mouth won't work. Instead they inhale, choking on the razor sharp particles that cut against the insides of their lungs. Whumper lets them fall back, sputtering, coughing, gagging on the sensation.

The way the sand pulls Whumpee's steps back. The faster they run, the harder it is to move. The surface is too soft. They can't kick against it to run. They sprint and sprint, sand flying up behind them, yet they hardly move.

Quicksand. Whumpee holding as still as they can as they slowly sink. Whumper stands nearby. "Looks like you got yourself into a predicament. Is this really better than me?" "Help me!" Whumper laughs. "Do you think I'm going to save you after the shit you pulled? You're going to have to at least beg a little."

Whumper puts Whumpee in a box. Lower the box into a hole. Whumpee doesn't know what's happening. They're kicking and screaming and clawing at the wood paneling. They finally put two and two together as sand starts to pour onto the box. It seeps in through the slits in the wood planks. They inhale it, couching and sputtering. They scream, begging Whumper not to do this. Whumper just keeps shoveling, burying them alive.

Whumper rubs a mixture of sand and water over Whumpee's skin. It's not bad at first....but they don't stop. They keep rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. First it stings. Then it numbs. Then it burns. Whumper doesn't stop when Whumpee starts bleeding. Whumpee writhes against their restraints, begging Whumper to stop, but they ignore it.

Desperate, exhausted Whumpee trying to pick the sand out of their hair. They scratch and scrape, but the itching doesn't fade. They grit their teeth, trying harder. Squeezing their clearly eyes shut as they scratch and pick. when they open their eyes, their fingertips are bloodied. It still itches.

.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @lav-whumps @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim )

[watcherofthevoide]

of course! my wheel is called a pocket wheel (which you can also learn more about here), which were designed by this one guy back in 2006. they are now made my this one (other) guy in the pacific northwest, one at a time to custom order.

i learned about them either the first or second time i went to the madrona fiber arts retreat with my mom, where the pocketwheel guy and his wife had a booth in the marketplace. i found the booth, was intruiged, and spent a significant portion of my time at the retreat sitting with the wife, learning to spin on one of the wheels they had on display. i was around thirteen, btw.

things continued much the same for the following year or two (the event was annual) until i decided, “hey, i absolutely love spinning, i love these wheels to death, i should absolutely buy one.”

so the way things work with buying one of these is that you give a deposit of around 200$, and that gets you on the waiting list, (which is about a year long, because there’s only one guy making these things) and then, when he gets to you, he asks how you want your wheel (which i will get around to in a minute) and then he makes it, you pay him the rest of the money (around 400$ if you go for the very basics) and then you either go to his farm to pick it up, or you have him ship it to you.

now i was lucky, because i had parents who were willing to help me pay for this thing by matching every dollar i made so i only had to come up with half the cost myself, and i only got the cheapest option, but you are not me, so think carefully before you invest in one of these.

so the basic package (what i got) is a wheel and three bobbins, made of your choice of maple, walnut, or cherry. i got cherry, which i will show you again below!

if you have more money to burn, you can a wheel made of a more fancy or exotic wood for extra cost (shown below, left to right, are “fiddleback” maple, “curly” cherry, and “tiger stripe” maple)

or you can get a copper veneer on one side of the big wheel, which comes in a variety of different colors and costs about 250$ extra (below color is “azul”)

here is a list of different woods and veneers and their upcharges

now, specifications! the wheel itself is 18 inches (46 cm) tall, and weighs 6 pounds! assembled, it can fit in an extra large tote bag like this one, or disassembled it can fit in something much smaller. the bobbins each can hold about 4-5 oz of yarn, and the wheel can go at continuous ratios from 3.5:1 to 10.5:1, which means it can go at a variety of speeds. you change the speed by moving the drive wheel closer to the center of the big wheel for slower, and away for faster.

the only tools needed for maintenance and disassembly (aside from lubricant) are two allen wrenches, which are stored on a strong magnet on the underside between the treadles. very secure, very handy.

the draw strength is adjustable by scotch tension, and the flyer orifice is big enough that you dont need a hook for it! plus, it has this neat little clip on the flyer that you can just slide around to whatever spot you want, instead of relying on stationary hooks! very cool.

but if thats not enough for you, you can also get pocketwheel woolee winders from this guy! now, what the heck is a woolee winder, you may ask? well, its this neat little thing that uses gears on the bobbin and flyer to harness the spinning of the wheel and move the hook on the flyer back and forth, so your yarn gets wound onto the bobbin consistently, allowing to fit more yarn! cool, right? you can get the basic package, which contains the flyer and three bobbins, for around 385$. sadly normal bobbins are not compatible with the woolee winder :(

here is the link for different prices and options

thank you for listening to my pocket wheel rant, have a nice day!

im gonna try to do tour de fleece this year, even though i’ll also be spending the month recovering from top surgery (yaaay)

but i suppose spinning is something to do, and i don’t have to lift my arms much…

still probably wont spin for most of the first week but that just means i should start early to make up for it!

i am very glad my pocket wheel is 6 pounds, and therefore under the ten pound weight limit i’ll have after surgery

here is a picture of my beautiful cherry baby for your viewing pleasure

[keysmashingfantasies]

Bloody Comfort

pre borderlands!Niragi x fem!reader / Niragi x fem!reader

A/N:  i feel like i only post Marvel on this blog and i missed my show so here it is, finally an AiB fic! :D also, minigame: how many alice in wonderland references can you spot? also also, bloody comfort is an awesome name for a band and if you do name your band that, i want my money. enjoy the fic! also also also i didn’t proofread SHIT so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

trigger warning: bullying, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic, i think but beware nonetheless), death (graphic. i mean, i’m not that good of a writer but still, beware), very slight mentions of nsfw, especially torwards the end, niragi (HE’S A WARNING OK), niragi having disturbing thoughts (what else is new. but fr, ok), sliiiiiight yandere niragi torwards the end. (also I tried not to describe in too much detail the bullying that niragi and the reader suffer in the fic so it wouldn’t be too sad). 

@dreamingofanisland here it is bestie! 

Niragi couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped being sad and when he started getting angry. From a suffocating hopelessness came a desperation he could only describe as feral. He often fantasized about just jumping over his desk and strangling each one of them to death but his thoughts quickly ended with Niragi envisioning himself being overpowered and beaten. He started to not only get angry at his bullies, but people in general. Things. Life.

How could so many people turn a blind eye? How could life be so unfair to give people like this the upperhand and not him? Not him that clearly deserved it? This world was backwards.

-

He knew he was fucked when he saw the bat, and although he braced for the impact he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and wince at the sickening sound that the baseball did in contact with his nose.

He just sat there and while all he wanted to do was to rip their throats with his teeth all he did was to endure a few more punches before they left with a promise that there would be more. He sat there trying not to cry with sheer frustration. His papers were scattered around, the left arm of his glasses was broken and his pristine black outfit was now covered in dust from the gravel, his hands scratched. He could taste blood on his tongue and he felt a sick satisfaction, pretending for one moment that it was another person’s blood he was tasting.

“Do you need help?”, a voice woke him from his violent daydreams. Suddenly everything boiled over and he felt an overwhelming anger rise inside of him. In a blink of an eye he was standing up, yelling at a somewhat blurry image of a girl who he towered over, even more as she shrunk under his anger. If he wouldn’t be so busy screaming profanities, he would be madly aroused.

“WHAT, HUH? CAME TO SEE THE SHOW? TO LAUGH AT ME?”, he was furious, and as he approached her, she proceeded to walk back.

“No. I just wanted to help”, she said. It seemed another flash and suddenly he could see a bit clearer. Although startled, she didn’t seem afraid of him, and was extending him a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding”, she said, and Niragi wanted to scoff at her for stating the obvious. But she was being kind. And as angry as he was, kindness wasn’t something that he could say no to. He tried his best to control his shaky hands as he took the tissue from her hands and carefully dabbed his nose, as she ducked to collect his papers, and tuck them back into his bag.

“Saw what they did to you. ‘m sorry”, she mumbled. Niragi wanted to strangle her out of sheer embarrassment.

“And you just took some popcorn and enjoyed the spectacle?”, he spat.

“I wanted to help but I wasn’t sure what to do. Would you rather if I had called someone?”, she asked. He breathed once, twice. She wasn’t mocking him, but was unnervingly calm. Something about her being calm while he was practically foaming at the mouth had him seeing red and suddenly he regret having wiped the blood off of his lips.

“No”, he said, calmly. “No, I wouldn’t. Sorry. I have to go”, he said, ripping his bag from her hands with such force that he tugged her arm with it.

“Wait! I mean what I said! I want to help!”

“You, help me? What are you going to do, huh? Be my bodyguard?”, he mocked her one more time. He couldn’t help himself, his brain got used to this. Fight or flight. His adrenaline was pumping and everytime he was around school grounds he looked over his shoulder.

“Hmmm, sorta? Not exactly but I could show you a place. A safe place”, she said. He just looked at her.

“If we get there and it’s a prank of some sort I’ll let you punch me. Square in the face”, she said.

“Are you insane? You just go around letting people punch you in the face?”, his mouth was quicker than his brains and suddenly he felt his face grow hot at the irony of what he had said. But if she noticed it, she didn’t mention.

“Let me help you”, she said.

And he did.

He followed her through a wooded area near the school grounds after walking through a hole in a fence.

He was getting ready to beat you to the punch and hit you so hard that you’d bleed as hard as he did, until you stopped until you reached a very underwhelming toolshed with a padlock.

“We’re here”, you said, and he realized that she sounded different. All this time she was on edge. ‘Of course, Suguru, you threatened the girl like, 3 times’, said the voice in the back of his head. She pulled a key from her bag and the padlock opened easily and they heavy chains fell to the ground and she pushed open the door, going inside. He hesitantly followed.

The inside is nothing as he thought it would be. For starters, it was surprisingly clean and  it didn’t smell bad. And instead of tools and brooms and leafblowers, it had bean bags, blankets, a table with a radio full of knickknacks in the corner and a chair that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable none the less. The girl walked to a corner of the room and his eyes followed her as she closed the door, which had small sharpie drawings on it. She reached for a white box and settled it on the floor between the two bean bags, and reached inside a very small thermos to pull out an artificially blue isotonic drink and settled it down too. Then from the plastic bag he previously assumed was trash, she pulled a bag of chips.

She then patted the bean bag next to hers. “Welcome to my clinic”, she said, placing the white box on her lap.

-

After an entire afternoon of bonding over unhealthy food and an impromptu first aid rescue, Niragi learned that her name was Y/N, she was a year below and that this little world she created was her refuge from the girls in her class that picked on her.

“I found this and decided that it would be nice. No one’s using it, it’s far from everything. It’s on the Beheaded Woman’s territory”.

Niragi heard the rumors through his bullies. “One day we’ll drag you to the Beheaded Woman’s woods and fucking kill you”.  After further investigation, he learned that allegedly a girl was dragged through the woods and beheaded with a blunt axe.

“I made the rumors up. I had to make sure no one would find my safe haven”, she explained. “And once you write something in the girls’ bathroom stall, there’s no turning back. It’s out there and it’s truth”, she sighed. “I would know”.

He wasn’t the most up to date in all the gossip but she told him her story. The rumors they spread, the things they did to her. She almost seemed amused. He in turn told her his story. By the end of it, he could kill someone. She then offered him the other key to her safe haven.

“You can decorate it too. Don’t tell anyone else and make sure to lock it after you use it. Use it as much as you want, just make sure they don’t follow you, okay?”

He took the keys with shakey hands, a knot on his throat. Another type of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. When a few moments ago there were a fast white heat, coursing through him like an electric current, this was slow and almost overwhelmingly warm, like molten lava.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me?”, he whispered as if it was a secret, as if this moment was another fantasy, a deer that’s easily spooked. He had fantasized about this too. A safe haven, an ally. A friend.

“Because we’re the same, you and I”.

-

You hated him. You hated him with a burning passion. What was at first an act of pity, born from the empathy you felt by seeing someone go through what you did, quickly became a friendship and like a disease, it spread to beyond your safe haven. You would spend your free time together, walk home together. You became friends. And what did he do? Exactly what he told you he would.

“Sometimes don’t you wish to disappear?”, he whispered to you once.

“Yeah. Like, run away? Yeah, I do”, you replied agreeing with him.

 ‘You’re the only one that understands me. We really are the same’, he would say. What at the beginning of your budding crush on him gave you butterflies on the stomach now made you want to throw up.

You lost your only friend. You despised the sound of music now, because every single song you heard, you shared with him. For the same reason, you didn’t enjoy your favorite movies anymore. Your bullies banded together to target you. And the worst part of all, is that you couldn’t even care. There was no silver lining anymore.

“Don’t you get furious?! Don’t you want to hurt them, make them pay?”, he said as he watched you apply concealer to a bruised cheek.

“I mean, I get angry but I try my best to not let it get to me. It’s what they want. I despise those people, I can’t get in a funk because of them”, you said nonchalantly.

But you had loved him. And now you felt like even moving around was an herculean task, like you were almost dead trying to get to safety. But there was no safety anymore.

Ironically, you started to understand him more and more after he disappeared. The anger, the hatred. How could anyone just follow their lives? When there’s people like you just suffering through yours?

Suguru Niragi was an illness, a parasite. He carved his way under your skin and into your heart, laid eggs of his hate on your veins and sucked you dry of your life’s essence. Then, after you were a shell of a human, he disappeared out of thin air, leaving you alone. Leaving you with those people. Leaving you to die.

And you were still in love with him.

-

You thought you were finally insane when it happened.

The streets were empty. Absolutely no one. You wondered for a moment if you felt so alone that your mind convinced itself that that’s exactly what had happened, if any moment now you would be locked in an insane asylum for running around and screaming until you throat got raw.

It took you two games to understand what was going on. You made sure to change clothes. Running shoes, leggings and a warm hoodie that you never let the hood down. You decided to significantly shorten your hair after you saw a man pull a young girl by the ponytail in a spades game. You loaded a backpack with food and bottles of water, anything you could find. And an axe that you took from an emergency box from the building you slept in.

It was on your 5th game that it happened. You saw people die in these games, but none of it was hands on for you. You just watched your back and hoped to win and let whoever was running this show take care of the rest. Honestly, you didn’t even wait to know if anyone even survived. You were done doing that.

When you got there, there were five people already. They banded together and whispered amongst themselves as you passed them by and grabbed a phone. Probably just a group of friends that got stranded at the same time and decided to stay together. You clutched you axe harder.

You didn’t even realize that you had zoned out until you heard hollering and four guys heavily armed walked you by. Where the fuck did they get guns? One of them let out a boisterous laugh that reminded you of someone that you wanted desperately to forget. You couldn’t even get over him during fucking Saw? That sound made your skin crawl.

Registration closed, said the mechanic voice. Difficulty: 8 of clubs. The first 5 players will be the first team and the last 5 players will be the second. One team must eliminate the others without losing any players. Both teams will be identified by the color of your screen, and will have one minute to hide.

You saw the armed guys’ screens light up red. You sighed in relief as yours did too. You made sure to keep your head down and thank whoever that not killing teammates was a part of the rules. They seemed amused and absolutely calm, and the guy with the rifle laughed again. You were shaking by now.

When the minute started, everyone bolted in different directions. You didn’t even look back to see if your teammates had accompanied you but by the sound of your footsteps crushing leaves, you were alone. You decided to go back after a while, looking around. A lamppost. Huh, lamppost it is. You leaned against the cool metal and focused on the silence. The minute had ended but they were still hunting. You didn’t come across anyone, which was good. After a while, all you could hear were distant gunshots.

You looked to the floor, only to see a shadow approaching you quick. You barely had time to dodge before a man hit you behind the head with a rock. You reacting made him lose his balance, falling to the floor and letting go of the rock. You looked at him. It was one of the boys from the other team. He had on a white button up blouse and a black hoodie. His hair had fallen over his brown eyes and he looked so scared and so alone.

This will have to do.

You didn’t stop, suddenly lifting the axe and bringing it down was like an automatic thing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A MINUTE, LEFT ME ALONE IN THAT HELL!”

You didn’t stop when he started praying and then screaming. You didn’t stop when he started bleeding profusely or when the strength of your movements made your hood slide down from your head. You didn’t stop when his head got detached from his body and if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve listened tfootsteps. You didn’t stop until you had made mincemeat out of his face. Just for the sheer audacity of reminding you of him.

He looked at you from afar while you looked at the body of the boy whose skull you just had destroyed, a maniac, victorious smile on your face. You were pretending the boy was him. You really thought he had abandoned you? He would be absolutely heartbroken if he wasn’t so aroused. That’s what he always wanted to see, the instincts that you tried to push down. You were right, you were both the same. He wanted to lick that blood off of you, use it as lube to take you right there. When he first arrived at the Borderlands, when he first killed someone and liked it, he thought you would be disgusted by him. But look at you now. You were here, perfect for him, soaked in blood, feral. He’s never been so hard.

“Y/N”, he said.

“Niragi?,” you said. He ran to you, held you even when you fought back, even when you screamed bloody murder that you were going insane, begging to die already, even when you passed out on his arms. He licked a drop of blood from your neck.

“Let me take you to our safe haven”, he whispered against your skin.